**When Fate Offers a Second Chance**
I woke early, my head still heavy, only to find Alex buttoning his shirt inside out. “Why are you up so soon?” he muttered, confused. But Marina wasn’t listening. She stood frozen in the hallway, fingers clenched tight, staring at the red heels by the door. Not just any heels—they belonged to Emma, her oldest friend. She’d recognise them anywhere, having seen them in countless photos over glasses of wine. But here, in her own flat? Never.
It had started at work that morning—a sudden wave of nausea, the room tilting. She’d blamed exhaustion or stress, until Anna, her desk mate, leaned in and whispered, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marina scoffed, though something twisted inside her. Twenty minutes later, she was gripping a pregnancy test in the office loo, two stark lines confirming what she already knew.
She barely remembered walking into her boss’s office or leaving work. Only one thought burned in her mind: *Tell Alex.* She raced home, imagining his reaction—the shock, the joy, the embrace, her happy tears. But then—
The key turned, the light flicked on, and there they were. *Those shoes.* A whisper from the bedroom followed. For a second, she hoped she was wrong, that this was some absurd mistake. Then she flung open the door. There he was—half-dressed, tangled in the sheets with Emma, who clutched the fabric to her chest without a word.
“Marina? What—?” Alex stammered as Emma stared at the floor.
The rest blurred. Shouting. Tears. Clothes hurled across the room. Then silence. He left. The flat felt hollow. She sank to the floor, arms wrapped around herself, around the tiny life fluttering inside.
Days passed before she made a decision. She wouldn’t let this child tie her to Alex forever. She couldn’t raise it alone—her parents miles away, her friends now one fewer. Her salary wouldn’t cover nappies, let alone childcare. So she booked an appointment at a private clinic.
Sitting outside the doctor’s office, her stomach churned. She didn’t want this baby—and yet, in some hidden corner of her heart, she did.
“Come in,” called a voice.
She stepped inside—and froze.
“James? Is that you?”
Her first love. The boy from school she’d never truly forgotten. The memory of his soft kiss on her cheek at graduation still lingered.
“Marina? Bloody hell, it *is* you!” He pulled her into a warm hug, like no time had passed.
They talked for ten minutes, laughter erasing twenty years. Then, as the joy settled, James asked gently, “But you’re here for a reason, aren’t you?”
Cheeks burning, she confessed everything—the betrayal, the pregnancy, her choice.
“And you’re sure about this?” he murmured.
“I can’t do it alone,” she whispered.
