The Heart That Learned to Beat Again
Simon hurried home faster than ever before—and who could blame him? The last few days in their flat had been nothing short of extraordinary. The night before, Emily, his wife, had… made a roast dinner. Now, you might think, so what? A wife cooking supper—perfectly normal. But not for them.
For eighteen months, Emily had been a ghost of herself. After the tragedy that took their only daughter, it was as though she’d died right along with her. Charlotte had been killed on a zebra crossing—just seventeen, her whole life ahead of her, just starting university, bright and beautiful… And then—a car. And emptiness. They’d never had more children. They’d tried, sought help, but nothing worked. They’d accepted it. Figured: one daughter was enough, there’d be grandchildren someday…
But losing Charlotte broke Emily. She stopped seeing the world—not Simon, not the sun, not even herself. She’d lie in bed for hours, motionless. Didn’t wash, didn’t eat, didn’t speak. Quit her job because her colleagues’ smiles felt like salt in a wound. A black headscarf became a permanent fixture, and silence settled over the house—thick as grief itself.
Simon tried talking, pleading, coaxing, pulling her out of that pit. Eventually, he gave up, moved to the sofa. Her mother, grey-haired and worn down by helplessness, tried reasoning with her: *”You’re young, you’re only thirty-six, he’s forty. You’ve got your whole lives ahead… And you’re acting like it’s already over.”*
But it was no use. Emily seemed to be waiting—for something, or someone.
And then… she was cleaning the windows. No tears. Still in that black scarf, but with a spark in her eyes. And she even said:
*”I’ve made sausages and mash. Go wash your hands, dinner’s ready.”*
Simon froze. He couldn’t believe his ears. Something was shifting.
At first, tentatively—Emily began stepping outside, visiting family. Then came the smiles, rare but real. For her niece’s wedding, she swapped her mourning clothes for a dress, got her hair done, even wore makeup. They took a holiday to the seaside. Sun, crashing waves, warm evenings—it brought them back to life. They had a second honeymoon there. Awkward, giggly, like teenagers. They laughed, kissed… And that’s where Emily first dreamed of Charlotte. Their daughter was glowing, radiant:
*”Mum, we’ll be together again soon. Just wait a little longer…”*
When she woke, Emily knew—she wouldn’t be here much longer. It didn’t frighten her. But she didn’t tell Simon—why worry him?
Back home, she was asked to return to work—her colleague had retired. A few months later, the company had a health check-up. Emily had been feeling weak but kept quiet.
During the ultrasound, the young doctor suddenly grinned:
*”Congratulations. It’s a girl!”*
Emily thought she’d misheard.
*”My heart?”*
*”Yours too. But that’s your daughter’s heartbeat,”* he laughed, calling Simon in. *”Daddy, meet your little girl.”*
They hugged, both crying.
The pregnancy was strangely easy—Emily floated through it. Right on time, their girl arrived. From the first second, Emily knew: she was the spitting image of Charlotte. She wanted to name her the same, but relatives talked her out of it: *”Names carry fate…”*
They called her Beatrice—”bringer of joy.”
Now, Beatrice is five. She looks more like Charlotte every day—not just in face, but in spirit. The same grin, the same favourite dolls, songs, dances. The same quiet light in her eyes.
And Simon and Emily? They’ve come back to life. They laugh. They breathe. Their house is full of happiness again, ringing with a child’s giggles. And in their hearts—nothing but love.
Life came back. And this time, it stayed.
