You lied to me! William stood in the middle of the living room, his face flushed with anger.
Lied? What do you mean?
You knew! You knew you couldnt have children, and yet you still married me!
Youll be the most beautiful bride, Mum fussed with my veil, and I smiled at my reflection in the mirror.
White dress, lace sleeves, William in a sharp suit. Everything just as Id dreamed since I was fifteen: true love, wedding, children. So many children. William wanted a boy, I longed for a girl, and wed agreed on three. No one would feel left out then.
By next year Ill be a grandmother, Mum would say, wiping away happy tears.
And I believed every word.
The first months of our marriage passed in a blissful haze. William came home from work; Id meet him with dinner. Wed fall asleep together, wrapped up in each other, and every morning Id check the calendar with a flutter of hope. Any signs yet? No, just wishful thinking. Another month gone. And another. And another.
By winter, William no longer asked Any news? with anticipation in his voice. Now he looked at me quietly as I left the bathroom.
Perhaps we should see a doctor? I suggested in February, nearly a year gone.
Its about time, William muttered, not looking up from his phone.
The clinic smelt like disinfectant and despair. I waited among other women with tired eyes, flicking through a magazine full of sunny, smiling mothers, unable to shake the feeling that thered been some mistake. I was fine. Just unlucky so far.
Tests. Ultrasounds. More tests. Procedures with names that blurred together in an endless cycle of cold chairs and indifferent nurses.
Your chances of natural conception are about five percent, the doctor told me, not unkindly.
I nodded, scribbled in my notepad, asked questions. Inside, I went numb.
Treatment began in March and with it, everything changed.
Youre crying again? William stood at the bedroom door, frustration outweighing sympathy.
Its just the hormones.
Three months now? Cant you stop pretending? Im sick of it!
I wanted to explain, to say thats how the treatment worked, that it took time, that the doctors had promised some people only succeeded after six months, even a year. But William was already gone, slamming the door behind him.
The first round of IVF was booked for autumn. I could hardly get out of bed for those two weeks, terrified of doing anything that might shatter the miracle.
Negative, the nurse said bluntly on the phone.
I slumped to the floor in the hallway and stayed there until William came home.
How much have we spent on all this? he asked, not How are you?
I havent been keeping track.
Well, I have. Nearly thirty thousand pounds. And for what?
I said nothing. What answer was there?
Second attempt. William started coming home after midnight, smelling of unfamiliar perfume, but I never questioned it. I didnt want to know.
Another negative result.
Maybe this is enough? William said, sitting across from me in the kitchen, spinning an empty mug between his hands. How long can we keep doing this?
The doctors say the third try is often the lucky one.
Doctors say whatever theyre paid to say!
The third time, I went through almost alone. William worked late every night. Friends stopped calling no one had comforting words left. Mum sobbed down the phone, wailing about how unfair life was for someone so young and lovely.
When the nurse said unfortunately for the third time, I didnt even cry. Id run out of tears between the second course of treatment and the next fight over money.
You lied to me!
William stood in the centre of the living room, red with fury.
Lied? About what?
You knew! You knew you were infertile and still married me!
I didnt know! The diagnosis came a year after our wedding you were there, when the doctor
Dont lie to me! He advanced on me, and I automatically took a step back. You planned this! Tricked some idiot into marrying you, then surprise! No kids for him!
Will, please
Enough! He swept a vase off the table and hurled it against the wall. I deserve a real family! With children! Not this!
He pointed at me as if I were some dreadful mistake.
Rows became a daily occurrence. William returned home, silent and resentful all evening, then exploded over the smallest thing: the remote misplaced, the soup too salty, even how loudly I breathed.
Were getting divorced, he announced one morning.
What? No! Will, we could adopt; Ive read so much
I dont want someone elses child! I want one of my own. And a wife who can give me that!
Let me try again. Please. I love you.
I dont love you anymore.
He said it calmly, looking me straight in the eye. It hurt more than all his shouting ever could.
Im packing my things, he said on Friday evening.
I sat on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, and watched him chuck his shirts into a suitcase. But of course, he couldnt do it quietly.
Im leaving because youre barren.
William pressed the wound again.
Ill find a proper woman.
I stayed silent.
The door shut. The flat filled with silence. And thats when I finally broke down after so many months, properly sobbing until my voice was hoarse.
The first weeks after the divorce melted together into a blur of grey. Id get up, drink tea, go back to bed. Sometimes I forgot to eat. Sometimes I didnt know what day it was.
My friends came round, brought groceries, tidied up, tried to talk. I nodded and agreed with everything, then curled back up under my blanket to stare at the ceiling.
But time moved on. Day by day, week by week. And one morning I woke up and thought: enough.
I got up, took a shower, cleared the fridge of all the medication, and signed up at the gym. At work, I asked for a new project a big one, three months, something challenging enough to keep my mind occupied.
At weekends I started taking day trips, then short breaks away. London, Bath, the Lake District. Life hadnt stopped.
I met Edward in Waterstones we both reached for the last copy of a new Stephen King book.
Ladies first, he smiled, stepping aside.
What if I let you have it, but only if you invite me for coffee? I blurted, surprising myself.
He laughed, and that laugh warmed something inside me.
Over coffee, he told me about Megan his seven-year-old daughter. Hed raised her alone for five years after her mum passed away.
He told me how hard the early months were, how Megan would cry out for her mum at night, how hed learned to French braid on YouTube.
Youre a wonderful father, I said.
Im trying my best.
I didnt want to lie to him. On our third date, when it was clear this might be something more, I told him everything.
I cant have children. Official diagnosis, three failed IVF rounds, my husband left. If it matters to you, its better you know now.
Edward was silent for a long moment.
I already have Megan, he finally said. I want you even if we never have a child together.
But
Youll be able to, he interrupted, meaningfully.
Sorry?
To be a mother. If you want to. The doctors said something similar to my own mum, you know. Yet, here I am. Miracles do happen.
Megan took to me surprisingly quickly. The first time we met, she was standoffish and gave only one-word answers, but the moment I asked about her favourite book, she lit up and spent half an hour talking about Harry Potter. Next time, she took my hand herself. On the third meeting, she asked me to do her hair like Elsa.
She likes you, Edward remarked. Shes never warmed to anyone else this fast.
Two years sped by. I moved in with Edward, learned to make pancakes on Saturdays, memorised every episode of Paw Patrol, and found the courage to love again. Truly, without fear, without suspicion.
On New Years Eve, as midnight chimed, I made a wish. My lips whispered, I want a child.
Fear flickered. Why open old wounds? But the wish had already drifted into the night sky.
A month later, I noticed a delay.
Impossible, I thought, staring down at the two blue lines on the stick. This test must be faulty.
A second test. Another two lines.
A third. A fourth. A fifth.
Edward, I said, legs shaking as I walked out of the bathroom. I I think I dont know how, but
He understood before Id finished. He scooped me up, spun me around, kissed my hair, my nose, my lips.
I knew it! he repeated, over and over. I told you you could!
The doctors at the clinic looked at me as though I were some medical marvel. They dug out old files, re-read test results, ordered new rounds of checks.
This is impossible, the doctor shook his head. With your diagnosis In twenty years, Ive never seen anything like it.
But I am pregnant?
You are. Eight weeks. All your levels are good.
I laughed in disbelief.
Four months later, I bumped into one of Williams mates at Sainsburys.
Heard about Will? the old friend asked, glancing at my growing belly. He married for the third time. Still no luck.
No luck?
Kids. Not with his second wife, nor his third. Doctors say its his problem, apparently. Can you believe it? And he always blamed you for everything.
I couldnt find anything to say. I felt nothing not spite, not hurt. Just emptiness where love used to be.
My son was born in August, on a golden morning. Megan waited with Edward in the corridor, more nervous than anyone.
Can I hold him? Megan peered into the ward.
Gently, I said, passing her the tiny bundle. Support his head.
Megan gazed at her new brother with wide eyes, then looked up at me.
Mum, is he always going to be this red? Mum
Suddenly I was crying. Edward hugged us both, while Megan stared from us to her brother, baffled at all the tears.
And in that moment, I understood. Sometimes it just takes the right person by your side to make you believe in the impossible.
