“We can manage two, and we’ll manage a third. I’ll take on extra work. Or do you want to get rid of the baby?” her husband asked bluntly.
Emma had felt exhausted for days. There was so much to do, yet all she wanted was to sit—or better yet, lie down—and not move. The thought of food turned her stomach. A pregnancy test confirmed what she already suspected.
She’d only just returned to work two years ago, barely recovered from the endless nappies and baby clothes, and now this… She was upset. Oliver would be five soon, and little Charlotte had just started Year 3. They still needed her attention, but soon she’d be consumed with a newborn. Would they understand? Would they resent a new sibling?
*Of course, a baby is a blessing. Where God sends children, He sends bread.* What else did people say in these situations? But times were uncertain—had they ever been easy? Women had babies even during wars. What would she tell her boss? That she’d soon be on maternity leave again, taking endless sick days after?
And with three children, could she even keep working? They’d have to live on Daniel’s salary alone… The doubt gnawed at her, so she delayed telling him. There was still time to think.
Just last week, her manager had asked if anyone planned to go on leave—or quit. Understandable, given most of the team were women. Emma had assured him, like the others, that she was done—a boy and a girl, no more babies. And now this.
*Why am I obsessing over work? Family comes first—career be damned.* But the days passed, and Emma still wavered, torn between fear and hope.
“You’re not ill, are you? You’re pale, and you keep drifting off. I’ve asked three times what we should get Oliver and Charlotte for their birthdays—are you even listening? Or is something wrong?” Daniel asked one evening after dinner.
Then it all spilled out. Daniel was silent for a long moment before asking, “What are we going to do?”
Not *what are you going to do?* **We.** That was why she loved him. He wouldn’t leave her alone with this weight. Shame prickled her—she’d tried to shoulder it herself. The relief was instant, like dropping a burden. She confessed her fears.
“We can manage two, and we’ll manage three,” he said firmly.
“But I’ll be on leave. We’ll rely on your salary. Who knows when—or if—I’ll go back to work. There’s child benefit, but—”
“We’ll manage. I’ll pick up extra shifts. Or… do you want to terminate?” he asked directly.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “You’ll be working nonstop. I’ll be buried under nappies. Life will just… disappear.”
“Life disappears just as fast with two. Look, we’ve got time. Let’s not rush.”
She nodded, but the doubts lingered.
“How will we all fit in this tiny flat?” She glanced around the cramped two-bedroom they’d inherited from Daniel’s gran.
“I’ll talk to Mum and Dad. We could swap—their place has three bedrooms. Dad offered when we were expecting Charlotte.”
Emma frowned but stayed silent. As she’d feared, her mother-in-law balked.
“She’s trapping you—getting pregnant just to take our home. You spoil her rotten,” the older woman snapped.
“It was *my* idea, Mum. Emma had nothing to do with it.”
“So you’d toss us out in our old age? After all we’ve done? Selfish, the lot of you!” She clutched her chest dramatically.
Daniel sighed. “Fine. We’ll figure something else out.”
“Oh, *they’ll* figure it out. Or maybe Emma should just get rid of it. Two’s enough these days. Better for everyone.”
Daniel stiffened. “Right. Got it.”
When he returned, his face told Emma everything. They avoided the subject after that. Some days, she warmed to the idea of another child. Others, she panicked—imagining sleepless nights, endless chores, stretched too thin.
The deadline for a termination loomed, but she still couldn’t decide. Then she dreamed of a little girl, five years old, skipping through the flat with a woven basket like Red Riding Hood’s.
“What’s inside?” Emma asked.
The girl peered in, then looked up—eyes wide with sorrow. The basket was empty.
At first, Emma was thrilled—a daughter! But the empty basket haunted her.
“Made up your mind?” Daniel asked one night.
“I… I don’t know.” She told him about the dream.
“It’s just a dream. If it’s a girl, she’ll be your little helper.”
*He’s so good,* she thought. *I’ll keep the baby. With him, I can do this.* She curled into his arms.
Another moment sealed it. At a friend’s birthday party—a lavish home, the hostess stunning enough for a magazine cover—Emma scolded the children for being loud.
“Let them play,” their childless friend said wistfully. “If I could, I’d have as many as God gave me.”
“You could try IVF?” Emma offered.
“We did. I’d adopt tomorrow, but my husband still hopes…” Her voice trailed off.
That night, Emma decided. She’d keep the baby.
Then her mother-in-law arrived unannounced. “So? Did you get rid of it?”
“Too late,” Emma lied, though the cutoff hadn’t passed.
“Of course. Two wasn’t enough? Couldn’t be bothered with contraception? Daniel’s working himself to the bone—look at him! Meanwhile, you’re—” Her gaze raked over Emma’s swelling waist. “Breeding more poverty?”
“You had *one* child, yet you act like you birthed the entire premiership,” Emma shot back.
The older woman gasped. “Your wife insults me, and you say nothing?”
“You insulted her first. This is *our* choice. Our family.”
“Fine! Don’t come crying to me when you’re drowning!” The door slammed behind her.
As if she’d ever helped.
Daniel squeezed Emma’s hand. “Ignore her.”
But the words festered.
Decision made, Emma booked a midwife appointment. Summer faded, leaves turning gold under grey skies. She walked, dreaming of spring—of picnics, baby giggles, sunlit days.
Then—a blur. Teenagers blocking the pavement. A shout. The electric scooter hit her from behind.
She didn’t see the rider flee, tearing off down an alley, ditching the scooter, snapping his SIM card.
When Daniel reached the hospital, she was still groggy from surgery.
“We couldn’t save the baby,” the doctor said gently.
Emma choked back tears. “God’s punishing me. I hesitated… I didn’t want it at first.”
“Don’t,” Daniel whispered. “These things happen. That idiot on the scooter—he’ll never be caught. Maybe this’ll finally get those death traps banned.”
She buried her face in his chest.
But at night, in the sterile hospital bed, she remembered the dream—the little girl’s sorrowful eyes. The empty basket. She knew now what it meant. She’d known all along.
Autumn leaves crunched underfoot when she was discharged. She inhaled the crisp air, eyes lifting to the overcast sky—pleading for forgiveness.
After that, every electric scooter sent her heart racing. Headaches plagued her, a cruel reminder of the child she’d feared… then mourned.
That’s how humans are. We dread, we waver, we stall—until the choice is taken from us. Then we grieve what we almost didn’t want.
Maybe the universe heard her doubts. Maybe it decided for her.
