You lied to me! Nicholas bellowed, standing in the middle of the sitting room, his face an alarming shade of crimson.
What do you mean, I lied?
You knew! You knew you couldnt have children, and you still married me!
Youre going to be the most beautiful bride, Mum cooed, straightening the veil, and Antonia beamed at her reflection in the mirror.
White dress, lace sleeves, Nicholas in an immaculate suitthe day would be exactly as shed envisioned since she was fifteen: wild romance, a wedding, children. Quite a few children, in fact. Nicholas wanted a son, she fancied a daughter, so theyd settled diplomatically on threeno one could accuse them of favouritism.
Ill be spoiling the grandchildren this time next year, Mum wept, dabbing her eyes.
Antonia believed every word.
The early months of marriage breezed by in a rosy haze. Nicholas came home from work, Antonia greeted him with supper, they fell asleep in a tangle of arms, and every morning shed anxiously consult the calendar. Late? No, just wishful thinking. Another month. And another. And another.
By December, Nicholas had stopped asking Anything yet? with hopeful eyes. Now, he simply watched silently as Antonia left the bathroom.
Shall we see a doctor? she braved one gloomy February day, nearly a year in.
About time, he grunted, not glancing up from his phone.
The clinic smelt of disinfectant and quiet despair. Antonia perched in the waiting room among women with shuttered faces, flicking through magazines full of beaming, glossy mothers, convinced thered been some clerical confusion. She was fine. Just unlucky, so far.
Tests. Scans. More tests. Investigations. Names of procedures blurred into a never-ending current of cold plastic chairs and impassive nurses.
Your odds of conceiving naturally are about five percent, the doctor announced, eyes never leaving the notes.
Antonia nodded, wrote meticulous notes, asked the clever questions. But inside, something had frozen solid.
Treatment began in March, followed by seismic tremors in the flat.
Youre crying again? Nicholas stood in the bedroom doorway, brimming with exasperation, not sympathy.
Its the hormones.
For three months? Maybe you ought to stop acting, its getting old!
Antonia longed to explainthis is how the medication worked, time was essential, the specialists promised results in six months or a year. But Nicholas had already stormed out, door reverberating behind him.
The first round of IVF came that autumn. For two weeks, Antonia barely left her bed, terrified to jinx the fragile miracle.
Negative, the nurse reported, as dry as dust, over the phone.
Antonia slumped straight to the hallway floor and didnt move until Nicholas got home.
How much have we spent on this now? he demanded, forgoing any How are you?
I havent kept track.
Well, I have. Nearly £30,000. For what, in the end?
She had no answer. No answer existed.
Second attempt. Nicholas wandered in after midnight these days, reeking of unfamiliar aftershave, but Antonia didnt ask. She had no interest in confirmation.
Another negative.
Isnt it time to call it quits? Nicholas eyed her over a chipped mug at the kitchen table. How long can this drag on?
The doctors say the third time is often lucky.
Doctors say whatever you pay them to say!
The third go, she did almost entirely alone. Nicholas worked late every night. Friends no longer calledconsolation fatigue, presumably. Mum sobbed on the telephone, lamenting fate and unfairness: So young, so pretty, why you?
When the nurse said Im sorry for the third and final time, Antonia didnt even cry. Her tears had run dry somewhere between the endless appointments and the latest row about money.
You lied to me!
Nicholas, raging in the sitting room.
How did I lie?
You knew! Knew you couldnt have children, and still you married me!
I didnt know! The diagnosis came a year after our weddingyou were there at the appointment with the doctor
Dont lie to me! he roared, advancing, and Antonia instinctively stepped away. You set all this upfound some mug to marry you, then surprise! No children!
Nicholas, please
Enough! He swept a vase from the table, shattering it against the wall. I deserve a real family! With children! Not this!
He stabbed a finger at her, as if she was some hideous mistake of nature.
Arguments became nightly fixtures. Nicholas sulked with resentment all evening, then erupted over the telly remote being in the wrong spot, oversalted soup, even the volume of her breathing.
Were getting divorced, he announced one grey morning.
What? No! Nicholas, we could adopt, Ive read all sorts
I dont want someone elses child! I want my own! And a wife who can actually deliver!
Give me one more chance! I love you.
Well, I dont love you.
He said it with such stillness, looking her directly in the eyes, that it stung deeper than all his previous shouting combined.
Im packing, he informed her that Friday evening.
Antonia sat huddled on the sofa watching as he flung shirts into his suitcase, but he couldnt help himself:
Im leaving because youre barren.
Nicholas jabbed at her wounds, unwilling to let the bruises fade.
Ill find a real woman.
Antonia said nothing.
The door clacked shut. Silence enveloped the flat. Then at last she weptsobbed full-throated, inconsolable, until her voice broke.
The weeks after the divorce blurred into one pewter smear. Antonia existed on tea, sometimes forgetting meals, sometimes what day it even was.
Friends swung by with food, tidied the place, attempted conversationshed nod, shed agree, then retreat to her blanket cocoon, staring at the ceiling.
But time, like the British weather, plodded on. Day by day, week by week. And one morning, Antonia woke and thought: enough.
She took a shower, cleared every box of medication from the fridge, signed up to the local gym. At work, she asked for a tough projectthree months, all-consuming.
She spent weekends on heritage walks, then short tripsBath, Brighton, York. Life, it turned out, didnt stop moving.
She met David in a bookshopthey both lunged for the last new Stephen King.
Ladies first, he grinned, offering the book.
How about I let you buy it, and you invite me for a coffee? Antonia parried, shocking herself.
He laughed, and the sound seemed to bring springtime indoors.
Over coffee, he told her about Daisyhis seven-year-old daughter, who hed raised alone for five years since her mothers passing.
How the first months were agony, Daisy calling for Mum at night, YouTube tutorials on French plaits.
Youre a good dad, Antonia smiled.
I try my best.
She couldnt stand to mislead him. By the third date, when it was clear David was more than a chance encounter, she confessed:
I cant have children. Its officialthree rounds of IVF, my husband left. If thats important to you, better to know now.
David took a deep breath.
I have Daisy, he said at last. I need you. Even if we never have children together.
But
You can, he interrupted, cryptically.
In what way?
Be a mother. If you want to. My mum was told the same thing. And yethere I am, sitting in front of you. Miracles happen, sometimes.
Daisy took to her astonishingly well. Their first meeting, she was sullen, monosyllabic, but when Antonia asked about her favourite book, Daisy lit up and held forth on Harry Potter for half an hour. On their next meeting, she reached for her hand. By the third, she asked for plaits like Elsas.
She likes you, David said, bemused. Shes never warmed to anyone so quick.
Two years slipped by in happy silence. Antonia moved in with David, mastered the art of Saturday morning pancakes, memorised every episode of PAW Patrol, and rediscovered the capacity to lovewith no fear, no dread of disappointment.
On New Years Eve, as Big Ben struck midnight, Antonia made a wish. Her lips whispered, almost involuntarily, I want a child.
Immediately she panickedwhy poke old wounds?but the wish had already sailed skyward.
A month lateras if by magicher period was late.
This cant be happening, she muttered, squinting at two pink lines. Defective test.
Another. Two lines.
Another! And again! And again!
David, she stammered from the bathroom, on jelly legs, I I think I cant even say
He got it before she could finish. Swept her up, twirled her around, showered her with kisses.
I knew it! he crowed. Told youyoure up to it!
Doctors at the clinic flicked through her notes, frowning as though she was some cryptic crossword.
Its simply not possible, one muttered. With your diagnosis in twenty years, never seen it.
But I am?
Oh yes. Eight weeks inall scans perfect.
Antonia just laughed.
One day, a few months later, she bumped into Nicholass mate at Waitrose, her bump now unmissable.
Heard about Nicholas? he said, eyeing her tummy. Third wife. Nothings happening. No luck with the second, either. Doctors sayits his problem. Can you believe it? Poor sod blamed the lot on you.
Antonia had no idea what to say. She felt nothingnot even the faintest urge for poetic justice. Just an empty space where her old love had lived.
Her son arrived in August, on a sun-drenched morning. Daisy and David waited anxiously outside the ward.
Can I hold him? Daisy begged, peeking in.
Carefully, Antonia said, passing the tiny bundle. Support his head.
Daisy eyed her brother with an owl-like stare, then looked up. Mum, will he always be this red? Muum
Antonia cried, David wrapped his arms round them all, and Daisy, suddenly wide-eyed, glanced between brother and parents, mystified by the tears.
And there it was, clear as day: sometimes, you just need the right people beside you to believe in the impossible.
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