**Diary Entry**
I’ll never forget the day I sat in the waiting room of a women’s clinic in London. An elderly woman sat on the bench, her frail granddaughter beside her. The girl, no more than fifteen, wore a short skirt that barely covered her sharp knees. Her grandmother had brought her for an abortion.
The old woman sighed heavily, while the girl glanced around nervously, clutching a plastic bag. A woman around thirty slid onto the bench next to them.
“You here for the same thing?”
The grandmother nodded. “Tell me, does it hurt?”
“It’s uncomfortable,” the woman admitted. “But they numb you. It’s quick—five minutes, if it’s early. First time for me too, honestly. I’m scared. And I keep thinking… the baby’s innocent.”
“God help us,” the grandmother muttered. “This is my granddaughter. Year 10, and that lad tricked her, then left. Now she’s expecting. He won’t have anything to do with the baby. What are we to do? She needs her GCSEs. No parents—just me. What a mess.”
“Nana, stop,” the girl snapped. “You’re making it worse. She *said* it won’t hurt. Just one go, and it’s done.”
“Love, that’s a *child* in there. Alive,” the grandmother whispered. “She’s right—the baby’s done no wrong. Come on, up you get. We’re leaving. We’ll manage. Who needs that worthless Tom? You don’t need a father like that. Let’s go home—no business for us here.”
The girl bolted up, grabbing her bag like she’d been waiting for this. Her grandmother followed. The woman on the bench smiled to herself as they left, lost in thought.
—
**Twenty Years Later**
“Mum, I love him! It’s serious, I promise! Dan’s got a bright future!”
“Bright future, my foot! Finish uni first, then see.”
“Mum, we’re twenty! Not kids. A registry office wedding won’t ruin anything—just us, his parents, and his gran for dinner. No fuss. Dan adores her—she raised him.”
“Oh, Molly, what won’t I do for you? Fine. Invite them round—meet the in-laws properly.”
“Hello! Come in—I’m Molly’s mum, Julia. Sit down, please.”
Something about Dan’s gran tugged at Julia’s memory. His mother, Emma, looked barely older than him. Over tea, Emma confessed she’d had Dan at sixteen—her schoolmate’s doing. The boy refused responsibility until his parents forced a wedding to avoid trouble. They divorced soon after.
“Truth be told, Julia,” the gran said, “we nearly got rid of our Danny. Emma was just a girl—what kind of mother could she be? No parents herself, just me. Then this? But at the hospital, a woman spoke to us. Said babies aren’t to blame. Like a slap to the face—how could we? Felt like a sign. We left. Emma finished Year 11—all we needed. Danny came, I minded him while she trained as a baker. Tom, his so-called dad? Useless. But we coped. Emma married well later, had a daughter. Does cakes now—good money. Don’t fret—if they wed, they’ll have my flat. I’ll move in with Emma. That’s our story.”
Julia’s breath caught. *Them.* The girl and her gran from the clinic. Because of them, she’d kept her baby—her Molly.
Back then, drowning in doubt, she’d been pregnant by her first love—a married man. One reckless night, then silence. She’d resolved to end it, certain she’d ruin lives otherwise. But five minutes with that pair changed everything. *If they could manage, so could she.* A sign, surely.
She’d walked out that day, just like them. Molly arrived safe—her whole world.
Now fate crossed their paths again. The children who might never have been, planning a wedding. Wasn’t *that* a sign?
People get signs—some listen, some don’t. Sometimes five minutes is all it takes. A choice to keep an unwanted child, only to later wonder how life ever existed without them.
Life’s unpredictable. But if your gut says *wait*—listen. Five minutes can change everything.
