In the corridor of a women’s clinic, an elderly woman sat on a bench. Beside her slouched a skinny girl of about fifteen, her sharp knees poking out from under a short skirt. The grandmother had brought her granddaughter for an abortion.
The old woman sighed heavily all the while. The girl, her eyes wide with fear, glanced nervously around. A young woman, around thirty, approached and sat next to them.
“Are you waiting for this room?”
“Yes… Tell me, does it hurt?”
“It’s unpleasant, of course, but they’ll give you something for the pain. The main thing is it’s quick—five minutes at most if it’s early. That’s what they say, anyway. It’s my first time too, to be honest, and I’m scared. Part of me thinks… the baby isn’t to blame for any of this.”
“Oh, Lord, what a mess… You see, this is my granddaughter. She’s in Year 10, and that lad lied to her, left her… Now she’s expecting. He wants nothing to do with the baby. What are we meant to do? She’s got to finish school… She’s got no parents, I raised her all on my own… Oh, what a misery.”
“Gran, enough—you’re breaking my heart. It’s bad enough as it is. The lady just said it won’t hurt, quick and done…”
“Oh, love, that’s a child in there—alive—and you’re saying ‘quick and done’… She’s right, the little one’s done no wrong. You know what? Get up. Let’s go. We’ll manage. In the war, they had babies, and they got by. We’ll manage. That lad Peter isn’t worth the trouble, calling himself a father… Up you get, take your bag, let’s go home. There’s nothing for us here.”
The girl had been waiting for just that. She snatched up her bag and hurried to the exit, the grandmother following close behind. The young woman on the bench smiled faintly as she watched them go, lost in her own thoughts.
Twenty years later—
“Mum, I love him, it’s serious, believe me! Tim’s a good lad, he’s got his whole future ahead!”
“What future if you marry now? Finish uni, then—”
“Mum, we’re twenty, not children. A wedding won’t stop Tim studying, and we won’t spend much—just sign the papers and have dinner with his parents and gran. We’ll celebrate with friends later. Tim adores his gran, she raised him.”
“Oh, Molly, what won’t you do for your girl? Suppose we’d best meet Tim’s folks, since we’re to be family…”
“Invite them round, Mum.”
“Hello, come in! I’m Molly’s mum, Julia. Sit down, please…”
As she looked at Tim’s grandmother, Julia felt a flicker of recognition. Tim’s mother, Anna, was startlingly young, barely older than her son. Over dinner, the story came out—she’d had him at sixteen, by a schoolmate who’d refused to acknowledge the child at first, then married her under pressure before vanishing from their lives entirely.
“You know, Julia, it’s shameful to say, but we nearly… well, got rid of Tim when Anna was carrying him. She was just a girl, what kind of mother could she be? Her parents were gone—her mother died young, her father disappeared in prison. I raised her alone. Then she turned up expecting… What were we to do?”
“We were already at the hospital, waiting our turn, when a woman came over—there for the same thing. She said, ‘Children aren’t to blame,’ and it hit me like lightning. How could we kill an innocent baby? It was a sign, I’m sure of it. We walked out that day, and Tim was born. That woman was heaven-sent.”
“Anna stuck it out at school till the end of Year 11—no need for more after that. Tim was born; I looked after him while she trained as a pastry chef. That Peter, his father, never lifted a finger, nor his parents. Still, we managed. Anna married well later, had a daughter too. Does cakes to order now, makes a fair living. Don’t you worry—if Tim and Molly marry, they’ll have my flat. I’ll move in with Anna. So that’s our tale.”
Julia could scarcely believe her ears. Those were the same two—grandmother and granddaughter—who’d left the clinic that day. Because of them, she’d kept her baby, her Molly.
After overhearing them back then, a calm had settled over her. She’d known then she must have the child, that all would be well. The father had been a married man, her first love. They’d lost touch, and when they met again, he had a wife. Only once had they slipped—and then she’d known.
She hadn’t wanted to wreck his family, hadn’t told him, convinced she’d no right to bring a child into such a mess.
Going through with the abortion would’ve been easier, she’d told herself. But in five minutes, that woman and girl had changed her mind. If they could manage, so could she. It was a sign.
She’d walked out after them. The pregnancy had been smooth, the birth uncomplicated—her darling girl, the joy of her life.
And now, fate had brought them together again—for joy, this time. The children who might never have been were to marry. Wasn’t that fate’s own hand?
People get signs. Some listen; some don’t. Sometimes five minutes is all it takes to change a life—like choosing to keep a child you never planned for, then wondering how you ever thought you could live without them.
Life takes strange turns, but when you feel you’re making a mistake—pause. Sometimes those five minutes make all the difference.
