**A Terrible Mistake**
Emily woke to a sharp pain. She’d been dreaming of something important, but the agony tore her away, leaving only fragments in its wake. Her stomach had never ached like this before, the discomfort radiating to her lower back.
She lay still, waiting for the throbbing to subside. Slowly, it dulled. Cautiously, she sat up, but the moment she tried to stand, the pain knifed through her again. She cried out, sliding to the floor. On her knees, she crawled to the dresser where her phone charged.
She called for an ambulance from the floor, one hand bracing against the carpet. “Calm down, they’ll be here soon,” Emily whispered to herself. “But the door—I have to unlock the door!” She dragged herself to the hallway, the fire in her belly pulsing with every movement.
She attempted to stand, to reach the bolt on the front door, but the pain lashed out anew. Tears sprang to her eyes. This was the true horror of living alone—not the absence of someone to fetch a glass of water, but the terror of being unable to open the door for help. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood and forced herself up. The door swung open just before she collapsed into darkness.
Voices reached her through a fog. Questions floated past, and she answered—or thought she did.
She woke in a hospital bed, autumn sun blinding through the window. Twisting away from the light, she winced as pain flared beneath her ribs. Her stomach felt swollen, tender, but the worst of the agony was gone.
Just weeks ago, while trying—again—to end things with James, she’d thought death preferable to this hollow existence. No husband, no children. No one at all. What was the point? But in that moment of terror, she’d clung to life, realizing how terrifying it would be to die like this: sudden, alone.
“You awake? I’ll fetch the nurse.”
Emily turned her head toward the voice. In the next bed lay a plump woman of indeterminate age, wrapped in a faded floral dressing gown.
Soon, a nurse entered.
“How are you feeling?” she asked. Young, rosy-cheeked—or was it just the effect of her pink cap?
“Fine,” Emily murmured. “What happened?”
“The doctor will explain,” the nurse replied before slipping out.
Emily glimpsed a thick blonde braid trailing to her waist. Do women still wear braids like that?
“You’re in gynecology. They brought you in a couple hours ago. Slept like a log, love,” said her neighbor.
*Love.* Lately, she’d only been called “madam” or “miss” in shops and on buses. She felt ancient. Forty-two wasn’t old, though, was it? Yet every time someone tried setting her up, she’d wave them off, insisting her time had passed. That was why she kept trying to leave James, only for him to return.
“How are you feeling?” A doctor in his fifties strode in.
“What happened? Did I have surgery? I feel like I swallowed a balloon.”
“Mrs. Thompson, the dressing room’s ready,” he told the neighbor.
The woman sighed, adjusted her gown, and shuffled out.
Emily met the doctor’s weary gaze with gratitude.
“We performed a laparotomy. You had an ectopic pregnancy—ruptured fallopian tube.”
*”What?”* She nearly bolted upright, her muscles screaming in protest.
“Why the surprise?”
“I—I was told I couldn’t conceive.”
“That doesn’t rule out an ectopic pregnancy, or even a natural one. Life’s full of surprises. You’ll stay a few days.”
“Can I get up?”
“You should. But don’t overdo it.” He left.
Emily digested the news. They’d said she’d never have children. Her husband had left over it—though really, it was just an excuse for his affairs. *Could I really get pregnant? But I’m forty-two. Too late now.* She hesitated. *Why didn’t I ask the doctor?*
She slid her legs over the side. Her slippers waited on the floor, her robe draped over the bed. The paramedics must’ve grabbed them. The pain was gone, replaced by a dull ache.
She shrugged into the robe, stepped into her slippers, and stood. The room swayed—*anesthesia*, she guessed. Her pocket held weight. *Keys. My purse. They locked the door.*
No mirror hung by the sink. She smoothed her hair with her hands and ventured into the hall. She reached a door labeled “Consulting Room,” but it was locked, a key left in the latch. She turned toward the nurses’ station, determined to ask the doctor’s name, but dizziness overtook her. Nausea rose. She sank onto a bench in the hallway, defeated.
*Would James have been happy if he knew I could’ve had his child?* They’d met five years ago. He’d confessed his marriage upfront—a late one, with a young child. Their affair burned fast and bright. She’d never expected anything. She’d tried to leave so many times. He’d storm off, then return. At first, he promised to leave his wife once their daughter started school. But the girl was in primary now, and he stayed. She stopped asking. Each time, she swore it was the last—until he showed up again.
A conversation cut through her thoughts. From the hall, she couldn’t see the nurses’ station, but she hadn’t been listening—until she heard her surname.
“Can you believe it? During surgery, Dr. Harrison found a tumor. Huge.”
The rosy-cheeked nurse with the braid.
“And?” Another young voice.
“Nothing they could do. Stitched her back up. Harrison said it’s terminal. They’re transferring this Cartwright woman to oncology tomorrow. Not even old, either. He said she hasn’t got long.”
“Poor thing.”
The voices blurred. Emily’s pulse roared in her ears. *That’s me. They’re talking about me. Cancer? Terminal? Why didn’t the doctor say anything?*
Trembling, she staggered back to her room, collapsed onto the bed, and wept.
Her neighbor returned. Emily turned her face to the window.
“You crying? Should I fetch someone?”
“No.” Emily stood and fled.
She took the stairs to the ground floor. Outside, the day was warm, the sun bright. Patients mingled in the hospital gardens. No one glanced her way.
She wouldn’t go to oncology. *”Not long left,”* the nurse had said. She remembered her mother’s death—thirty rounds of chemo, then refusal. It only got worse.
Emily turned, staring at the hospital. She had no belongings, just her keys and purse tucked in her robe. She wouldn’t endure what her mother had. She walked toward the gates.
Whatever time remained, she’d spend it at home. At least she wouldn’t lose her hair. She walked slowly, resting on benches. September air chilled her. Passersby stared, but she didn’t care. None of it mattered now.
At home, she showered, scrubbing away the hospital smell. She brewed strong tea. Her stomach ached, but bearably.
She cycled between tears and numbness. What had her life been? Who would bury her? No one to tend her grave. No one to remember—except James.
She stayed in bed for days, rising only for tea or the loo. On the third day, she finally stood, rested and clear-headed. She studied herself in the mirror. Her mother had wasted away before death, skin yellowed. Emily saw none of that.
She’d always been thin. Divorce, her mother’s illness, the funeral, the exhausting dance with James—though, no, with him, she’d been happy. She grabbed her phone, blocking his number. She wouldn’t open the door if he came. Let him remember her like this.
She surveyed the flat. A will was needed. Her mother’s cousin could have it, not strangers. She booked an appointment with a solicitor. No gold, just a wedding band and earrings. All her wealth. She’d dreamed of a fur coat once—never bought it.
With a strange satisfaction, she cooked eggs and ate heartily.
That night, she dreamed of her mother—healthy again, stern as ever.
“Mum! How are you?”
“I’m fine. But you…”
“What did I do wrong?”
She woke gasping, heart hammering. The bedside lamp stayed on. She didn’t sleep again, puzzling over the dream.
Her mother had looked like that when she’d skipped school to see a film. A family friend had spotted her and tattled. She’d been grounded for weeks.
What was wrong now? A visit to the grave? They said the dead called when neglected.
The next day, she took the bus toward the cemetery. It passed the hospital where the ambulance had taken her. On impulse, she got off.
She stood before the building. Why was she here?
“Ms. Cartwright! You just left? What if there’d been complications? I’m responsible for you!”She walked back into the hospital, her heart lighter, realizing she still had time to change everything.
