Emily lay curled up on the sofa, clutching her lower abdomen. Everything ached, throbbed, and reminded her of what awaited her. The same thing every time: sharp pain, then bleeding, an ambulance ride, the hospital, and the hollow emptiness inside. It was a miscarriageno doubt about it. Her third in two years, preceded by a stillbirth and, before that, an abortion. That abortion, the one she was still paying for with her inability to become a mother.
She reached for her phone and dialled emergency services. Half an hour later, she was being loaded into the ambulance while calling Andrew to let him know she wouldnt be home for dinner.
“Again?” he asked. Emily didnt even answer. Tears streamed down her cheekstears of despair and self-loathing. How many times could this happen? Why was it always the same? Did she even know the reason? If only she hadnt gone through with that back-alley procedure years ago, everything might have been different. She and Andrew could have had a five-year-old by now. But there was no child, and now, it seemed, there never would be.
“It hurts so much,” she gasped. The doctor adjusted her IV and gave her a detached glance.
Two days in the hospital dragged interminably. Then came the discharge, Andrew waiting with a bouquet of rosesthe same script playing out yet again.
“You look so pale,” he said. Emily forced a weak smile. There was nothing to celebrate. She couldnt give her husband a child, and that truth weighed heavily on her.
On the drive home, she fidgeted with the bouquet before turning to Andrew. “I dont want to try anymore. I cant give you a baby.”
“Dont say thatitll happen,” he said, trying to encourage her, but she only scoffed.
“Do you even believe that? Five years wasted. Im nearly thirty, youre almost thirty-five. Enough. Im done playing at being a mum. The doctors say theres no chancemaybe its time to listen.”
“Em, well have children,” Andrew insisted. “Remember what Dr. Harrison said? Theres still hope if we follow his advice.”
“And where is your precious Dr. Harrison now?” Emily snapped. “Gone. His advice vanished with him. Enough, Andrew. I wont torture youor myselfany longer.”
“What are you saying?” He frowned, keeping his eyes on the road.
Emily took a deep breath and turned away. “Lets split up. Find someone who can give you a child. You deserve that. I dont deserve your patience or kindness. Im empty. Life wont stay inside meIm useless.”
Her voice cracked. Andrew took her hand, pressed it to his lips. “Stop talking nonsense. Well manage. People live without childrenso can we. Happiness isnt about kids.”
“Its about how many you have,” she whispered through tears. “Enough, Andrew. Dont let me rob you of fatherhood.”
“Dont let you rob me of *us*,” he interrupted.
That was Andrewhopelessly in love with his wife, enduring her moods, willing to endure anything as long as she stayed. Hed fought for her, swept aside rivals, and when she finally became his wife, he decided nothing else was needed for happiness. Except, perhaps, a little bundle of joybut fate refused to grant them that.
Andrew knew Emilys past. Knew shed been married off by her tyrannical father to an older man, knew about the botched abortion that had left her like this. None of it could be undone. Emily had long since cut ties with her father, barely even knew her younger sister anymore.
“I wouldnt be surprised if Dad forces her into some sham marriage for his own gain too.”
Her sister, Sophie, was twenty-twobeautiful, sharp, just like Emily, but more willing to bend to their fathers will. Hed raised them alone, barring his ex-wives from any involvement. He controlled his daughters like puppets, pulling strings, making decisions for them.
Emily had escaped at twenty-four, met Andrew, and severed all ties. Her father forbade contact with Sophie, so when Sophie showed up on their doorstep one evening, Emily was stunned.
“Whats happened?” Emily asked immediately, only then noticing the swell of Sophies belly.
“I ran away from Dad,” Sophie sobbed, collapsing into Emilys arms. It had been barely a week since Emilys hospital discharge, and now this.
“What did he want?”
“Hehe wanted me to get rid of it.”
“Oh my God, youre pregnant!” Emily gasped, finally taking in her sisters state. “Whose is it?”
“It doesnt matter. It was love. Hes marrieddoesnt want the baby. Dad said either I end it, or hed drag me to a clinic himself.”
Emily cried with her sister. Sophie seemed so fragile, so helpless. They hadnt seen each other in five years, and Sophie had blossomedbut her dependence on their father ruined everything. Emily was sure Sophie would cave and return home within days. She couldnt let that happen.
Andrew took Sophies sudden arrival in stride. He never opposed Emilys decisionsloved her too much to argue. And Emily never abused that trust.
Sure enough, after a week, Sophie grew restless. “I cant keep upsetting Dad like this.”
“Youre not going back!” Emily grabbed her wrists. “Do you want him to hurt youor the baby? If not for yourself, think of your son!”
“Its too late for an abortion now,” Sophie said firmly. “No doctor would touch me at twenty-one weeks.”
“But he could force an early labour!” Emily shot back. “You wouldnt even know. Hed slip something into your tea, and youd go into labour. Do you have any idea what thats like? No, you dont! But I do!”
Her tears and fury convinced Sophie to stay, though guilt over their father gnawed at her.
Sophie gave birth in Julyand immediately prepared to leave. Emily snatched the baby, holding him close.
“I wont let you take him back to that monster! Do you want Dad to turn him into another tyrant? If you go, finebut Oliver stays with me.”
Sophie shrugged. “Fine. Dad only wanted me backwithout the baby. Youre dead to him anyway. Take the screaming brat.”
Emily knew it was post-natal depression. In a month, maybe more, Sophie would return for her son. But holding little Oliver, breathing in his scent, listening to his coosit filled her with impossible joy.
“You know shell come back for him,” Andrew said gently. “Sooner or later, Sophie will want her son.”
“I know,” Emily said, her heart breaking. On paper, three-month-old Oliver wasnt hersand there was no guarantee his father wouldnt claim him.
Then the call came. Her father screamed threats down the phone: “If you dont return my grandson, Ill tear you and your pathetic husband apart!”
Emilys blood ran cold. She braced for his arrival, even considered fleeing with Oliver. Without Andrews steady presence, she might have. But the confrontation never happened.
Instead, tragedy struck. Sophie and their father died in a car crash. Oliver stayed with Emily, and she began the long process of adopting him. No one else contested itfinally, she had a child. Her last chance. Andrew didnt object. They both knew there were no other options.
The paperwork dragged on. Emily ran between agencies, securing Olivers future. She grieved Sophie, even felt a pang for her fatherbut now she had a son. Her son. He was already hers in every way that mattered, looking so much like Sophie.
Amid the chaos, she forgot her gynaecologist appointment. The doctor scolded her, then paused. “Waitany chance youve missed a period?”
Emily shrugged. “Stress, probably.”
“Stress? Have you taken a test?”
She hadnt.
“Get an ultrasound. Now.”
It was the pregnancy shed longed forand already twelve weeks along.
“Youve never made it this far,” the doctor said. “Thats a good sign. You need bed rest.”
“I cant! I have a baby at home.”
“You have one inside you too. Let your husband handle Oliver while you focus on this one. Look at the screena healthy baby. They deserve their chance.”
Emily agreed. Two months later, she left the hospital, pregnancy intact, hope renewed. Andrew waited outside as usualthis time with a pram. Oliver squealed at the sight of her. She smiled, touched her belly, hugged her husband, then her son. Inside her, their daughter stirreddue in a few months. Her last chance. Her happy ending.
