**Birth for Me**
“You know I can’t have children… Have a baby—birth a child for me. You know I can’t…”
The first day of university began with a lecture. Ellen got lost in the corridors before finally finding the right room. She barely had time to sit in the front row when the professor strode in. He introduced himself, outlining the year’s coursework, stressing that exam questions would come from lectures, not textbooks. “Attend now,” he warned, “or you’ll waste time later scrambling for answers online.”
The door swung open then, and a radiant girl sauntered in. Giggles rippled through the hall. The professor spun toward her.
“Here for the lecture? Your name?” he demanded.
“Georgina Nichols,” she answered breezily, unfazed.
“Very well, Miss Nichols—first and last warning. I don’t tolerate tardiness.” He turned back to the silent room. “That applies to all of you. Now, where were we?”
Georgina teetered on her heels to the front row, where Ellen scooted aside.
“Hi. Was he scolding us already?” she whispered, bright as a peacock.
“Quiet, or he’ll kick you out,” Ellen hissed.
At break, they bonded. Georgina, from Surrey, commuted daily by train—miscalculated the time on her first day. Ellen, from Manchester, lived in student halls.
Georgina was vivacious, careless with studies, unbothered by grades. She couldn’t fathom Ellen burying herself in books.
“Who cares if it’s a first or second-class degree? Marry well—that’s the real prize.”
“I promised my mum I’d work hard,” Ellen admitted. “She raised me alone. Got pregnant at uni, my dad promised marriage but vanished. She dropped out when I was born. I won’t repeat her struggles. I want her proud, not crying over me.”
“Living like a nun won’t help. When do you actually *live*?” Georgina shot back.
“After graduation,” Ellen laughed.
Despite clashing outlooks, they became inseparable. Ellen attended every lecture, sharing notes, covering for Georgina’s absences. Georgina danced, dated, indulged—people warned Ellen she was being used.
“So what? Friendship’s never selfless. Someone always leans harder,” Ellen shrugged.
By fourth year, Georgina fell in love and abandoned studies. Without Ellen, she’d have been expelled. Early in final year, she got pregnant.
“Wanted an abortion, but Stan found out—made a scene. So, I’m marrying him. You’re my witness, no arguments.”
They had a raucous New Year’s wedding. Georgina gave birth to a boy just before exams, stumbling through them exhausted. Professors pitied her with passing grades.
Ellen graduated with first-class honours, ready to return to Manchester.
“With that degree? London’s doors are wide open! What’s in Manchester? And what about *me*? Stan’s dad has a firm—he’ll hire you.”
“Mum’s waiting—”
“She’ll be thrilled! Earn experience, then you’re set. Remember your promise—*live* after uni. Stan’s got a single friend, by the way… And if not for the baby, we’d be painting the town!”
“Don’t say that. Kids grow fast. You’ve got a family, a home—*happiness*,” Ellen insisted.
She stayed. Stan’s father hired her, and she excelled. But her love life stalled.
The friends called often but met rarely—Georgina juggled motherhood, Ellen worked. One day, Georgina’s hollow voice begged her over.
“What’s wrong?” Ellen asked, spotting red-rimmed eyes.
“I’m pregnant.”
Ellen exhaled. “God, I panicked! Congratulations!”
“*For what?* Just free of nappies, ready to work—now *this*! One maternity leave to the next.”
“Didn’t you use protection?”
“Took pills—Stan found them, went ballistic. He’s an only child, obsessed with a big family. Buying a house, but *my* say? Ha! Let men birth *one* baby, then talk. Claims work’s gruelling, yet bolts there like it’s a party. Ellen… is he cheating? Tell me.”
“Stop it. Stan *does* work hard. He loves you.”
Georgina had another boy—and wept.
“Now he wants a *girl*. What if it’s another boy? A factory till I die?” she ranted when Ellen visited.
Her mother helped sporadically; her mother-in-law took the eldest only on weekends.
With two kids, Georgina spun like a hamster in a wheel. Ellen gave her space, finally marrying Stan’s friend, longing for a baby. But none came.
Tests revealed the crushing truth: Ellen could never conceive.
She sought second opinions—same verdict. Others might crumble, but Ellen wept, then forged on, burying herself in work. Her husband refused adoption—then she learned he’d strayed.
She let him go calmly—she’d married for convention, not passion.
Meanwhile, Georgina’s family moved to a lavish home in Chelsea. Stan invited Ellen over.
Proudly, Georgina showed off her garden, her handiwork. Work talk vanished—her retired mother now lived with them, whisking the boys to Surrey summers.
Ellen fought envy, but tears welled seeing the nursery’s cloud-papered walls, framed photos of beaming boys. She’d never know a child’s embrace, hear “*Mum*.”
“You’re lucky, Georgie,” slipped out.
“Lucky? Stan only wants a brood. Always abroad for his Swedish venture. I’m *lonely*. Hence the flowers.” She sighed. “I’m pregnant again.”
“That’s *wonderful*!” Ellen forced cheer.
“*Wonderful*? No rest between nappies! Gained weight after the second—what post-third? Stan’ll leave if I’m fat. No. Sweden trip—I’ll abort.”
“You say that so coldly. If Stan finds out?”
“He *won’t*. Don’t you dare tell him.”
Ellen paused. “When’s he leaving?”
“Two weeks. Why?”
“Don’t abort. *Birth for me*. You know I can’t. How far along?”
“Ten weeks.” Georgina frowned.
“Ten… Listen—what if we summer in Manchester? Stan won’t return for months. By then, I’ll think of a reason you stay. I’ll take the baby. After all I’ve done—help *me*.”
“Are you *mad*? Stan’ll sniff it out!”
“But he doesn’t *know* you’re pregnant.”
“No! You’re asking me to *give away my child*?”
“You *were* going to *kill* it. Just *try*.”
“*Never*.”
Yet Stan urged her to go: “Perfect! Your mum needs a break, and Ellen’s mum’ll dote on the boys.”
Ellen rejoiced—she’d have a child! If only Georgie didn’t back out for a girl… She took leave, citing her mother’s illness.
Her mother disapproved but hadn’t seen Ellen so happy. Georgina’s pregnancy was smooth—her plumpness hid the bump. The boys reveled in country freedom.
One day, her mother headed berry-picking. Georgina tagged along.
“In your state? What if something happens?”
“Third baby—I *know* I’m fine.”
They went. Georgina picked berries, then lounged on a log, playing with the boys. That night, contractions hit. The ambulance barely made it—she delivered a fragile premature girl.
“Why *keep* her? What if she’s sick?” Georgina said, signing away rights.
Unconcerned, she binded her breasts, gleeful to return to London. Ellen visited the baby daily.
Georgina left with the boys—too young to grasp “Mum’s in hospital for food poisoning.”
The girl survived, though sickly. But Ellen was *happy*—her light, her purpose. *Sylvie*. She quit her job, moved to Manchester, devoted herself to her. Georgina never called, eager to forget.
***
Fifteen years later
Under a sprawling oak at a modest cottage, tea steamed in a pot. Ellen bustled as a burly, balding man sipped, chatting. A delicate teen girl in a floral dress fidgeted, bored.
Peering through the fence, Georgina studied the girl’s face hungrily, then shoved the gate open. Ellen startled, recognising her.
“How’d you find us? Come, sit. My uni friend…” She babbled introductions, masking panic.
Georgina’s eyes locked on Sylvie.
“Mum, can I go to Maggie’s?”
“Go.” Ellen was glad to send her away.
“Time to catch up?” the husband asked tactfully, excusing himself.
“Why are you here?” Ellen hissed.
“I came for my daughter,” Georgina whispered, her voice breaking, and in that moment, the weight of fifteen years of secrets and sacrifices hung heavy between them, forever altering their fragile peace.
