Emily handed a bottle of water to David. She took it with trembling hands and stepped out of the car. He slid into the drivers seat, turned the key, and sped away, leaving her alone on the edge of the woods.
Emily splashed her face, brushed her tangled hair, smoothed her coat and, with hesitant steps, walked toward the town.
She had come from a remote village in the West Midlands to study veterinary science. Now in her final year at a college in Birmingham, her grades showed she took her future seriously. She wanted a profession that would pull her out of her parents poverty and alcoholism, while keeping her close to the animals she loved.
That evening some classmates invited her to a party thrown by a wealthy student. At first she declined, but eventually thought a little fun might help. The host gathered a large crowd, loud music blaredsomething Emily never liked. She spent most of the night on the balcony with a glass of juice, watching the lake below.
David suggested a night drive around the city to escape the noisy crowd. Emily agreed, only to realise quickly it was a mistake. He drove her out of town, forced her into the back seat
Flashes of that ride haunted her, every muscle ached. She could not remember how she got back to the dormitory. Once inside her room, she collapsed onto the bed, sobbed into her pillow for hours, then slipped into a deep, uneasy sleep.
She missed several days of lectures, wondering what to do. Call the police? No one had forced her into the car; she had, naïvely, gone with a stranger at night. Seek comfort from her mother? Her parents were forever drunk, scrambling for the next bottle of whisky. Emily was left alone with pain and shame.
Months passed and she almost recovered. She attended classes, chatted with flatmates, and tried not to think of that night. She almost succeeded.
One morning she woke with nausea and rushed to the bathroom, dismissing it as a bad fastfood meal. The episode repeated, again and again. At seventeen she finally understood: she was pregnant.
I dont want this child. Not because of him, but because every second will remind me of what happened, she thought, torn between fear and revulsion.
The only thing she wanted was to be rid of the baby, so she went to the clinic that same day.
Sweetheart, the procedure is simple, the doctor said, but you must know I wont get involved with the courts. Youre underage and without parental or police consent nothing will happen.
Alright, Ill come back with my mother tomorrow, Emily replied.
She left the room knowing her mother, even sober, would never accompany her. She was seven months from adulthood and six months from the expected delivery, so she resigned herself to carrying the child.
Ill wait, she whispered. I dont need him. Ill give birth and be free.
Days turned into months. Emily finished her studies, pleased that her belly was barely noticeable even in the fifth month. She found a job as a veterinary assistant and rented a modest flat on the outskirts of Leeds. The work grew increasingly demanding.
One morning, before work, a sharp pain gripped her abdomen and her lower back tore.
It cant be its too early, she thought, but the baby was ready.
In a matter of hours she was holding a tiny boy who whimpered briefly before falling asleep, as if every sound irritated his mother.
Even as a vet, she managed the delivery herself, refusing to call an ambulance. She lay on the bed, the infant swaddled beside her, trying in vain to feed or hold him again.
She woke in the dead of night to find the baby still sleeping peacefully under a soft blanket.
Im sorry, she whispered, looking at him, I cant.
She removed the crucifix her grandmother had given her, a charm said to protect its wearer. Take it, maybe itll keep you safe, she said, fastening it on the childs chest.
Feeling disgusted but unwilling to retreat, she bundled the baby tighter, took a shopping trolley, placed him inside, and left the supermarket without looking back.
She packed a bag, went to the train station, and within an hour was on a carriage heading to an unknown destination. Her goal was simple: escape the places that reminded her of the past and start anew.
Ten years later Emily had achieved almost everything she dreamed of. She had been married for six years and owned a successful veterinary practice. Yet one problem lingered: no matter how many treatments she tried, she could not give her husband, James, the child he longed for.
This is karma, she thought, a punishment for my past mistakes.
One evening she returned home to find James sitting at the kitchen table, his face grim.
James, whats wrong? she asked.
Its I should have told you earlier. Its not how I wanted it, but theres another woman.
Another woman? Emily whispered, sinking into a chair.
Its not just that, James said, voice shaking. Im leaving her. Shes pregnant.
Emily stared at him, feeling the old wounds reopen. Well, go then. Youre always so proper, she replied, silently thinking she deserved this.
As James gathered his things, Emily thought of fate rewarding her for the choice shed made years agorefusing to become a mother in the way she never wanted. The man she loved had abandoned her, leaving her with a pain that felt both fresh and familiar.
She heard the door close behind him. The clinics receptionist called out, Emily Thompson, you have a nineoclock appointment today.
Yes, thank you, Marissa, she replied, slipping into a fresh coat.
A few minutes later she entered a bright examination room where a man held a cat, a young boy petted the frightened animal.
Timmy, well look after you, okay? the boy said.
Mr. Harris, Im Dr. Emily, she introduced herself, taking the cat from his hands.
The cats been with our family for ages. My late wife rescued him from the street, and ever since shes gone, I cant leave his side. Hes been lethargic for two days, hardly moving or playing. Hes old, but please help him.
Emily began her assessment when the cat bolted, racing around the room, then dashing under the table and hissing as she approached.
Let me try, the boy offered, slipping under the table and hugging the cat.
In that moment a silver crucifix fell from under the boys shirtthe very one Emily had once given to her son.
Look! Timmys fine now, the boy exclaimed.
Emily listened to the conversation, a single thought looping in her mind: This cant be happening.
Mr. Harris, where did Timmy get that crucifix? she asked.
Excuse me? he replied, puzzled.
She found herself recounting the whole story of the night she was taken, her abusive parents, the unwanted pregnancy, and the baby she abandoned. She said everything, not holding back a word.
Mr. Harris sat silently, his eyes fixed on her. After she finished, a heavy silence settled for ten minutes.
We were married for six years, but never had children, he began. Doctors told my late wife there was no hope. We adopted a boy from a childrens homeGregory, three years old, bright and cheerful. He became our son. When my wife died, we never told him he was adopted. Hes my son, but now he might also be yours.
Emily felt tears well up. I never wanted him, but I cant keep running, she whispered.
She wrapped the boy tighter in his blanket and headed for the nearest supermarket. She placed him in a trolley and walked away, never looking back.
She returned home, gathered her belongings, and boarded a train that whisked her toward an uncertain future. She hoped a new place would finally silence the nightmare that had haunted her for a decade.
Now, years later, Emily understood that running from pain only delayed healing. She learned that confronting the past, no matter how ugly, was the only way to truly move forward. In accepting what she could not change and caring for those who needed her, she discovered that compassionfor oneself and for otherswas the greatest remedy of all.
