**A Creative Soul with a Flair for the Dramatic**
“Don’t you regret it?” asked Max, holding Sophie close.
“No. Do you?” She lifted her head to meet his gaze.
“I’m happy. You know, when you first came home with Lucy, I knew it was fate. Everything before you led me here. After she—”
Sophie pressed a finger to his lips.
“No sad memories. Everything’s good now.”
**One Year Earlier**
Sophie spread a festive tablecloth in the sitting room, then brought out plates, cutlery, and two wine glasses from the kitchen.
“Are you sure we did the right thing staying in? It’d be more fun with friends. We could still pop round to Tom’s,” said Daniel when she returned for another load.
“Positive. Take these.” She handed him a platter of sliced ham and cheese, then a bowl of salad. “We’ll see everyone tomorrow. Three years together, and we’ve never spent New Year’s Eve just us. How you ring it in sets the tone for the year.”
“So you’re programming us for a year of cosy isolation?” Daniel paused in the doorway, balancing the dishes.
“Wouldn’t that be lovely? Shame it’s not realistic.” She sighed.
“Fine, let’s give it a go.” He surrendered and carried the food out.
Sophie fetched a bottle of bubbly from the fridge, then hesitated. “What do you think? Looks nice, doesn’t it?” Daniel had arranged everything just so. “Can we start yet? I’m starving.”
“Five more minutes. I need to change into my new dress.” She whisked off to the bedroom.
“Why bother if it’s just us?” he called after her, snagging a slice of ham.
“Because it’s Christmas!” came her muffled reply.
*Typical Sophie—always turning life into a production*, Daniel grumbled inwardly, helping himself to another bite.
Soon, she reappeared in a sapphire-blue dress, curls tumbling over her shoulders. Daniel gave an approving nod as she did a little twirl, the skirt flaring like a bell before settling around her legs.
“Now we can start,” Sophie beamed, checking the clock.
“Blimey, this spread could feed an army. Should we call Jack? He’s home with his mum.”
“Tomorrow. Pop the champagne.” Her smile was radiant.
*She’s acting odd tonight*, Daniel thought as he untwisted the wire.
“You seem…” He searched for the right word. “Excited?”
“Just wait—you’ll see.” The news bubbled inside her, but she’d save it for midnight. What better time for happy announcements?
They clinked glasses, nibbled on snacks, and half-watched a cheesy telly special. Daniel lounged back, stuffed.
“You’ve barely touched your drink,” he noticed.
“Didn’t want to nod off before the countdown.”
“I’m having a fag.” He stepped onto the balcony.
Snowflakes drifted past glowing windows; distant cheers erupted as someone set off fireworks early. The popping sounded merry, though the view was blocked by next door’s roof.
“Dan! The Prime Minister’s speech is starting!” Sophie called.
He took a final drag and flicked the butt into the dark, watching its ember vanish.
Back inside, the PM droned on. Daniel refilled his glass.
“You still haven’t drunk yours?” He frowned. “How’ll you make a wish?”
“Dan… I’ve got something to tell you.” Sophie sat straighter. “Maybe top up first?” She waited, then plunged in.
“This year, we’re not celebrating as two—we’re three. It’s a proper party now.” Her eyes sparkled.
Daniel blinked.
“Don’t you get it? I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby. Well, we already are—just a tiny one.”
He drained his glass in one go.
“Aren’t you happy?” Sophie’s smile faltered.
“I am, but… we said we’d wait.”
“It’s been three years! I’m twenty-eight. I want this.” Her voice wavered. “Why wait? It’s happening.”
“But… you were on the pill.”
“Stopped last month. Usually it takes longer, but—surprise! Isn’t it brilliant?” Her forced cheer withered.
“So that’s why you skipped Tom and Laura’s?”
“Yeah. Honestly, I thought you’d propose after this.” Her shoulders slumped. “Guess not. You can still go to Tom’s.” She bolted for the kitchen.
“Soph, I didn’t say I wasn’t happy—just shocked!” He chased her.
She yanked the balcony door shut. “Don’t be daft! You’ll freeze!” A tug-of-war ensued; she stumbled into him.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d stopped the pills?”
“Because you’d have talked me out of it again! This isn’t a family, Dan—it’s convenience. Go on, have fun!” She fled to the bathroom.
Fireworks boomed outside.
“Sorry I’m not Mr. Perfect. I’m not ready…” He leaned on the door. Water ran inside.
Back in the sitting room, he eyed Sophie’s full glass, grabbed it, and downed it. *Happy New Year—what a joke. They were fine as two. Why ruin it?* Anger simmered. *Sod this. I’m off.* He grabbed his coat and left.
Sophie heard the slam and sobbed into her dress, staining the blue silk. She cleared the table, changed, and curled up on the sofa as festive telly blared.
Dan didn’t return that night, or the next day. When her mate Emma dropped by and wrung the story out of her, she scoffed:
“Men never want kids—scared stiff of responsibility. He’ll crawl back. Want me to talk sense into him?”
“No. Just go. I won’t do anything daft,” Sophie lied.
Dan turned up three days later, full of excuses. But the frost lingered. By January’s end, they barely spoke. His phone buzzed constantly.
“Anything to say?” Sophie finally asked.
“What d’you want to hear? Fine—I’m leaving. You tricked me.”
“Go on, then.” She turned to the window.
“Thought you’d have got over this.”
“Wanting a baby’s just a phase, is it?”
“Christ, you’re impossible…”
After he left, Sophie cried for a day straight. That night, cramps hit. The ambulance came too late.
At the music academy where she taught, bright and lazy pupils came and went. Talented little Lucy had vanished in December. Sophie assumed illness, but by February, she was still gone. The headmaster shrugged: “Father said she’s withdrawn.”
“Why? She’s gifted! Give me their address—I’ll talk to him.”
Crunching through icy streets, Sophie arrived shivering. A tall man in his thirties opened the door.
“Lucy’s music teacher. May I speak with you?” Her lips were numb.
Lucy raced over, hugging her. Max—her dad—poured tea before explaining, kitchen door shut tight:
“Her mum moved abroad. Left us. I’m swamped with work—no time for lessons. She’s in after-school club now. Evenings, we’re both knackered.”
“I’ll teach her here. Keep an eye on her too.”
“You’re joking.”
“Dead serious. She’s got real talent.”
“Why would you—?”
Sophie looked down. “I… live alone. My bloke left when I told him I was pregnant.”
Lucy returned to lessons. Sophie juggled schedules to fetch her from school, feeding her sandwiches on the go. Sometimes Max called late; Sophie would take Lucy home, where they’d play piano or read till he arrived.
One evening, Dan barged in—forgotten keys in hand.
“Who’s this? Private student?”
“That’s right. Here for your things?” Her calm threw him.
“No, I… Can we talk alone?”
“She’s a child. Speak.”
“I want another shot. I messed up, but you weren’t fair either—” He glanced at Lucy.
The doorbell rang.
“Expecting someone?” Dan stomped off to answer.
Raised voices. Max had arrived. Sophie rushed over.
“Found my replacement quick, didn’t you? Kid’s probably his!” Dan spat.
“There *is* no baby anymore. Get out!”
“You *lied* to trap me? Good luck!” The door shuddered behind him.
“Bad timing. We’ll go,” Max muttered.
“Perfect timing. I almost believed him…” Sophie collapsed into tears.
Emma later confirmed Dan had been shacking up with a mutual friend.
By March, thaw set in. Lessons ended, and Sophie packed up with Lucy—until Max appeared.
“Dad! Are we driving Miss home?” Lucy cheered.
InAs the years passed, their little family grew, laughter filled the house, and Sophie often caught Max smiling at her the same way he had that very first New Year’s Eve.
