You betrayed me! James stood in the centre of the lounge, face flushed with anger.
What are you talking about?
You knew! You knew you couldnt have children and still you married me!
***
Youll make a beautiful bride, Mum whispered as she straightened my veil, and I couldnt help but smile at my reflection.
The white dress, the delicate lace sleeves, James beside me in his sharp suit. Everything looked exactly as Id dreamt since I was fifteen a grand romance, a perfect wedding, a happy family. Wed always said three children, to keep things fair James wanted a boy, I wanted a girl.
Give it a year and Ill be a grandmother, Mum would say, dabbing at her tears.
I believed every word.
The first few months flew by in a blur of contentment. James came home from work, I had dinner ready, wed curl up together at night. Every morning, my heart skipped a beat as I checked the calendar. Was I late? No, Id just imagined it. Another month. Another. Another.
By winter, James had stopped asking, So, is there news? Now he just watched quietly as I left the bathroom each morning.
Perhaps we should see a doctor? I suggested in February nearly a year in.
Its about time, he muttered, not looking up from his phone.
The clinic smelled like disinfectant and despair. I waited my turn among women with the same empty look in their eyes, thumbing through a magazine about happy mums and thinking there must be a mistake. Surely I was fine. Just unlucky, so far.
Endless tests. Scans. More tests. Names of procedures blurred together, nurses with tired smiles handing me paperwork.
Your chances of conceiving naturally are around five percent, the doctor finally said, glancing at my file.
I nodded, scribbled notes, asked questions. But inside, I felt frozen.
The treatment began in March. Thats when things started to change.
Youre crying again? James stood in the bedroom doorway, his voice more irritated than sympathetic.
Its just the hormones.
This is the third month now. Maybe stop pretending. Im sick of it!
I tried to explain: this was normal, the therapy needed time, the doctor said results might take a year. But James had already stormed out, slamming the door.
The first round of IVF was scheduled for autumn. I barely got out of bed for two weeks, terrified Id frighten the miracle away.
Its negative, the nurse said briskly, over the phone.
I just slid down onto the hallway floor and sat there until James got home.
How much have we spent on all this? was the first thing he asked. Not Are you alright?
I havent kept track.
Well, I have. Nearly forty thousand pounds. And what do we have to show for it?
I had no answer. There wasnt one.
We tried again. Now, James came home well after midnight, smelling of someone elses perfume. I didnt ask questions. I didnt want to know.
Another failure.
Maybe we should stop. James sat opposite me in the kitchen, turning a mug over and over in his hands. How long are we going to keep this up?
Doctors say it often works on the third go.
Doctors say whatever you pay them to say.
The third time, I went through it almost alone. Every evening James was working late. Friends stopped calling; they were tired of comforting me. Mum rang in tears, wailing at the injustice of it all.
When the nurse said Sorry for the third time, there were no tears left. Theyd dried up somewhere between the second course of treatment and the latest argument about money.
You lied to me! James shouted one evening, face red with rage.
What are you talking about?
You knew! You knew you were barren before we got married!
I didnt know! They diagnosed me a year after our wedding, you were there when
Liar! He advanced, and I instinctively stepped back. You set this all up! Found some mug to marry you, then surprise! No children!
James, please
Enough! He snatched a vase off the table and hurled it at the wall. I deserve a proper family! With children! Not this!
He gestured at me as if I were some revolting accident.
The rows became a daily routine. James would come home angry, go sulky-silent, then explode over the tiniest thing: the TV remote misplaced, the soup too salty, even the way I breathed.
Were getting a divorce, he announced one morning.
What? No! James, we could adopt, Ive been reading
I dont want someone elses child! I want my own! And a wife who can give me one!
Please, just give me one more chance. I love you.
Well, I dont love you anymore.
He said it calmly, looking me straight in the eye. That hurt far more than all his shouting ever had.
Im packing tonight, he told me on Friday evening.
So, I sat curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, watching as he chucked shirts into a suitcase. He just couldnt do it in silence.
Im leaving because youre a dead end, James pressed on, twisting the knife.
Ill find a real woman.
I said nothing.
The door clicked shut. Silence filled the flat. Only then did I sob real, raw, howling tears that left my voice hoarse.
The first weeks after James left merged into a grey blur. Id get up, have some tea, climb back into bed. Sometimes I forgot to eat. Sometimes I couldnt remember which day it was.
Friends came by, bringing meals, tidying up, trying to talk. I just nodded, agreed with everything, then retreated into my blanket to stare at the ceiling.
But time passed. Day by day, week by week. One morning I woke up and thought: enough.
I showered, dumped every pill and injection in the bin, signed up for a gym membership. At work, I asked for a new project a tricky, three-month job that would take everything I had.
At weekends, I started going to galleries and on little day trips, then took short holidays York, Bath, Edinburgh. Life had, improbably, carried on.
I met Daniel in a bookshop both of us reaching for the latest Stephen King at the same moment.
Ladies first, he smiled, stepping back.
Well, perhaps Ill let you have it if you buy me a coffee? I blurted, surprising us both.
He laughed, and just like that, something unfroze inside me.
Over coffee, he told me about Sophie his seven-year-old daughter, who hed raised alone since her mother died.
He spoke of those hard early months, Sophies sleepless nights, the YouTube tutorials hed watched in order to master plaiting her hair.
Youre a good dad, I said.
I try.
I didnt want to lie to him. By the third date, when I realised this was serious, I laid it all out.
I cant have children. Official diagnosis. Three failed rounds of IVF. My husband left me. If that matters to you, best to say now.
Daniel was quiet for a long time.
I have Sophie, he finally said. Its you I want. Even if we never have a child together.
But
Youll manage, he interrupted with a smile.
What do you mean?
Being a mum. If you want to, you will. My own mum had a similar diagnosis. Yet here I am, sitting across from you. Sometimes miracles really do happen.
Sophie accepted me faster than Id hoped. At first, she watched me warily, barely spoke. But when I asked about her favourite book, she lit up, and gabbed on for half an hour about Harry Potter. At our second meeting, she took my hand. By the third, she asked for her hair like Elsas in Frozen.
She likes you, Daniel observed. Shes never taken to anyone so quickly.
Two years slipped by. I moved in with Daniel, learnt to make pancakes on Saturdays, memorised every episode of Paw Patrol, and somehow found the strength to love again. For real, without fear, without suspicious glances.
On New Years Eve, as midnight struck, I made a wish. The words slipped out before I could stop them: I want a child.
The moment I said it, fear clawed at me why open up old wounds? But the wish had flown, out into the stars.
A month later, my period was late.
This cant be happening, I whispered, staring at the two lines on the test. Must be faulty.
Second test. Two lines.
Third. Fourth. Fifth!
Daniel? I called, legs trembling as I walked out of the bathroom. I I dont know how, but
He understood before I finished, sweeping me off my feet, spinning me round the room, kissing my hair, my nose, my lips.
I knew it! he grinned. I told you you could do it!
The doctors at the clinic looked at me like an unsolvable puzzle. They dug out my old notes, reread every result, ordered every test in the book.
This just isnt possible, my consultant shook her head. With your diagnosis Ive not seen anything like this in twenty years.
But I am pregnant?
Yes eight weeks along. All looks perfectly healthy.
I burst out laughing.
***
Four months later, I ran into one of Jamess mates at the supermarket.
Heard about James? he asked, glancing at my rounding belly. Got married again third time. No luck.
No luck?
No babies. Not with the second wife, nor the third. Doctors say the problems with him. Can you believe it? He always blamed you.
I didnt know what to say. I felt nothing inside no joy, no bitterness. Just emptiness where love had been.
***
My son was born in August, on a sun-soaked morning. Sophie waited in the corridor with Daniel, more anxious than anyone.
Can I hold him? Sophie whispered, poking her head into my hospital room.
Gently does it, I said, handing her the tiny bundle. Support his head.
Sophie gazed at her little brother, wide-eyed, then looked up at me.
Mummy, will he always be this red? Mum
Tears welled in my eyes. Daniel held us both. Sophie, bewildered, looked from me to Daniel and back again, not sure why everyone was crying.
And thats when it hit me: Sometimes, all you need is the right person by your side to believe that the impossible just might come true.
