A baby at forty-one? Are you mad? Nigel bellowed at Emily. Women your age are already grandmothers! Em, dont be ridiculous. Fine, I get ityou couldnt care less what I think. But have you even thought this through? I dont want to be hobbling around with a walking frame at her wedding! And what if something happens to us while shes still little? Sort this out, or Im leaving!
Emily and Nigel had been married twenty years. Shed wed him fresh out of university, barely more than a girl herself. All this time, shed believed him her rock, her closest ally. Never in a million years did she think hed turn against her.
But lately, the household had been in uproarall because of an unexpected late pregnancy. Nigel was dead set against it.
Em, have you lost the plot? Fancy becoming a mum at your age? Weve three lovely boysOlivers at uni, and Henry and George are finishing Year 8! Isnt that enough? What will the kids even think? That their parents have gone bonkers?
Nigel, Ive always dreamed of a daughter, Emily insisted. If its meant to be, why shouldnt she come into the world?
And if its another boy, do we go for number five? he snapped.
I just know its a girl.
Even the boys werent on her side. When the twins, Henry and George, heard about the new arrival, they flat-out refused to share their room. Oliver, the eldest, wasnt thrilled either.
Mum, arent you scared at your age? What if something goes wrong?
Itll be fine, Emily assured him. Im not *that* old!
This wasnt the first time Nigel had reacted badly. When she was expecting the twins, hed been just as grumpy. Oliver was only three, money was tight, and they were living with Nigels parentsendless rows with her mother-in-law included. But when the scan showed twins, everything changed. Nigels mum helped with the house deposit, Nigel softened, and the twins, against all odds, were peaceful babies. Oliver adored having playmates, giving Emily a much-needed break.
This time, she hoped things would magically sort themselves out.
But by week three, trouble struckmorning sickness hit hard at work. Emily had been a nail technician for over a decade, used to the chemical tang of polishes and oils. Now, just the sight of brightly coloured bottles made her queasy. Pills didnt help, and soon she was too ill to work.
Bedridden, she couldnt even wash up, let alone tidy. Takeaways became the norm, much to Nigel and the boys dismay.
With Emily fired, money was tight. Nigel, a paramedic, started pulling double shifts. His mother muttered about irresponsible parenting, and neighbours whispered behind Emilys back.
At her second-trimester scan, the sombre-faced doctor squinted at the monitor, rattling off numbers to the nurse. Emily lay frozen, barely daring to breathe.
After half an hour, she blurted, Doctorboy or girl?
Female. But theres a complication.
Emilys heart leapt into her throat. Whats wrong?
Try not to panic, but the foetus has a neural tube defecta serious condition. By 23 weeks, it should be closed, but in your daughters case, it isnt. She may have disabilities.
Emily burst into tears. Isnt there *anything* we can do? Medication? Treatment?
The doctor looked away.
Numb, Emily stumbled through the hospital corridors. Time slowed. She drove home in a daze, then sat in the car and sobbed.
Inside, Nigel was microwaving dinner. The boys were out.
*Nows the time.*
I had the scan today, she began. Its a girl. But theres a problem.
Nigel tensed. What kind?
A neural tube defect.
What did Dr. Harrison say?
Nothing helpful. They suggested termination. I refused.
Youre *mental*! Nigel exploded. Do you have any idea what that means? She could be disabledif she even survives! Were going back tomorrow. *Ill* get the referral.
Im *not* going.
Then dont expect my support! I wont watch you sufferor that child! He stormed off, yanked a duffel bag from the wardrobe, and started stuffing clothes inside.
Nigel, *what are you doing*? Emily wailed. Youre *leaving*? Running from this? Shes *your* daughter too!
I wont enable this! I agreed when you decided to keep it, thinking itd be fine. But I *wont* humour you now. Have you even *seen* kids with disabilities? My mum had a son after meborn with a heart defect. He lived six months. I still remember the horror. She never wanted more kids. *I wont do this.* And Im taking the boys.
He slammed the door behind him.
Nigels mother, Margaret, was stunned to find him on her doorstep with a bag. Fallen out with Emily?
Fallen out? Im filing for divorce! Shes refusing to terminatea *disabled* childand my opinion means *nothing*!
Nigel, love, its *her* body, Margaret said gently. Tea?
He slumped into a chair. Mum would you have had Ian if youd known?
Of *course*! I hoped till the end hed pull through. Back then, they couldnt operate. And since when are *your* lot infallible? That Dr. Harrisonhow many mistakes has *he* made?
Nigel suddenly recalled a neighbour last yeartold her baby had a heart defect. Born perfectly healthy. And complaints about Harrison *were* piling up
The next morning, Nigel went to the clinic. The ultrasound room was locked.
Dr. Harrisons not in, a nurse said. Machines broken*again*. Cheap rubbish. Technicians coming.
Doubt gnawed at him. An old colleague worked at a private cliniched take Emily there.
Back home, Emily wasnt expecting him. Get ready, he said curtly. Were going private.
At the clinic, the scan was quick. The doctor frowned at the screen. All normal. No defects. Shes developing perfectly. Fancy hearing her heartbeat?
Nigel burst into tears. Emily asked about the earlier diagnosis.
Neural tubes closed. Shes healthy. Relief flooded them both.
Emily had follow-upsall clear.
Their daughter, Isabelle, arrived perfectly healthy. At the christening, even the doubters cooed over her.
Shes got your eyes, Margaret murmured, cradling her.
Nigel was smitten. Telly later, love, hed say when Emily teased him. Izzy and I have *important* business.
Even the boyswhod sworn theyd *never* babysitdrew up a rota for walks with their sister. Emily trusted them completely.
