UNLIKELY HAPPINESS
“Mum, the only way left for us to have a child is IVF. William and I have made up our minds. There’s no talking us out of it—better get used to the idea,” Emily said in one breath.
“IVF? So, I’m to have a grandchild from a test tube?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from my own daughter.
“Call it whatever you like, Mum. We start the procedures tomorrow. All the tests are done. The doctors warned us—it’ll be a long, unpredictable journey. No guarantees. Just be patient, please,” she sighed deeply.
I couldn’t find the words to respond. I should’ve been comforting her, offering hope, helping—or at the very least, not standing in the way.
We had this conversation over the phone. I understood why Emily couldn’t face me in person—this topic was too loaded.
Her first marriage had been to her childhood sweetheart, Oliver. She’d been head over heels—or so she thought. But right at their wedding reception, after one too many drinks, the groom ended up entangled with the bridesmaid in a storage closet. When Emily found them, Oliver stammered excuses while the bridesmaid snatched up her things, covered herself with a shawl, and bolted, never to be seen again that night.
Emily filed for divorce. William and I begged her not to be hasty:
“Emily, slow down. People do stupid things when they’re drunk. She probably dragged him in there! He’s a good man—forgive him. You’ll regret this later.”
“No, Mum. I won’t regret it. Oliver betrayed me, and it hurts—but I won’t start a marriage with lies and infidelity. At least it happened now, not later.”
Oliver pleaded, apologised, even grovelled—all in vain.
…A few months later, we learned Emily was pregnant with Oliver’s child. She quietly terminated the pregnancy without telling me. If I’d known, I’d have begged her to go back to him.
…Time passed. William—Oliver’s best friend—proposed to Emily. He’d loved her for years but had never dared betray his friend’s trust. Now, with Oliver out of the picture, he saw his chance. Emily hesitated, still wounded and distrustful. It took three years before she finally believed in his sincerity.
“William, is your proposal still open?”
“Of course, Emily! Does that mean you’ll marry me?” He kissed her hand.
She nodded.
Overjoyed, William threw a lavish wedding. Everyone was there—except Oliver. Still, he sent an enormous bouquet of lilies, which Emily promptly handed off to an unmarried friend.
She was twenty-eight then, William thirty-three. Two years into their marriage, and no children in sight.
“So… any plans for heirs, or is it just not happening?” I asked carefully.
“It’s not happening, Mum. I’m worried. William won’t talk about it—I think he blames himself. We’ll wait another year, then…” She looked away.
“Then what? Adoption?”
“Time will tell. We *will* have a child. One way or another.”
“God willing! Your father and I can’t wait for grandchildren.” I stroked her hair.
Another two years passed.
Then Emily told me about IVF. I protested fiercely:
“Emily, they say these children have no souls! That they’re sickly, unnatural, that they won’t have children of their own—like robots!”
“Mum, it’s been around for forty years! Half the world uses it now. ‘Test-tube babies’ are just like any others—except harder to conceive. You’ve no idea what William and I have been through emotionally. But get ready—you’re going to be a grandmother. Maybe even of twins.”
She was determined.
The journey was gruelling—expensive, exhausting, emotionally draining. Emily only conceived on the fourth attempt. The hormones made her gain weight, the stress left her hysterical. William grew gaunt, worn down by her mood swings, her sudden tears, her laughter for no reason.
“Mum, I’m terrified to sneeze, to cough—what if it all falls apart? I can’t do this again. I’m exhausted. All because of that first abortion. Was I wrong? Now I’m paying for it.”
She wiped away tears.
They took two seaside holidays just to cope. Emily was near breaking point—once, she nearly jumped from a window. But William never left her side, steady as a rock.
“Without him, I’d never have survived this,” she confessed.
…Eight months later, after despair, hope, and more despair, little Charlotte arrived—slightly early, as IVF babies often are.
The whole family was overjoyed—though William’s mother, at first, doubted Charlotte was truly his.
“Son, look at her nose! And those ears—nothing like yours. What if the hospital mixed things up?”
But as Charlotte grew, the resemblance became undeniable.
“Test-tube babies” are never accidents. They’re longed for, fought for, loved fiercely. Charlotte’s childhood was sunshine and joy—her parents doted on her.
Still, they had to move. One day, while I was pushing Charlotte in her pram, a nurse from the clinic called out:
“Hello, mums! And a special hello to the IVF granny!”
I burned with shame.
“Have you lost your mind?” I snapped. “How dare you air that in public?”
The other mothers stared. The nurse stammered, “Oh! I—I thought everyone knew Charlotte was… different.”
“You’re right—she *is* different.” I took Charlotte elsewhere.
After that, the neighbours hounded Emily with tactless questions. What if some busybody told Charlotte about her origins before her parents could?
In the end, they sold their flat and moved across town.
Charlotte is five now—bright, lively, endlessly clever. She adores nursery, bossing the other children around, and tricking her teachers with clumsy little lies.
Health-wise, she has allergies (strict diet), a lisp (speech therapy), and mild shortsightedness (glasses).
All fixable. And none of it matters—because at last, after so much heartache, Emily and William have their beautiful girl.
And my husband and I? We can’t imagine life without our laughing, wonderful granddaughter.
Some happiness comes the hard way—but that only makes it sweeter.
