**Diary Entry**
For months, our daughter lay in a coma, the doctors offering no hope. Standing by her hospital bed, my wife and I prepared to say our final goodbyes.
Fate had played a cruel joke on the Wainwrights. For years, James and Eleanor chased the dream of a childs laughter through their quiet home. Fertility clinics offered sterile hope, their hands clasped tight in waiting, only to be met with pitying smiles and clinical shakes of the head. Eleanor had sought miracles, even travelling to the ancient shrines of Canterbury, with James, her steadfast companion, always beside her. But heaven remained silent.
Worn down by longing, they made peace with a different pathadoption. Not just one child, but two. Two little girls to fill the hollowness of their home.
On the morning they were to drive to the next county, to the orphanage theyd been in touch with for months, the house buzzed with nervous energy. Eleanor was packing sandwiches in the kitchen when the smell of roast beefnormally comfortingturned her stomach. She barely made it to the bathroom, hand clamped over her mouth.
The trip was cancelled. Instead, they went to the local GPs office. There, in a small, unremarkable room, fate delivered its punchline: Eleanor was pregnant. Sixteen weeks along.
James nearly lost his mind. His shout of joy rattled the clinic walls. He hugged the doctor, the nurse, even the receptionist. The midwife, a no-nonsense woman, threatened to call security if he didnt stop reorganising her carefully arranged leaflets. From then on, their world revolved around the coming miracle. James became a hunter-gatherer, scouring farmers markets for the freshest organic produce, lecturing Eleanora woman with a masters in literatureon the virtues of kale.
Weeks later, another surprise: twins.
Eleanors pregnancy was gruelling. Bedridden for most of the second and third trimesters, she endured pain and exhaustionuntil the moment she heard their first cries. Two perfect, identical girls. They named them after their grandmothers: Elizabeth and Margaret. Lizzie and Maggie.
Life became a whirlwind of sleepless nights, nappies, and a love so fierce it ached. The girls thrived, bright beyond their years, two halves of a single soul. Yet for all their identical looks, their spirits were worlds apart.
Lizzie was a firecrackerathletic, competitive, her laughter echoing through the house. Maggie was quiet, lost in books, happiest in the garden or the kitchen, rescuing strays and crafting meals that made the family groan, Maggie, how are we meant to stay fit with these smells?
Eighteen years vanished in a blink. Lizzie, a champion swimmer, met William at a national meet. Their whirlwind romance ended in an engagement. Maggie, meanwhile, lived a quieter life, surrounded by rescued animals. Her closest companion was Storm, a colossal English Mastiff, a gentle giant who adored slobbery kisses.
On the day Lizzie and William finalised wedding plans, Storm panicked. He blocked the car, snarling, howlinga sound that sent chills down Jamess spine.
Hes spoiled rotten, Lizzie laughed. But Maggie felt unease tighten in her chest.
The car pulled away. Storm let out one final, mournful howl. A single tear streaked through his fur.
William took the bend too fast. The lorry, veering wildly, jackknifed. It didnt hit their carit swallowed it whole.
Two bodies lay covered by the roadside. One, miraculously, still breathingMaggie, barely alive.
The funeral was unbearable. James and Eleanor stood at the graveside, hollow. Hope dwindled as Maggie lingered in a coma.
Then Dr. Oliver Hart, a neurologist, refused to give up. He saw life where others saw futility. He proposed an experimental surgeryrisky, expensive. James sold everything to fund it.
The operation failed.
Defeated, they prepared to say goodbye. As they left for the hospital, James unlatched the gate. Storm should at least have a chance, he murmured.
At Maggies bedside, they heard barking. Storm burst in, licking her hand.
Thena miracle.
Monitors beeped. Maggies eyes fluttered open. Storm, she whispered.
Dr. Hart, rushing in, found her awake.
Maggie recovered swiftly. Storm regained his strength. Oliver, now more than her doctor, courted her with meals hed cooked himself.
One day, tasting his salad, Maggie grinned. Ever thought of opening a restaurant? Im quite the chef, you know.
He didnt. Instead, he proposed.
As they kissed, Storm barked joyfully, a living testament to love that defied death.
**Lesson learned: Sometimes, the most stubborn love is the one that brings you back.**
