In the dim hallway of a women’s clinic, an elderly woman sat slumped on a bench. Beside her perched a gaunt girl of about fifteen, her bony knees poking out from under a too-short skirt. The grandmother had brought her granddaughter here for *that* procedure.
The old woman sighed heavily, her breath thick with regret. The girl’s frightened eyes darted around the sterile walls. A crinkled plastic bag rested at her feet. Then, a woman in her thirties approached and settled beside them.
“You here for the same thing?”
“Yeah… Tell me, does it hurt?”
“It’s not pleasant, but they’ll numb you. Supposedly, it’s quick—five minutes, tops, if it’s early enough. That’s what people say, anyway. First time for me too, if I’m honest. And I’m terrified. Part of me keeps thinking… the baby didn’t ask for any of this.”
“Bloody hell, what a mess… She’s my granddaughter, see? Year 10, and this lad—lied to her, left her in it. Now she’s pregnant, and he wants nothing to do with it. What are we supposed to do? She’s got her GCSEs! No parents around—just me. Christ, it’s a right nightmare.”
“Nana, stop—you’re breaking my heart. The lady said it won’t hurt, yeah? Quick and done.”
“Love, there’s a *baby* in there. Alive. And you just want to… No. That’s not right. The girl’s spot on—it’s not the baby’s fault. Tell you what, get up. We’re leaving. We’ll manage. Your Gary’s not worth spit, calling himself a father… Come on, grab your bag. Let’s go home. No business for us here.”
The girl leaped up as if she’d been waiting for this. She snatched the bag and marched toward the exit, the old woman shuffling after. The woman on the bench smiled faintly, watching them go, lost in her own thoughts.
—
**Twenty Years Later**
“Mum, I love him! It’s serious—trust me! Dave’s a good bloke, got a bright future!”
“Future? Not if you hitch yourself to him now! Finish uni first, *then* see!”
“Mum, we’re twenty! Not kids. A registry office won’t wreck our studies. No fuss—just sign the papers, dinner with his parents and nan, then drinks with mates after. Dave adores his nan—she raised him.”
“Oh, Lizzie… What won’t I do for my girl? Fine. Best meet the in-laws, then.”
“Invite them over, yeah?”
“Come in, come in! I’m Lizzie’s mum, Julia. Sit down, please…”
As Dave’s grandmother settled at the table, Julia frowned. Something about her felt familiar. Dave’s mother, Ann, looked barely older than her son. Over tea, the story spilled: Ann had him at sixteen, by a lad in her class who refused responsibility until the law forced his hand. A sham marriage, swiftly undone.
“Truth be told, Julia… We nearly got rid of our Davey. Annie was just a kid herself—what sort of mother could she be? No parents around—her mum dead young, her dad locked up for good. Just me. Then *this* happens. Where’s the sense in keeping it?”
“But at the clinic, this woman—another one there for the same thing—she said, ‘Babies aren’t to blame.’ Like a smack to the head. Can’t murder an innocent, can you? A sign from above, I reckon. We walked out that day. Kept him.”
“God sent that woman, plain as day. Annie stayed in school, finished her GCSEs—good enough. Davey came, I minded him while she trained as a pastry chef. His dad? Useless. His folks too.
“But we managed. Annie married proper later, had a girl. Does wedding cakes now—does alright. Don’t you worry—if these two wed, they’ll have my flat. I’ll move in with Annie. There’s our tale.”
Julia’s hands trembled around her teacup. *Those* two—the grandmother and girl who’d walked away. Because of them, she’d kept *her* baby—her Lizzie.
After overhearing them that day, a strange calm had washed over her. The baby—from a married man, her first love—had felt like a ruinous mistake. They’d crossed paths once, years later, one reckless night. When she found out, she resolved to end it, to spare them both the wreckage.
But in that clinic, five minutes changed everything. *If they can, so can I.* A sign. She’d left, heart pounding, and never looked back.
And now, fate had reeled them together again—not in grief, but joy. Two children who might never have been, now in love. What else could it be?
People get signs. Some listen. Some don’t. Sometimes five minutes is all it takes to rewrite a life. To keep a child you never planned for, then wonder how you ever thought the world could spin without them.
Life’s strange like that. So if your gut screams you’re making a mistake—*stop*. Breathe. Because sometimes, five minutes changes everything.
