**The Last Chance**
Emily lay curled up on the sofa, clutching her lower abdomen. Everything ached, throbbed, and reminded her of what was comingagain. The same routine every time: sharp pain, bleeding, an ambulance, the hospital, and then emptiness inside. Another miscarriage, no doubt. The third in two years, after a stillbirth before that, and an abortion before *that*. The abortion she was still paying for, the one that had stolen her chance at motherhood.
Groping for her phone, she dialled for an ambulance. Half an hour later, as they loaded her into the van, she called Andrew to let him know she wouldnt be home for dinner.
“Again?” he asked. She didnt answer. Tears streamed down her cheekstears of despair, of self-loathing. How many times could this happen? Wasnt there some rule against this much unfairness? Or maybe she *did* know the reason. If she hadnt let that dodgy doctor touch her years ago, none of this wouldve happened. She and Andrew couldve had a five-year-old by now. But they didnt. And at this rate, they never would.
“It *hurts*,” she gasped. The doctor barely glanced at her before adjusting the IV drip.
Two days in the hospital dragged like a month. Then, just like clockwork, discharge papers, Andrew waiting with a bouquet, and the same hollow script.
“You look pale,” he said. She managed a weak smile. What was there to be happy about? She couldnt give him a child. That much was obvious.
On the drive home, Emily twisted the roses in her hands before turning to him. “I dont want to try anymore. I cant give you a baby.”
“Dont say that. Itll happen,” he insisted, but she just scoffed.
“Do you even believe that? Five years down the drain. Im nearly thirty, youre pushing thirty-five. Enough playing pretend-mum. The doctors say its hopelessmaybe its time we listened.”
“Em, well have children,” Andrew countered. “Remember what Professor Whitmore said? Theres still a chance if we follow his advice.”
“And where *is* your precious professor?” she snapped. “Dead and buried, along with his so-called advice. Its over, Andrew. I wont torture us both anymore.”
“What are you saying?” His grip tightened on the wheel.
Emily took a shaky breath and stared out the window. “Lets split up. Find someone who can give you a child. You deserve that. Im justempty. Useless.”
Her voice cracked. Andrew lifted her hand to his lips. “Stop talking nonsense. Well manage. Plenty of people live happily without kids. We can too.”
“Or with *more* of them,” she muttered wetly. “Justlets not rob you of fatherhood.”
“Lets not rob me of *you*,” he cut in.
That was Andrewhopelessly in love, enduring every meltdown, every heartbreak, just to keep her by his side. Hed fought for her, swept rivals aside, and once she was his, decided nothing else mattered. Well, almost nothing. A tiny bundle of joy wouldve been nice, but fate seemed determined to deny them.
He knew Emilys history. Knew about her first marriageto a man twice her age, arranged by her controlling father. Knew about the botched abortion that had left her like this. None of it could be undone. Emily had been his for years now, estranged from her father, barely even in touch with her younger sister.
“Wouldnt surprise me if Dads already forcing her into some sham marriage for his own gain,” shed muttered once.
Imogen was twenty-twosmart, beautiful, just like Emily, but far more obedient. Their father had raised them alone, his ex-wives barred from interfering. He pulled their strings like a puppeteer, dictating their lives as ruthlessly as he ran his business.
Emily had escaped at twenty-four, met Andrew, and cut ties for good. Until the day Imogen showed up on her doorstep, trembling.
“What happened?” Emily demanded, only then noticing her sisters rounded stomach.
“I ran away,” Imogen choked out, throwing her arms around her. It had been barely a week since Emilys latest hospital stay, and now this?
“Whwhat did he want?”
“H-he wanted me to get rid of it.”
“Oh my God, youre *pregnant*!” Emily gasped, finally taking it in. “Whos the father?”
“Doesnt matter. Emmy, it doesnt. It was realbut hes married, doesnt want the baby. Dad said either I terminate it, or hed drag me to a clinic himself.”
Emily held her as they both cried. Imogen looked so fragile, so lost. Five years apart had turned her from an awkward teen into a swanbut still trapped under their fathers thumb. Emily knew Imogen would bolt back to him in days. She couldnt let that happen.
Andrew took the surprise houseguest in stride. He never argued with Emilys decisionsloved her too much to contradict her, and she never abused that trust.
Sure enough, after a week, Imogen wavered. “I cant keep ignoring Dad”
“Youre *not* going back!” Emily grabbed her wrists. “Do you want him hurting you? Hurting the baby? If not for yourself, think of your son!”
“Its too late for an abortion now,” Imogen said shakily. “No doctor would touch me at twenty-one weeks.”
“But they could *induce* you!” Emily cried. “Hell slip something into your tea, and youll bleed out before you even understand. Do you have any idea how that feels? *I do!*”
She broke down, and between sobs and logic, convinced Imogen to stay. But guilt gnawed at her sistershe still whispered about Dad, still felt like shed betrayed him.
Imogen gave birth in July, then immediately packed her bags. Emily snatched up the baby, clinging to him. “I wont let you take him to that monster! You want Dad turning him into another tyrant? Go if you mustbut Alfie stays with me.”
Imogen shrugged. “Fine. Dad only wanted me back *without* the baby anyway. And youre dead to him. Keep the screaming little demon.”
Emily knew it was just postpartum blues. Give it a month, and Imogen would return. But holding little Alfiesmelling his milky scent, feeling his tiny fistsfilled her with a joy shed thought lost forever.
“You know shell take him back,” Andrew murmured.
“I know,” Emily whispered, her heart already splintering at the thought. On paper, three-month-old Alfie wasnt hers. No guarantee her father wouldnt storm in someday.
Then the call came. Her fathers voice roared through the phone, promising violence if she didnt “hand over *his* grandson.” Emilys blood turned to ice. She wanted to fleetake Alfie and run. Only Andrews steady presence stopped her. She braced for the confrontation but it never came.
Instead, tragedy. Imogen and their father died in a car crash. Suddenly, Alfie was hersno one else stepped forward. After months of legal battles, she became his guardian. Her last chance at motherhood. Andrew didnt object. They both knew it was their only shot.
Lost in paperwork, Emily forgot her gynaecologist appointment. Dr. Shaw scolded her, then paused. “Waitany chance youve missed a period?”
Emily shrugged. “Stress, probably.”
“*What* stress? Have you taken a test?”
She hadnt.
“Ultrasound. *Now*,” Dr. Shaw ordered.
And there it wasthe miracle shed stopped daring to hope for. Not just pregnant, but *twelve weeks* along.
“Youve never made it this far,” Dr. Shaw said softly. “Thats a good sign. You need bed rest.”
“I *cant*Ive got Alfie!”
“Youve got one *inside* you too. Let Andrew handle Alfie while you focus on this one. Look at the screenthats a healthy baby. They deserve a fighting chance.”
Emily surrendered. Two months later, she left the hospital, pregnancy intact, hope rekindled. Andrew waited outsideflowers in hand, Alfie babbling in his pram. She smiled, cradling her bump as their son squealed with delight. Inside her, their daughter kicked gently. A last chance. A happy one. A future shed stopped believing in, finally within reach.
