“I won’t let go. I won’t give you up to anyone.”
“May I?” A girl peeked through the slightly open office door.
“Appointments are over for today. We only see patients by prior arrangement.”
The girl’s face seemed vaguely familiar to Dr. Eleanor Whitmore. She had an excellent memory for faces but was certain this young woman had never been her patient before.
“Sorry, but your next available slot isn’t until the end of the month,” the girl said. “New appointments open on Monday for the next two weeks. Or you could see another doctor,” Eleanor suggested wearily.
Her colleagues often resented how many women specifically requested appointments with her.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
And then, Eleanor recognised her…
***
“Hi!” Imogen barged into the office without knocking, leaving a trail of expensive perfume in her wake.
“Imogen, how many times must I remind you to knock? There could’ve been a patient in the chair.”
“There’s no one in the corridor, so you’re free,” her friend replied with an unbothered smile. “Fancy a coffee? There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Say it here. Why do we need a café for this?”
“Seeing that torture chair makes my stomach churn. How do you work here?” Imogen wrinkled her delicate nose.
“Helping children come into the world is hardly unimportant. Fine, I’ll change,” Eleanor said, slipping behind the partition.
“And yet you couldn’t help yourself,” Imogen murmured under her breath.
“That was low, bringing that up,” Eleanor shot back from behind the screen.
“Sorry, Elle. That was thoughtless.”
“Fine. You’re buying coffee and cake.” Eleanor emerged, forcing a smile.
The café next door was usually frequented by clinic staff and patients. Later in the evening, younger crowds filtered in, but it was still early. Most practitioners had already left after their shifts, leaving the place quiet. The two friends took a free table and ordered.
“You wanted to talk,” Eleanor reminded her when the waiter left.
Imogen fumbled in her bag for her phone.
“What’s the hold-up? Spit it out,” Eleanor pressed. “Are you pregnant?”
“Thank God, no. Raising Oli’s daughter is exhausting enough. Was I ever that difficult?”
“Imogen, I’m tired and want to go home.”
The waiter brought their order. Imogen sipped her coffee, then scrolled through her phone before silently passing it to Eleanor.
“Look.”
“James. So?” Eleanor tried handing it back.
“Look closer. Who’s that beside him?” Imogen narrowed her eyes—a nervous habit.
“Some girl. What of it?”
“Keep swiping,” Imogen urged.
Eleanor flicked to the next photo—James helping the girl into her coat. Then… them kissing.
“Recognise the place?” Imogen’s voice lacked triumph, only regret.
Eleanor met her friend’s gaze with sudden sorrow.
“Why show me this?”
“Because you deserve to know. Forewarned is forearmed. James is cheating. I found out by chance—Oli’s mate was celebrating his birthday at that restaurant. I went to the loo and saw him. At first, I thought you’d be with him. Then she appeared. He didn’t even notice me. The way he looked at her…”
Eleanor stood abruptly.
“Elle, I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have.” Imogen jumped up. “Where are you going?”
Eleanor silenced her with a gesture and walked out. Outside, she gulped air, heart hammering. Blind to her surroundings, she only saw that last photo.
Fifteen years of marriage. No children, despite trying. At first, James consoled her, but over time, they avoided the painful subject. She’d seen the joy in his eyes playing with friends’ kids. She knew this would happen eventually. Yet, his betrayal still shattered her.
By the time she reached home, she’d steadied herself. James wasn’t back yet. She sat blankly before the TV, not registering his return.
“You’re home early,” he said, entering.
“It’s nearly nine. Why are *you* late?” Her voice tightened.
“Work ran over—” He loosened his tie.
“With *her*?” She thrust her phone toward him.
James glanced at the screen, fingers freezing on his collar.
“You were spying?” He yanked at his shirt, sending a button flying.
“No. Imogen saw you at the restaurant and sent these.”
“It’s photoshopped. Look, she’s half my age. Imogen’s really outdone herself.” His agitation didn’t escape Eleanor.
“Don’t tell me she seduced you. Be a man and admit it. You want children, and she can give you that. Or has she already?” Eleanor’s voice broke. “Don’t torture us. She must be jealous. Go to her.”
James stepped closer.
“Forgive me. I expected screaming, smashed plates… But you—”
“Leave, or I’ll start breaking things.”
He left. Eleanor grabbed a half-empty brandy bottle, poured a reckless measure, and drank. The liquor burned; her stomach recoiled. Coughing, she gulped water. A second swig dulled the pain.
The next morning, she woke with a pounding head. Work would distract her.
Two days later, James returned.
“I’d rather collect my things with you here. No sneaking around.”
“Fine. Take them. Where are you living with her?” Her calm surprised her.
“A rental.”
“If it’s serious, we could sell this place. It’s too big for me,” Eleanor offered.
“I’ll think about it.”
They spoke casually, as if nothing had changed.
“You look pale—tired,” she noted.
“Yesterday, I drove here out of habit. Only realised at the door—” James clutched his chest, collapsing onto the sofa, face contorted.
“What’s wrong? Your heart?” She dialled emergency services. Busy.
Frantic, she rummaged through the medicine cabinet, found a sedative, and forced it into his mouth. Redialled.
“Forty-three-year-old male, heart attack! Hurry!” She crouched beside him. “James, breathe…”
He died en route. Massive cardiac arrest.
At the cemetery, Eleanor spotted a young woman lingering at a distance in sunglasses.
“This is your fault!” she screamed. “Leave him alone!”
Imogen gripped her arm.
“Quiet. People are staring.”
Eleanor turned—the girl was gone.
“Time,” a groundskeeper said.
“You need to throw earth into the grave,” Imogen whispered.
“I can’t.”
“I’ll do it.” Imogen tossed a handful. Many had come to pay respects. A rain of soil followed.
“It’s over. I’m alone now,” Eleanor murmured as they left.
“Forgive me. This is my fault,” Imogen said.
“Don’t be absurd. He’d have left anyway. No one’s to blame.”
The wake lasted ten minutes before Eleanor excused herself.
“Let me walk you,” Imogen called after her.
“No. Stay for the guests. I need to say goodbye alone. They say… the departed linger at first. I’ll be fine.”
Back at work, she functioned mechanically, pretending James had only left her, not died. The anger faded.
***
“Why are you here? What do you want?” Eleanor demanded.
“I’m not who you’d wish to see.”
“I’d prefer never seeing you again.” She turned to the window.
“Forgive me. James spoke highly of you. Said you were brilliant.”
“James?” Eleanor whirled around. “So that’s it. Here for an abortion? Thought a baby would bind him to you? Now he’s gone, it’s inconvenient?”
“No! It’s too late—I can’t raise her alone. My father’s a drunk; my mother… She’d disown me. I’m still in uni. James paid my rent, but now…” The words spilled out in a panic.
“You want money?” Eleanor scoffed.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Careless, Sophie. At your age, girls know about contraception.”
“I do! But James wanted… He promised…”
“How much?”
“Three months—£2,000. The landlord won’t allow babies. I just need until the birth.”
“Five months? You don’t show. What’s the baby?”
“A girl. James wanted to name her Emily—after his mum.”
“Fine. I’ll give you the money. But see another doctor—Dr. Harriet Langley. Understood?”
“Yes, thank you.” Sophie left.
Imogen stormed in later.
“You’re *actually* giving her money? She’s a con artist!”
But Eleanor had decided. The girl seemed genuine—lost, like so many she’d seen in her clinic.
“She’s from some nowhere town, too ashamed to return. James never promised marriage. *As she watched little Emily reach for her hand with a toothless grin, Eleanor knew she’d finally found the family she’d always longed for.
