Emma walked out of the doctor’s office, overjoyed—she was going to be a mother. She hurried home, eager to surprise her husband, James, who was off work after a night shift. Normally, he’d sleep till midday, but she knew he’d be up; she’d taken the morning off to visit the clinic.
The surprise, however, was on her. When she unlocked the front door, a woman’s handbag sat on the hallway console.
“What’s this?” she muttered, uneasy. “Whose is it?”
She dreaded opening the bedroom door, already suspecting the worst—and there it was. A stranger lay in her spot, right beside James. Whether it was Emma’s expression or sheer shock, the woman bolted past her and out the door. James, unfazed, got dressed slowly.
“Pack your things and leave with your little fling,” Emma ordered coldly before walking out.
The pain was unbearable. She’d never felt anything like it. Soon, an ambulance rushed her to hospital, where the doctor delivered the verdict: “You’ve lost the baby.”
Returning home to silence and the mess from their fight, she slowly pulled herself together. She’d start fresh—beginning with divorce papers. James never showed up after that; they only met in court. He looked guilty but stayed silent.
Months turned into a year and a half. At twenty-seven, Emma ignored any man who flirted, even as colleagues nudged her: “You’re like a ghost, Emma. Life goes on. One heartbreak doesn’t mean it’s over.”
“Something in me just… broke,” she admitted. “I don’t feel joy anymore.”
“What about Henry?” her friends pressed. “You think it’s a coincidence he waits for you after work? Give him a chance.”
She did. They went to a pub, strolled through the park. Before long, Henry brought up marriage. “Let’s make it official, Em. No more goodbyes—we’ll go home together.”
After the wedding, they did just that. Work, meals, telly nights—all shared. Yet, despite longing for a child, Emma couldn’t conceive.
On a charity visit to an orphanage, a four-year-old girl’s sad eyes haunted her. “Henry, let’s adopt. If we can’t have our own, we could change one life. Those children… their hope breaks my heart.”
“Em, we can’t save them all,” he sighed.
“But one? That’s still a world of difference.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Her name’s Lily. Sweet little thing.”
Henry—though he’d wanted his own child—agreed.
Lily had been in care since birth, abandoned by her mother. Emma spoke with the matron, Mrs. Whitmore.
“I want to adopt her. What’s needed?”
“No children of your own?”
Emma shared her loss.
“But you might still conceive. And adopting won’t replace what you’ve lost. Lily deserves a family, not a placeholder. Think it over.”
Leaving, Emma saw Lily on a bench, clutching a plush toy. That image stayed.
Soon, Lily became theirs. Emma adored her, thanking Mrs. Whitmore. This wasn’t about filling a void—Lily was her daughter. The girl thrived: new dresses, bedtime stories, all the love Emma poured in.
Henry, though, grew distant—to Lily, to her. Then, one night: “Em, this was a mistake. She’s not mine. What if we have our own? Let’s return her.”
Emma froze. “She’s not a toy, Henry. She stays.”
“Then choose. Her or me.”
“No choice. She’s my daughter. Do what you want.”
They divorced. Emma and Lily moved back to her flat. By first grade, they’d settled—until James reappeared at their doorstep.
“Emma! I’ve been looking for you. Neighbors said you remarried.”
“Not anymore. What do you want?”
“I want us back. I know what I cost you. Forgive me.”
She brushed past. “We’re late.”
His voice followed: “My number’s the same. Anything you need, I’m here.”
Later, at the orphanage, another girl—ten-year-old Rosie—caught Emma’s eye. Something familiar in her smile.
“Two daughters…,” she dreamed, but single mothers rarely got approval.
On her next visit, Rosie gave her a warm look. Emma’s heart raced. “Such a sweet girl…”
Walking home in the snow, she remembered James’s offer.
An idea struck. She dialled. “We need to talk.”
Soon, he sat at her kitchen table. “You want me to help adopt Rosie?”
She hesitated. “Only if you’re sure.”
“Em, after everything I did? Of course I’m sure. A proper family—that’s all I want now.”
New Year’s Eve arrived. Lily and Rosie—with James’s help—decorated the tree, eyeing the gifts he’d tucked beneath. Emma buzzed in the kitchen, rich aromas filling the flat.
As she laid the table, the girls fidgeted. “Mum, when do we eat? It’s nearly midnight!”
“Soon, loves! Bring the salads.”
Watching them, James thought: *This—this is happiness.*
For them, this wasn’t just New Year’s. It was the start of their new life. Challenges would come, but they’d face them—together.
