Alright, so picture this—it’s early morning in the maternity ward, and in walks this lovely obstetrician, Dr. Bennett. She’s got her crisp white coat on, her hair neatly tucked under that little cap, looking every bit the part of the perfect doctor.
She heads straight to the bed nearest the door where this young mum’s lying, facing the wall like she’s trying to disappear.
“Emily,” Dr. Bennett says, firm but kind. “I know you’re not asleep. Turn onto your back—I need to check your stomach.”
Emily hesitates but finally rolls over. Dr. Bennett lifts the hospital gown, gives her belly a quick once-over, then tucks her back in. “All good. They’ll bring your son in soon for his first feed—ready?”
The girl’s eyes go wide with panic. “I don’t want to see him,” she blurts out.
Dr. Bennett frowns. “Why on earth not?”
“Please,” Emily whispers, pleading. “Don’t bring him to me.”
The doctor’s quiet for a second, then sighs. “Alright. I’ll finish my rounds, and then we’ll talk. Think it over.” She moves to the next bed—where Kate’s lying, watching everything.
“How’re you doing?” Dr. Bennett asks, checking her chart. “Second baby, right? Ready for feeding time?”
“Absolutely,” Kate says quickly.
The doctor gives her a long look, like she wants to say more, but then just nods and leaves.
The second the door shuts, Kate sits up. “What’s your name?” Silence. “We delivered around the same time last night—you were just before me. Look, I don’t mean to pry, but… why don’t you want to see your baby?”
Still nothing.
“My son’s five now,” Kate goes on, almost to herself. Then suddenly— “Was it the dad? Did he leave when he found out? Too late for… you know?” She hesitates. “Listen, if you’re scared you can’t do it alone—people say if God gives you a child, He’ll provide. You’ll see.”
Emily stays stiff as a board.
“If you give him up,” Kate presses gently, “he’ll go straight to foster care. He’ll never know your warmth, your smell. Strangers will raise him. He’ll call some woman ‘Mum’ one day, never knowing it’s not you. And when he’s older—children’s home. He’ll spend his life wondering where you are. You think you’ll forget him? You won’t. One day, you’ll regret this.”
“Mind your own business!” Emily snaps, voice shaking. “You don’t know anything about me!”
“You’re right,” Kate admits. “But no one gives up a baby lightly. Not after labour, not after hearing them cry.” She pauses. “And honestly? Good riddance to the dad. If he walked out, he was never going to love that boy anyway. You can still be a single mum *with* a husband—trust me.”
She takes a breath. “My ex and I married at uni. Sat my final exams eight months pregnant, stressed out of my mind, went into early labour. Thought I’d done the ‘right thing’—men *want* sons, don’t they? But fatherhood? Never clicked for him. And me? Clueless. We got home from hospital, and I expected this beautiful nursery, a shiny pram—instead, my mother-in-law dug out my niece’s old cot and hand-me-downs. The pram was secondhand, paint chipped. ‘No money,’ he said.”
Kate shakes her head. “Broke my heart, dressing my boy in faded pink vests and threadbare trousers. Later, when he *did* earn well? Still hand-me-downs from cousins. My parents helped, but babies outgrow everything in weeks. And every time I complained? ‘Get a job if you want designer baby clothes.’ Like our son was *my* hobby, not his child.”
She pulls a face. “Housework? Impossible. Baby cries, you drop everything. Gained weight, couldn’t fit my jeans. He’d moan about money, then took out a loan for a flashy car *the second* I went back to work. Meanwhile, I’m squeezing into pre-pregnancy skirts, mortified. Other mums got diamond rings from their husbands—I couldn’t even afford a dress.”
A bitter laugh. “Then I found out about the affair. ‘Look at you,’ he’d say, like I’d let myself go. So I left. Took my son to my parents’. He half-heartedly begged us back, then moved his girlfriend into our flat *the next day*. Thought I’d die from the hurt.”
She shrugs. “Divorce dragged on. He swore he’d pay more than court-ordered child support—*liar*. Later, I met someone older. Kind. Took ages to trust again, but… we got there. Married two years later. He adores my boy. Wanted kids of his own—his ex hadn’t. When I got pregnant? He was over the moon.”
Her voice hardens. “Ex-husband suddenly demanded shared custody. Threatened court. Then I got put on bed rest—had to let my son stay with him. Every phone call? ‘Daddy bought me Lego! We went to the zoo!’ I relaxed. Big mistake.”
“Because?” Emily whispers, finally turning.
“Because when I asked for him back, my ex *couldn’t wait* to return him. ‘Too expensive,’ he said. New clothes, toys, treats—all on *his* mum’s dime. Turns out, he’d barely seen him.” Kate smiles. “But my boy? Clung to me like a limpet. My husband cried, seeing us reunited.”
She reaches out. “First marriages? Often messy. We rush. Pick for love, not father material. But you? You’re young, pretty—you’ll manage. I’ve got boxes of baby clothes. Mum’ll help. And that milk? Free.”
Emily’s crying now. “Mum *told* me to leave him here.”
Kate snorts. “She’ll melt the second she holds him. You’ll see.”
Just then, a midwife walks in with a tiny bundle. “Here’s your daughter,” she tells Kate, who cradles the baby, tearful.
“And… my son?” Emily asks softly.
The midwife beams. “Coming right up.”
Kate grins. “I’m Kate. You’re Emily, yeah? I’ll help. Promise.”
Ten minutes later, Emily’s holding her baby—greedily feeding, tiny fingers curled around hers. They’re discharged together. Emily’s mum collects her; Kate’s met by her parents, husband, and son. They swap numbers.
After that? Park trips with prams. Birthdays together. Emily’s boyfriend comes back—they marry.
And Kate? Just glad Emily didn’t throw away the chance to be a mum.
“Marriage is a lottery,” she’d say later. “You never know what kind of dad you’re getting. Takes years to really know someone—sometimes a lifetime.”
But every kid? Deserves love. From *both* parents.
