Now my daughter is 38, with no family or husband, but she longs for a child: Time cannot be undone, yet life can be cherished in the present.
Last month, my daughter and I attended my niece’s wedding at a cosy restaurant in Manchester. The celebration was splendid—every detail perfected, the bride radiant with joy, and the guests immersed in an air of love. Afterward, my daughter, Emily, stayed the night at my place, as we live in different towns. In the morning, I found her by the window, staring blankly, tears streaming down her cheeks. My girl was crying, and my heart ached.
I rushed to her side. “Emily, love, what’s wrong? Yesterday was lovely!” She lifted her sorrow-filled eyes and whispered, “Yes, the wedding was beautiful. I never had one like that. And now I never will. When I married, there was no dress, no celebration…” Her voice trembled, and suddenly I remembered the day she wed. It hit me like a punch to the gut.
Ten years ago, I begged her to have a proper wedding. I wanted my only daughter to shine in a white gown, with styled hair, polished nails, and a professional touch of makeup. I was ready to pay for everything—the banquet, the photographer. “Emily, this is your day!” I urged. But she brushed me off, calling weddings outdated. I was horrified when she turned up at the registry office in jeans and a T-shirt. No flowers, no smiles—just a signature, and it was over. Her marriage was as cold as a November drizzle.
That was Emily through and through. At school, when classmates fretted over prom dresses and suits, she collected her diploma in shorts and left without a second glance. No dances, no memories. Her marriage was just as hollow. Children were out of the question, though her husband, James, dreamed of a family. Such things are usually settled before vows, but Emily, young and ambitious, insisted kids could wait. She wanted to live for herself, climb the career ladder, relish her freedom. Four years in, James had enough—he left, longing to be a father.
They divorced. James soon remarried, and now he has three children, while Emily remains alone. She dates but always says, “I don’t need anyone.” Yet I see the loneliness in her eyes. She was always fiercely independent, but now that independence feels empty. Sitting by my window, she confessed, “Mum, I regret not having a child. I’m 38, and I have nothing.” Her words shattered me.
Now Emily dreams of a baby. She says when I’m gone, she’ll have someone to live for. But I worry for her. A child is a tremendous responsibility, and Emily barely makes ends meet. She works herself ragged, yet money’s always tight. I can’t help her financially, and it breaks my heart. I hold her, comfort her, but her eyes hold a sadness too deep to name. She’s missed so much—the wedding, the family, the warmth of shared memories. And now that emptiness suffocates her.
Yet I still believe there’s hope for Emily. At 38, life isn’t over. If she chooses, she could find love, marry, have a child. The key is not to dwell on regrets. Time lost won’t return, but what remains can be treasured. I pray my girl finds happiness, that her eyes sparkle again. For now, though, I see only her tears, and it tears me apart.
