**A Woman’s Story**
Everyone thought Emily and Daniel were the perfect couple—both striking, successful, and well-off. The only thing missing was children. Doctors could only shrug, offering bleak diagnoses.
But they never gave up hope. They attended church, prayed fervently, visited holy sites, and sought out every possible remedy. When they heard of an old herbalist in a nearby village, they went straight to her. She told them they would have a child—not just one, but through pain and loss. She spoke at length, but Emily, overjoyed, barely listened. All she remembered was the need to keep believing.
“They should live for themselves, travel—they’ve got the money. Why create such a tragedy? Children are ungrateful; they won’t even bring you a glass of water in old age,” people whispered behind her back.
“She’s too old; probably full of ailments herself, yet she’s desperate for children. She should be thinking of grandchildren,” others muttered. But how could there be grandchildren when there were no children?
Once, Emily told Daniel he was free to leave, to find a younger woman who could give him children—many of them. The way he looked at her made her regret her words instantly. She never brought it up again.
They had everything—careers, a home, money—but it wasn’t enough. Emily knew she’d be the best mother. She imagined cradling a tiny baby who looked like them, watching first steps, first days at school. Sometimes she convinced herself, *People live without children. It’s fate. If God won’t give me one, I must not deserve it.* She searched for flaws in herself, reasons for divine punishment.
Perhaps their prayers worked. Perhaps God took pity on their patience and faith. One day, the miracle they’d longed for happened.
Emily had long stopped tracking her cycles. When nausea hit one morning, she blamed last night’s dinner. But it returned the next day, and again when she cooked soup—the smell of meat made her queasy. *No, it can’t be… Can it?* She bought two tests.
How often do we pray for miracles, then doubt them when they arrive? Emily stared at the two pink lines, disbelieving. She barely waited for Daniel to step through the door before blurting, “I’m pregnant,” thrusting the test at him.
They clung to each other, holding tight until their joyful tears dried.
Daniel wouldn’t let her lift a thing, even banning her from shopping alone to avoid heavy bags. He constantly asked how she felt.
“Stop hovering. Women older than me have babies,” Emily grumbled.
“I don’t care about other women. I only care about you. I won’t risk anything happening to you or our baby,” he said, kissing her. “Besides, I like taking care of you.”
When her bump showed, neighbours and colleagues took notice. Some were genuinely happy; others didn’t hide their disapproval.
“Did they finally do IVF?”
“She’ll miscarry, or the baby will be deformed,” one neighbour hissed to another on the bench outside. Emily hurried away, stroking her belly. *Don’t listen to them. You’ll be the most beautiful, clever little girl.* She already knew it was a daughter.
She used to avoid baby sections, but now she marched in, picking the finest clothes. At home, she unfolded them, imagining her daughter wearing each piece. She pressed a tiny dress to her face—it smelled of the shop, but it was *hers*.
When the time came, they booked the best clinic for a C-section, unwilling to take risks after so much waiting. Their daughter was born healthy. Every day, they thanked heaven for their happiness.
Emily couldn’t breastfeed, so they bought the finest formula. They spent hours watching their baby sleep. First teeth, first words, first steps followed. Daniel suggested Emily stay home after maternity leave. “No nurseries—she’ll just catch germs.”
Their daughter became Emily’s world. Charlotte grew up loved, bright, and well-behaved.
But happiness fades into habit. Charlotte started school. One evening, she did homework, Daniel read the paper, and Emily cooked. She’d just started chopping salad when she realised she’d forgotten mayonnaise.
“Dan, I’ll nip to the shop,” she said.
“Hmm,” he grunted, not looking up.
When she returned, she finished dinner, then went to call Charlotte—but she wasn’t home.
“Dan, where’s Charlotte?”
“She popped over to Sophie’s.”
“When?”
“Right after you left.”
Emily checked the clock—half six. People say mothers *feel* impending disaster, but she felt nothing. Sophie lived next door. Why worry?
They ate without her. Later, Emily called Sophie’s landline. Her mother answered.
“Hello, it’s Charlotte’s mum. Could she come home now?”
“She’s not here. We thought you’d kept her back. Is everything alright?”
“*Not here?*” Emily gasped. The phone slipped from her hand.
Daniel jumped up. “What?”
“She never went to Sophie’s,” Emily whispered, her lips numb.
They tore through the streets, calling her name. Autumn nights darkened early; lamplights flickered on. Nobody had seen her. Charlotte had vanished.
Daniel called the police.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find her. Go home in case she turns up,” the officer said kindly.
They waited, jumping at every call. But Charlotte never came back. Emily dozed in fitful bursts. Days of searching yielded nothing.
She forbade herself from imagining the worst, clinging to hope. Months passed. Daniel and Emily stopped speaking, avoiding each other’s shattered gazes—mirrors of despair.
Daniel greyed overnight, shoulders bowed under grief. He stayed late at work. Alone, sorrow was easier to bear than together.
Emily called the station endlessly. The officer avoided her eyes, mumbling empty reassurances.
She returned to work, desperate for distraction. At first, colleagues tiptoed around her, avoiding talk of children. But as Christmas neared, they chattered about presents, school plays. Emily walked out.
“Are we supposed to forget our kids because of *her*?” some griped.
At home, she lashed out at Daniel.
“This is *your* fault. Why did you let her go? If not for you, she’d still be here!”
He never fought back, just drank more. One day, he packed a bag and left for his mother’s. Emily didn’t stop him.
Three years passed.
Spring arrived early, warm and bright. Buds swelled on trees. Emily rarely left the house on weekends, but today she stepped out, drawn by the sun.
She wandered to the riverside, tilting her face upward. Below, a man played fetch with his Alsatian. The dog bounded after the stick, returning it for a pat before dashing off again.
Charlotte had wanted a pet. Daniel was allergic to cats. They’d debated breeds—he hated small dogs; she disliked large ones like that Alsatian. *If we’d just gotten one, maybe she wouldn’t have gone to Sophie’s…*
She knew Daniel wasn’t to blame. But blaming him was easier.
The man and dog climbed the steps toward her. Emily watched the water.
“Emily Williams?”
She turned sharply. The officer from Charlotte’s case stood there.
“Hello. Is this your dog?” she asked politely, though seeing him stung.
“Mine. This is Rex.”
The dog studied her with knowing eyes. She reached out. “May I?”
“He doesn’t bite women,” the officer—Matthew—said.
Rex’s ears twitched as she stroked his head.
“Lovely spring,” Matthew remarked. They walked along the river, silent until Emily spoke.
“Charlotte wanted a dog or cat. We never agreed on a breed.”
Rex licked her hand, startling her.
“He likes you,” Matthew said.
“I lost my family too. Wife and son died right in front of me. This job—I’m never home. It was May. We’d planned a barbecue at the cottage. My father-in-law picked me up from work. My wife and son were crossing the road to meet us…” His voice tightened. “Drunk driver. Ran a red light. My son died instantly. My wife lasted a day.”
He looked down. “I stopped going home. Slept at the station. Colleagues got me Rex. He saved me.”
Emily had thought her grief unmatched. But here was a man who’d lost everything, still searching for her daughter.
“Did they catch the driver?”
“Yes. Still in prison.”
They reached his flat. “Come in for tea. I’ll drive you home after.”
Rex watched her, waiting.
“I don’t get many visitors,” Matthew admitted.
“You remembered where I work.”
She’d thought him indifferent. Now, gratitude warmed her. She agreed.
Inside, he fumbled slicing cheese.
“Let me.” She took the knife, cutting neat slices.
“You’ve got a knack. Feels like a woman’s touch here.”
“I
