Mrs. Walker, how could you let this happen? Valerie Simmons cried out in the hallway of their shared flat, waving her hands wildly. You’re her mother! How could you just stand by while your daughter suffers like this?
Hush, will you? Edith Walker hissed, looking around nervously. You’ll wake the whole building with your shouting!
I don’t care! Let everyone know what kind of mother you are! Emily hasn’t left her room in weeks, barely eats, and you act like nothing’s wrong!
Edith pressed her lips tight and stormed into her room, slamming the door. Valerie lingered a moment longer, then turned with a scoff and retreated to her own flat.
The room was stuffy and quiet. Emily lay curled on her bed, facing the wall, pretending to sleep. Her mother marched to the window and flung it open. A crisp autumn breeze rushed in, stirring the curtains.
Emily, get up. It’s time for lunch, Edith said softly.
No movement.
I know you’re awake. Let’s talk, yeah?
What’s there to say? Emily muttered, back still turned. It’s over.
Over or not, life goes on. We have to sort this out.
Emily whipped around. Her face was pale, eyes swollen from crying.
Sort *what* out, Mum? He’s marrying *her* next week! That Sarah from uni! And I was stupid enough to believe he’d marry me after graduation!
Darling, why torture yourself? Edith stroked her daughter’s hair. If it wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t. You’ll find someone better.
Someone *better*? Emily sat up, her gaze hollow. Mum, you don’t get it. I’m—
She faltered and turned back to the wall.
What, love? Tell me what’s happened.
Nothing. It just hurts, that’s all.
Edith sighed and stood. Alright, rest for now. But you’re eating dinner later. You’re wasting away.
Left alone, Emily stared at the ceiling. Her stomach ached—sharp, twisting pains. She pressed a hand against it through her thin nightdress.
What do we do now? she whispered.
In the kitchen, pots clattered. The smell of frying onions and potatoes filled the air. Emily felt a familiar pang of nausea, as she had every day for weeks.
That evening, her aunt Clara—her mother’s younger sister—visited. A nurse at the local hospital, she was the only one in the family with medical training.
How’s our patient? Clara asked, hanging her coat.
Still in bed, won’t touch a thing. She’s driving me up the wall, Edith sighed.
Seen a doctor?
Where would I take her? She won’t even get up.
Clara went to Emily’s room.
Hey, sweetheart. How are you?
Fine, Emily mumbled without turning.
Look at me, Clara said firmly. Let’s have a proper look at you.
Emily reluctantly rolled over. Clara studied her face, checked her pulse.
When did you last eat properly?
Can’t remember.
And your period?
Emily stiffened, eyes darting to her aunt.
I—I don’t recall.
Think hard.
Maybe… two months ago?
Clara frowned. Up you get. We’re going to the loo.
Why?
No questions. Just do as I say.
Inside the bathroom, Clara’s examination was brisk and clinical.
Get dressed.
Back in the bedroom, Clara sat stiffly on the chair, studying her niece.
Emily, be honest. Did you and that boy… go all the way?
Emily flushed scarlet.
What do you mean?
You know *exactly* what I mean. Were you intimate?
A shaky nod.
Yes.
Protection?
He said—he knew what he was doing.
Right. Emily… you’re pregnant.
The words hung, heavy as a verdict. Emily sat frozen.
What?
You’re pregnant. About three months along.
Emily buried her face in her hands, sobbing. Clara wrapped an arm around her.
Hush, now. Don’t cry like that.
What do I *do*? Emily choked. He’s marrying *her*! And I—I—
First, we confirm it properly. Doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Then we’ll see.
Does Mum know?
Not a word to anyone yet.
Alone that night, Emily lay awake, thoughts spinning—memories of James, his promises, his ring tucked in her drawer. By morning, they were at the clinic.
Fourteen weeks. The doctor’s confirmation was cold, final.
What now? Clara asked outside.
I don’t know. Honestly, *I don’t know*.
Talk to him. Maybe he’ll change his mind.
No. He won’t. He loves *her*.
You saw them?
The way he looks at her… it’s real.
Then you decide. Keep it—alone—or…
Or what?
You know. There are ways to end it.
Emily flinched.
That’s a sin.
Sin or not, life’s hard. Think—can you raise a child solo?
The bus ride home was silent. Outside, grey skies loomed over autumn trees. Inside her, life grew—unwanted, unplanned.
At home, Edith pounced.
What’s wrong? Where were you?
Doctor’s visit, Clara said. Anaemia. Needs treatment.
I knew it. She’s ghostly pale.
That night, Emily’s childhood friend Lily dropped by.
You’ve been shut in for *weeks*. What’s really going on?
Just poorly.
Lily sat on the bed. Tell me.
What if… someone’s in trouble? Bad trouble.
*What* kind?
Like… if a girl’s pregnant and the bloke left?
Lily’s eyes widened.
Emily, are you—?
Hypothetically. What would *you* do?
Tell my parents. Or him.
Even if he’s marrying someone else?
*Especially* then. He should know.
Emily nodded, silent.
The next day, she went to James’s uni. Waited.
*Emily?* He looked shocked.
We need to talk.
They sat on a park bench.
James… I’m pregnant. *Yours*.
His face drained.
That’s—impossible. I was careful.
Apparently not.
He paced.
What do you want from me?
Nothing. Just… you should know.
And?
Maybe don’t marry Sarah?
*Emily.* I *love* her.
And me?
I cared for you. But this—it’s real.
She left before the tears fell.
At home, Clara returned.
Well?
He won’t change his mind.
Bastard. What about the baby?
Told me to *get rid of it*.
Clara’s lips thinned. Then it’s your choice. Alone, it’ll be brutal.
If I keep it?
Your mother will find out. No hiding *that*.
Emily imagined the scandal—neighbours whispering, fingers pointing.
Aunt Clara… if I—end it—is it dangerous?
Risky. But with a proper doctor… manageable.
You know someone?
Expensive.
How much?
Five hundred quid.
Emily froze. Her wedding savings—ironic.
I’ll think about it.
By morning, she’d decided.
I’ll do it.
Clara nodded. Tomorrow, then.
Don’t tell Mum.
Appendicitis cover story.
The hospital stay was brief. The procedure, sterile, efficient.
Afterward, Emily cried silently. No baby. No future that might’ve been.
Recovery at home was suffocating—Edith’s doting, Clara’s watchful eyes.
Soon, news came: James married Sarah. A grand wedding. *Radiant couple*, Lily gushed.
Good for them, Emily said flatly.
No regrets?
None.
(Not about *him*. But the rest? The secret that clung like a shadow?)
Years passed. She married Daniel, had children. A happy life.
Yet—
Sometimes, passing a schoolyard, seeing a child with James’s smile…
*What if?*
But she never told. Not Daniel. Not the kids. Not Lily.
Some secrets are too heavy to share.
