Their daughter lay in a coma for months, the doctors offering no hope. Ready to release her, her parents stood by her hospital bed one final time.
The universe had a wicked sense of humour when it came to the Harringtons. For years, Edward and Victoria had chased the ghost of a childs laughter through their quiet home in Manchester. They wandered the sterile halls of fertility clinics, hands clasped tight, only to be met with pitying smiles and clinical headshakes. Victoria had followed pilgrim trails, even visiting the ancient stones of Glastonbury, with Edward, her steadfast knight, always beside her. Yet the heavens remained silent.
Exhausted by longing, they forged a different peace. They would build their family anewnot one child, but two. Two little girls to shatter the silence.
On the morning they were to drive to an orphanage in Yorkshire, the house hummed with nervous energy. Victoria packed sandwiches in the kitchen when the scent of roast beefusually comfortingtwisted her stomach. A wave of nausea sent her stumbling to the bathroom, hand clamped over her mouth.
The trip was cancelled. Instead, they drove to the local surgery. In a small, unremarkable room, the universe delivered its punchline: Victoria was pregnant. Sixteen weeks along.
Edward nearly lost his mind. His roar of joy shook the clinic walls. He hugged the doctor, the nurse, even the potted fern in the corner. The midwife, a stern woman, threatened to call security if he didnt stop rearranging her prenatal leaflets. From then on, their world revolved around the coming miracle. Edward became a hunter-gatherer, prowling Manchesters markets for organic fruit and veg, lecturing Victoriaa woman with a masters in literatureon the virtues of kale, though his culinary peak had once been reheating takeaway.
Weeks later, fate dealt another card. The ultrasound revealed two heartbeats. Twins.
Victorias pregnancy was gruelling. Her age made it arduous, and she spent most of it bedridden. But the struggle faded the moment she heard their first cries. Two perfect, identical girls. They named them after their grandmothers: Eleanor and Beatrice. Ellie and Bea.
Life became a whirlwind of sleepless nights, nappies, and love so fierce it ached. The girls grew bright and healthy, always ahead of their peers. Two halves of one soul. Yet for all their likeness, their spirits differed.
Ellie was a wildfire. She blazed through life, collecting friends like treasures. Athletic and competitive, her laughter filled the house. Bea was a quiet stream, lost in books, in nature, in the art of cooking. A homebody, her world rich within their garden walls. But their bond was unbreakablea thread woven deep.
Eighteen years vanished. The girls became stunning young women. Ellie, a swimmer whod competed across Britain, had admirers lining the street. At a national meet in Brighton, she met Oliver, a fellow athlete with kind eyes that saw only her. A whirlwind of texts and train rides led to a decision: they would marry.
Bea, true to form, lived quietly. Her world was her family and a menagerie of rescued animals. Her gift was cookingturning simple ingredients into feasts. Bea, not again! theyd groan. How will we stay fit with these smells? Her bedroom often doubled as a vets ward, home to injured birds and stray kittens.
Her dearest companion was Storm, a colossal Old English Sheepdog, gifted by Edward years prior. The fluffy pup had grown into a gentle giant, his only mission to love and be loved, doling out slobbery kisses to anyone near.
One warm Saturday, the family gathered. Ellie and Oliver had filed their marriage notice. A wedding loomed. Olivers parents waited on a video call to finalise plans. The air buzzed with excitementand the bittersweet knowledge that change was coming. After the wedding, Oliver would take Ellie to London, a new life ahead.
Come on, Bea! Ellie called, grabbing her keys. Were finalising the menu. We need our master chef!
Oliver started the car, engine purring. As Bea stepped out, something in Storm snapped.
The gentle giant became a snarling beast. He lunged at the car, barking with terrifying ferocity, clawing at the tyres, blocking their path. His howl sent a chill down Edwards spine.
Storm, enough! Edward yelled, clipping a lead to his collar.
Youve spoiled him, Ellie laughed from the passenger seat. He cant bear you leaving.
Bea said nothing. A knot of dread coiled in her chest. This wasnt protectivenessit was terror. But she couldnt refuse Ellie. She slid into the back seat, casting a sad glance at Storm through the window as they drove away.
Storm watched them go, then let out one final, haunting howl. A single tear traced his furry cheek. Edward had never seen a dog cry before.
Oliver was a confident driver. The hum of the engine, the sunlit road, the sisters chatterit was perfect. He took a familiar bend a touch too fast, but the summer road was dry and clear.
Then the lorry appeared.
It swung wide, trailer swaying violently. The driver fought the wheel, face etched with panic, but it was too late. The massive vehicle jackknifed, its load slicing across the road like a blade. It didnt just hit their carit consumed it.
The aftermath was twisted metal and silence. Paramedics worked grimly, the screech of cutting tools piercing the air. Two bodies, covered. One still breathing. An ambulance screamed towards Manchester, carrying what remained of Bea. The doctors fought, but she never woke.
The lorry driver, an old man with a face of regrets, rocked by the roadside. I killed them, he wept. I was tired just closed my eyes
A funeral replaced the wedding.
Edward and Victoria stood graveside like statues, grief too vast for tears. But as earth struck Ellies coffin, a raw scream tore from Victorias throat. She lunged for the grave, and Edward barely held her back. Olivers father trembled alonehis wife had collapsed from shock at the news.
They had one daughter left, but it brought no comfort. Bea was a ghost in a machine, kept alive by tubes and machines. Friends drifted, afraid of their sorrow. Hope dwindled.
But one man refused to surrender. Dr. Thomas Wright, a young neurologist, saw more than a lost cause. He saw a life worth saving. His colleagues whisperedwas he infatuated with a sleeping beauty? Perhaps. When he first saw Bea, fragile as a moths wing, something in him broke.
Thomas assembled the hospitals best. He proposed a radical, costly surgery. Some called it folly. Others, a last gamble. But his conviction was fierce. He found Edward and Victoria in the waiting room, faces hollow.
Theres a chance, he said softly. A risky one. Expensive. But its all she has.
That faint spark was enough. Edward sold his car, their valuables, anything. Better than watching her fade, he whispered.
At home, Storm was dying. He refused food, drank only sips. He lay like a statue of grief, mirroring Beas decline.
The surgery failed.
Thomas tore off his gloves in rage, fleeing to a stairwell where he wept like a child. It was all for nothing.
The news crushed Edward and Victoria. The last hope was gone. They could no longer afford life support. It was time. They walked the sterile corridor, clinging to each other, towards the final act of love.
As they left, Edward unlatched the garden gate. Dont be cross, Vic, he murmured. I doubt were coming back. At least Storm can escape. No one should die alone.
In his office, Thomas made a decision. He wouldnt let her die. Hed sell his flat, take loans, do whatever it took. He rushed to their room to beg for more time.
He found them standing over Bea. Victoria kissed her forehead. Edward wept silently. This was the end.
We didnt bring Storm to say goodbye, Edward muttered. Not right.
How could we? Victoria replied absently. Dogs arent allowed here.
They are, Edward said, voice distant. Listen. A dogs barking.
Victoria staredwas he breaking? Then she heard it too. Barking, growing louder, closer.
The door burst open. A white blur shot inStorm. He scrambled to Beas side, whining, licking her still hand, trembling with joy. Edward and Victoria stood frozen.
Then, the miracle.
Monitors beeped. Flat lines jagged into life.
Beas lashes fluttered. Her eyes opened. She saw Storms furry face.
Storm, she rasped. I heard you. Hello, boy.
Thomas barrelled in, followed by nurses and security chasing the sheepdog. They piled into him, a tangled heap in the doorway, staring at the girl whod returned.
Beas recovery was swift. Storm, eating for three, regained his bulk. Thomas became a constant presencedoctor, then suitor. He
