I had no idea she even existed until today. It’s not like I could just dump her in an orphanage. She’s my daughter,” said the man.
Emily hummed to herself as she cooked dinner. Tonight, she’d finally surprise James. They’d been together ten years. At first, they’d been in no rush for kids—life was just too good as a pair. Emily wanted to focus on her career, gain experience.
She’d been desperate to land a job at a prestigious firm and had promised them she wouldn’t be planning a family anytime soon. The pay was excellent, with room for promotion. Emily had proven herself, climbed the ladder. Now, with decent maternity benefits and a stable salary, they could finally think about a baby. Easier said than done. Tests showed nothing wrong—with her *or* James.
“Be patient,” the doctor said warmly. “It happens. You’ve poured so much into your career—stress, nerves. Relax. Don’t obsess. Just live, rest, and it’ll happen.” She prescribed vitamins and sent Emily on her way.
Then, at last, she was pregnant. Emily didn’t believe it at first. A mistake, surely. She bought two more tests. Two pink lines every time. A week later, she cracked, went to the hospital for bloodwork. It was real. She and James were having a baby! Tonight, she’d tell him. They’d celebrate.
Emily fried the meat, half-listening to her own body. Logically, she knew it was too early to feel anything, but she swore she could sense that tiny life growing inside her. She kept lifting her jumper, inspecting her stomach in the mirror—but, deflatingly, it stayed stubbornly flat.
The gas had been off for ages. The kettle had gone cold. Still no James. He wasn’t answering his phone. Finally, the front door clicked open. From the footsteps, Emily knew he wasn’t alone. Her heart sank. The surprise would have to wait. News like this was private—just for the two of them.
She sighed and walked into the hallway. Her jaw dropped. There, glaring warily, stood a girl of about ten. Emily shot a bewildered look at James, hovering behind her.
“Sorry I’m late. Had to pick up Lucy,” he mumbled, eyes fixed on the girl’s back.
“Who is this? Why did you bring her *here*? Why didn’t you call?” The questions burst out before Emily could stop them.
“Let’s go sit down. I’ll explain,” James said, nudging the girl forward.
Emily stayed rooted, staring at their retreating backs. When she finally entered the living room, they were already on the sofa. She took the armchair instead, needing to see their faces. The girl—Lucy—glanced at her indifferently before turning to the window.
“This is Lucy. My daughter,” James said. He looked flustered, guilty, and weirdly determined.
“Your *what*?”
“I only found out she existed *today*. Her grandmother called. She’s going into hospital—asked me to take Lucy. No other family. Her mum died six months ago in a car crash.” James glanced at the girl, who sat stiffly beside him. “Em, let’s eat. I’ll fill you in later.”
Emily stormed to the kitchen, every instinct screaming. But she couldn’t exactly kick a child out onto the street. *Just a few days. This isn’t real.* James and Lucy followed, sitting at the table silently. Emily dished out the roast and potatoes but couldn’t touch her own food. Lucy picked at the potatoes, pushing the meat aside.
“Don’t like meat?” James asked. The girl nodded. “What *do* you like?”
“Pasta and sausages,” she muttered, eyes down.
“Sorry. *Your dad* didn’t warn me you were coming,” Emily snipped, venom directed at them both. Already acting up, the little brat.
“Want tea? Or is it just juice and squash for you? Oh wait—we don’t *have* those. Tea’s all I’ve got,” Emily said sweetly, sloshing tea into mugs.
“Emily, *stop*,” James growled.
She slammed the kettle down and marched out. She could hear them talking, could hear James—miraculously—doing the washing-up for once. When he finally came to their room, Emily was on the bed, arms crossed, staring at the dark window. He tried to hug her; she shoved him off.
“Lucy needs to sleep,” he said quietly.
“Sort the sofa bed then.” Emily yanked spare sheets from the cupboard.
The girl lurked by the wall, watching them like a wary cat. Once Lucy was settled, Emily and James shut themselves in the kitchen. He told her about Lucy’s mum—a fling that ended before Emily.
“I hadn’t seen her since. Then today, her mother calls, drops *this* bomb.”
“But why not *warn* me? You just decided? My opinion means nothing?” *We’re having our own baby,* she wanted to say, but clamped her lips shut.
“Em, I was in *shock*. What was I supposed to do? Her gran’s terminally ill. Dump her in care? She’s *mine*.”
“You don’t *know* that,” Emily hissed.
“I’ll get a DNA test. Till then, she stays,” James said firmly.
*His decision. Deal with it.* The message in his eyes was clear. Maybe he didn’t even *want* the baby growing inside her anymore.
That night, she turned her back on him. How could they be close with a stranger—his *possible* child—sleeping next door? She stifled sobs. Their lives had just veered off-course, and there was no undoing it.
The tension between Emily and Lucy thickened daily. They skirted around each other, speaking only when forced. Lucy did homework or tapped on her tablet; Emily hid in the kitchen, fuming. Why *now*? Just when she’d finally gotten pregnant? Fine, let the girl stay—but *her* baby would get all the love.
Saturday, James left early for the garage. Emily cooked lunch, then suggested Lucy go play outside. The girl obeyed silently. In the park, Lucy hovered at the edge, ignoring the other kids.
Nausea hit Emily suddenly. She stumbled behind bare bushes. When she returned, Lucy was gone. None of the other mums had seen anything. Emily sprinted around, shouting her name—nothing.
“How could you *lose* her?! Where do we even look?!” James roared when he arrived.
“Stop *shouting*! She’s *your* kid! I looked away for *one minute*! Next time, take her with you!” Emily yelled back.
“Not yours?” A woman approached, holding Lucy’s hand.
“Where *were* you?!” Emily snapped.
“Em, *let me*,” James cut in. “Why’d you leave? You *never* wander off.”
“I… I thought I saw Mum. But it wasn’t her,” Lucy said softly.
“You *never* go with strangers! What if something happened?!” Emily exploded.
“She *looked* like Mum,” Lucy whispered, tears welling.
“Don’t cry. We were just worried. Let’s go home,” James said gently.
Emily’s stomach had been aching for hours. Now, the pain sharpened, coming in waves. She bit her lip, gripping the banister as they climbed to their third-floor flat.
“You okay?” James frowned.
“My stomach…” she gasped.
Two steps up, she doubled over with a cry.
“Call an ambulance… *Now*,” she whimpered.
James hauled her inside, laid her on the sofa, dialed 999. Lucy clung to him, terrified. The next blurred minutes involved paramedics, hushed voices, and huskier urgency.
“Threatened miscarriage. *Now*. We need to move her,” the doctor said.
“Miscarriage?!” James gaped. “Em—you’re pregnant? Why didn’t you *tell* me?”
“I *tried*… that night…” She could barely speak.
The ambulance wailed through London. They waited in the sterile corridor for what felt like forever. The doctor emerged, grim.
“I’m sorry. We couldn’t save the baby.”
James forgot Lucy entirely, sprinting to Emily’s bedside.
“Em, I didn’t know—”
“If you *had*? It’s *her* fault! Our baby would be alive if not for *her*!” Emily choked back a sob. “Just *go*.”
“Em—”
“*Go*.”
Two days later, she was discharged. Seeing Lucy reignited her fury. She felt like an outsider in her own home. Lucy stole James’s focus, his affection—even in bed, her ghost sat between them.
Lucy retaliated in petty ways—broken mugs, “accidental” spills on Emily’s clothes—always when James was around to shield her. Alone, she was eerily quiet. Emily locked herself in the bathroom and wept.
She barely stopped herselfBut when Lucy shyly handed Emily a clumsily wrapped drawing of their family—James, Emily, baby Mateo, and herself—something inside Emily softened, and she suddenly realized that love, no matter how it comes, is always worth holding onto.
