—
“You don’t regret it, do you?” asked Oliver, holding Emily close to his chest.
“No. Do you?” Emily lifted her head to meet his gaze.
“I’m happy. When you first walked into mine and Sophie’s life, I just knew it was fate. Everything that happened before you led me right here.”
Emily pressed a finger to his lips.
“Don’t dwell on the past. Everything’s going to be fine now…”
—
A year earlier
Emily spread a festive tablecloth over the dining table, then brought out plates, cutlery, and two champagne flutes from the kitchen.
“Are you sure staying in was the right call? It would’ve been more fun with friends. We could still pop round to James’s,” said Daniel as she returned to the kitchen.
“I’m sure. Take these out.” She handed him a plate of sliced ham and cheese, then a salad bowl. “We’ll see everyone tomorrow. Three years together, and we’ve never celebrated New Year’s just the two of us. How you ring it in sets the tone for the year.”
“So, you’re trying to programme us for a whole year of just us, then?” Daniel smirked, lingering in the doorway.
“Wouldn’t that be nice? Shame it won’t happen,” Emily sighed.
“Fine, let’s give it a go.” He gave in, carrying the plates out.
Emily fetched a bottle of champagne from the fridge, another salad, and followed.
“Well? Looks nice, doesn’t it?” Daniel gestured to the table. “Can we say goodbye to the old year now? I’m starving.”
“Not yet. Give me five minutes. I need to change into my new dress and freshen up.” She headed for the bedroom.
“Why bother with a new dress if it’s just us?” he muttered, snagging a slice of ham.
“Because it’s a special night!” she called back.
*Bloody artistic types and their dramatics*, Daniel thought, grabbing another slice.
Soon, Emily reappeared in a cobalt-blue dress, her loose curls framing her shoulders. Daniel nodded approvingly as she spun playfully on her heels, the skirt flaring before settling around her legs.
“Now we can sit down and send off the old year,” she said brightly, glancing at the clock.
“Christ, we’ll never finish all this. Should we call Matt? He’s home with his mum,” Daniel suggested, sitting opposite her.
“We’ll ring him tomorrow. Open the champagne.” Emily beamed.
*She’s acting odd today*, Daniel thought, working the cork loose.
“You seem…” He hesitated, searching for the word. “Excited.”
“A bit. Wait and see.” The news burned inside her, but she’d announce it after Big Ben’s chime—properly, dramatically. When else to share joy but New Year’s?
They drank, nibbled at the food. Daniel leaned back, full, as some forgettable film played on the telly.
“You’ve barely touched yours,” he noticed, eyeing her nearly full glass.
“It’ll make me sleepy. I want to watch the countdown.”
“I’m going out for a smoke.” He stepped onto the balcony.
Fat snowflakes drifted down; windows glowed with fairy lights. Down the street, someone set off fireworks early—cheers echoed, but the view was blocked by the next house.
“Oi, come inside—the PM’s about to give his speech,” Emily called through the cracked door.
Daniel took a final drag, flicked the cigarette into the dark, and went in.
The PM droned on. Daniel half-listened, refilling his glass, waiting for midnight. Too many wishes crowded his mind.
“You still haven’t drunk?” He frowned at her untouched flute. “What about your wish?”
“Daniel, I need to tell you something.” She straightened up. “Top yourself up first.”
Once he did, she continued: “This New Year’s… we’re not just two. We’re three now. There’s a little someone with us.”
He stared blankly.
“Don’t you get it? I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby—well, we already are, just a tiny one,” she blurted.
Daniel downed his drink and set the glass down hard.
“Aren’t you happy?” she pressed, patience fraying.
“I am, but—” he dragged out, “we said we’d wait.”
“It’s been three years. I’m twenty-eight. I want this.” Her voice wobbled. “What’s there to wait for? It’s happening.”
“But… you were on the pill.”
“I stopped last month. Usually, it takes longer—but here we are. Isn’t it brilliant?” Her enthusiasm faltered.
“That’s why you didn’t go to James’s with Laura?”
“Yeah. Honestly… I thought you’d propose after this.” Her voice broke. “Guess that’s that, then.” Tears spilled. “You can still make it to James’s.” She bolted for the kitchen.
“Em, I *am* happy—just surprised!” He chased her.
She flung open the balcony door. “Don’t be daft—it’s freezing!” He yanked her back inside.
“Why didn’t you tell me you stopped the pills?”
“Because you’d have talked me out of it again! This isn’t a family, Daniel. It’s just… convenient for you. Go on, then—piss off!” She fled to the bathroom, fireworks booming outside.
“Sorry I’m not the bloke you wanted. I’m not ready—” He pressed his forehead to the door. The shower ran.
Back in the living room, he glared at the table, her full glass. He grabbed it, drank. *Bloody hell. Ruined the night. Fine—I’ll go.* He shoved on his coat and left.
Emily heard the slam and sobbed. Tears stained the blue dress. She cleared the table, changed, and curled up on the sofa, the telly’s glow flickering over her.
Daniel didn’t come back—not that night, not the next day. When her best mate Sarah came round, Emily broke down.
“Men are useless with this stuff. He’ll crawl back. Don’t stress—it’s bad for the baby. Want me to talk to him?”
“No. Just go. I won’t do anything stupid.”
Daniel returned three days later, full of apologies. They barely spoke over the holidays. His phone buzzed constantly.
“Anything you want to say?” Emily finally asked.
“What d’you want to hear? Fine—I’m leaving. You tricked me.”
“Then go.” She turned to the window.
“Thought you’d have come to your senses.”
“Wanting a baby is *mad*, is it?”
“I can’t even talk to you…”
After he left, she cried for a day straight. That night, pain ripped through her. The ambulance came too late.
Back at work—pale, hollow—she taught piano at a local academy. Bright, diligent Sophie had stopped coming in December. Emily assumed she was ill, but by February, she still hadn’t returned.
“Why?” Emily asked the headteacher. “She’s gifted—perfect pitch!”
“Her dad said she’s dropping out.”
Emily got their address, went after work. The frost bit as she crunched through snow. A tall man in his thirties answered.
“I’m Sophie’s piano teacher. Can we talk?” Her lips were numb.
Sophie raced over, hugging her. Over tea, Oliver—her dad—explained:
“Her mum left us. Moved abroad. I’m working double shifts—no time for lessons. She’s on after-school club now. Evenings, we’re both knackered.”
“Let me teach her. I’ll look after her too.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes. She’s got real talent. I’ll pick her up from school—we’ll do homework, then lessons.”
“Why would you…?”
Emily looked down. “Because I’m alone. My bloke left when I told him I was pregnant.”
—
Sophie returned to lessons. Emily rearranged her schedule to fetch her after school, bringing sandwiches or baked treats. Sometimes Oliver called, delayed at work—then they’d wait at Emily’s flat, playing piano or reading.
One evening, Daniel turned up, keys still in hand.
“Who’s this? Private lessons now?”
“Yes. Why are you here? Forgotten something?” Her calm startled him.
“I wanted… Can we talk alone?”
“She’s a kid. Spit it out.”
“I messed up. I hurt you, but you weren’t fair either—not telling me you’d stopped the—” He glanced at Sophie. “I’m sorry. I need you.”
The doorbell rang.
“Expecting someone?” Daniel answered—and Oliver walked in.
Voices rose. Emily rushed over as Daniel rounded on her:
“Fast work. This your new bloke? Kid his? And I fell for the pregnancy crap—”Emily stepped between them, tears in her eyes, and whispered, “No, not his—there is no baby anymore,” before Oliver gently took her hand and led her away, leaving Daniel standing alone in the doorway, his anger dissolving into regret.
