*The Awakening*
“Louie,” Emily whispered, stepping into the room with her hands behind her back. A cryptic smile played on her lips, her eyes glowing with quiet joy.
Louis grinned back, bracing for good news—perhaps a gift, a surprise.
“What’ve you got?” He even leaned forward from the sofa, eager. “Go on, show me.”
“Here.” She held out her hand. Something lay on her palm. At first, Louis couldn’t place it. His smile faltered, dimming like a bulb flickering out.
“What is it?” He shrank back against the cushions, as if recoiling from the thing itself.
“Look!” Emily stepped closer, the tiny object still resting in her open palm. “I’m pregnant,” she blurted, voice trembling with barely contained elation.
*Pregnant.* The word echoed in Louis’ skull. His face went slack. He stared at her as though she’d transformed into someone else entirely.
Emily’s smile faded too, slow as theatre lights dimming before the curtain rises. She curled her fingers around the pregnancy test, letting her arm drop.
“Aren’t you happy?” Her voice wobbled—now on the edge of tears.
“Em, we agreed we’d wait,” Louis snapped, rage sharpening his words. “Did you stop taking the pill?” His voice rose, ringing in the quiet room like a struck bell.
“I missed one day, just once, and then—” Emily sank onto the sofa beside him. He edged away instantly, as if she carried contagion.
“What were you thinking? Why didn’t you tell me? Do you really want to drown in nappies and sleepless nights? You’re still a kid yourself.” Louis stood, pacing the room like a caged animal.
“Em, let’s talk this through. No need to rush—”
“I won’t terminate. He’s already here. I know it’s a boy. He’ll look like you.” Tears shone in her eyes.
Her words nailed Louis to the floor. Emily watched him with desperate resolve. A single tear slipped free. She sniffled.
“Em, listen.” He sat beside her again, draping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
*Screaming won’t help. Gentle persuasion, that’s the way…*
Emily shoved his hand away and stood, as if she’d heard his thoughts.
“I. Will. Not. Terminate.” Each word a hammer-strike.
“Em, I didn’t say that. I was shocked. Didn’t expect it. Sorry for how I reacted. Come here.” He caught her wrist, tugged her onto his lap.
“Silly girl. God, I love you,” he murmured, stroking her shoulder. “Don’t cry, please. It’s bad for the baby.”
“You’re really happy?” She wiped her cheeks.
“Of course,” Louis said lightly, while thinking: *Nine months. A whole year. Anything could happen…*
Soon, life resumed. Louis noticed no change in Emily. He even wondered if the test had been wrong—they could glitch, right? But a month later, the nausea hit. She wilted, barely ate, avoided meat entirely.
They used to go out—cinema, pubs, dinners. Now she refused to leave the flat. Louis grew restless.
“Em, Robbie’s birthday bash is Saturday,” he ventured.
“Go alone. I’d puke before the first drink,” she muttered, facing the wall.
Louis brightened. He’d hoped for this, just not so easily.
At the party, he revelled in freedom—jokes, rounds of lager. Returned late. Emily still faced the wall like a statue.
Then her belly swelled. She tossed at night, sighing, blocking his sleep. Weepy. Rejecting intimacy. His irritation swelled with her waistline.
“When will you marry?” His mum asked during a visit. “Past time. I warned you about this girl, but fine. Name picked?”
“Andrew. After her dad. Mum, who marries with a bump?”
“Just sign the papers. I told you—”
“Enough! No peace anywhere.”
On the way home, he ducked into a pub.
He’d barely slept when Emily shook him awake.
“Louie. Louie, wake up.”
“What?” Groggy, eyes shut.
“Something’s wrong. Pain—my back, my stomach.”
“Ambulance?” He fumbled for his jeans, his dead phone. Grabbed hers instead. “Taxi. Get dressed.”
In the hallway, Emily sat hunched on the stool, a coat over her nightdress. A stuffed bag at her feet.
“Got your documents? Let’s go.”
They inched downstairs, pausing at each landing. The taxi idled outside.
“St. Mary’s, mate. Quick.”
Emily clutched her belly, groaning. In the cramped cab, her stomach looked massive.
“Almost there,” Louis muttered, hiding his own fear.
The taxi halted at Maternity.
Half-carrying her, he banged on the glass doors.
“Oi, keep it down!” A midwife’s tired face appeared. The door clicked open. “In you go, love. You—home. Call this number later.” The door slammed in his face.
Through the glass, he watched Emily vanish, cradling her stomach.
“Em!” She didn’t turn.
Four hours later, a boy arrived. Dazed, Louis went to his mother’s.
“Congrats, Dad. Shopping, then celebratory pints.”
They ransacked Mothercare, barely fitting bags in the taxi. That evening, pals clinked glasses, swapping newborn horror stories.
“And what’re we celebrating?” A familiar voice purred behind him. Soft hands on his shoulders. “Hello, handsome.”
“Nat?” He turned, surprised, pleased.
“Careful, love—he’s a dad now! Three-four kilos, champ. Sit with us.” A friend pushed champagne into Natasha’s hand.
Louis remembered nothing else.
He woke to a spinning room, Nat beside the bed.
“My place? Why?”
“Brought you here. Fancy seeing your love-nest?”
“Why am I naked?”
“Relax. You stayed ‘faithful.'” She smirked. “People sleep naked. I missed you. Expected gratitude.” She leaned in. Hair tickled his bare chest. He flinched.
“Breakfast or just leaving?”
Dressing, he fled.
Three days later, Louis arrived at the hospital with flowers, mums in tow.
“Take your son, Dad.” The midwife thrust a bundle into his arms. He expected a cherub. Got a red, wrinkled thing swaddled in lace. Felt nothing but distaste.
Home was quiet until the bundle hit the cot. Then—screams. The women swarmed. Louis stood useless.
Night after night, no sleep. Emily swayed, hollow-eyed. The baby’s cries baffled him—how such noise from so small a body?
Autumn came. Crisp leaves underfoot. Outside work, a car honked. Natasha’s Audi.
“Get in. Family life draining you?”
“No sleep.”
“Come to mine. No funny business.” She laughed.
Morning brought the first proper rest in weeks. Natasha cooked breakfast.
“Thanks, Em,” Louis mumbled, wolfing toast.
“Natasha. But you’re welcome.”
“That what I called you? Gotta run.” He kissed her cheek.
“Door’s open.”
Days later, he returned.
“Knew you would.” She peeled his clothes off in the hallway…
He woke to silence. Natasha breathed evenly beside him. Unfamiliar peace.
“Can I stay?”
“Stay.”
At work, he rehearsed the speech: *It’s over. We were fine before. You wanted this.* He sent a voice note, unrepentant.
Later, gridlocked traffic. Sunlight dappled fresh leaves. Nearby, a man tossed a giggling toddler. A woman watched—smiling, like Emily.
Louis remembered: her happy face announcing the pregnancy. His son—walking now? Did another man toss him skyward?
“Nat, why don’t you want kids?”
Silence.
“Who says I don’t? I can’t have them. Botched abortion at eighteen. Men like hearing that, though. You said you didn’t want any either. Then I saw Em—huge belly. Wanted to kill you. Not your fault, but… Why her? Not me?”
Natasha slammed the wheel. “Want me to tell her about us? Take my car? Keep you?”
“Nat, don’t.”
“Men are selfish. And we morons bend for you, then get dumped. Em’s smart—stood her ground. You wanted her to abort, right? You still love her. You’ll go back. Leave. Now.”
“Nat—”
“Go!”
He walked, then ran. Bought a teddy from a kiosk. Took stairs two at a time.
The door opened. Emily—glowing, hair piled up. No men’s shoes by theLouis stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and knew—this was where he belonged.
