“Are you okay? Emily, open up.”—Polly pounded harder on the bathroom door.
Polly woke up and listened. Beside her, her husband snored softly. March sunlight broke through the thin white clouds. She glanced at the wall clock and jolted, afraid she’d be late for work—then remembered it was a holiday, Mother’s Day.
Right, wash up, grab coffee, and make breakfast before Emily and Mark woke. Polly eased out from under the duvet. But Mark stirred, groggy.
“What time is it?” he mumbled, eyes still closed.
“Half eight.”
He sat bolt upright.
“Relax—day off, holiday, sleep,” Polly smiled.
“And why are you up, then?” Mark pulled her into a bear hug, nuzzling her neck. “Happy Mother’s Day, love—mother of my child.”
“Well, technically, we’ve only got the one,” Polly laughed. “I’ll make breakfast. You stay put.”
“While you cook, I’ll nip out for a jog. Lovely day.” Mark threw off the covers, stood, and padded barefoot to the bathroom.
Polly had prepped the cottage cheese for pancakes the night before. Just needed to mix in banana, coat with flour, and fry. Soon, the kitchen filled with the sweet, doughy scent.
“Smells amazing.”—A dishevelled Emily appeared in the doorway, squinting in the bright light, shorts and jumper rumpled.
A sudden sunbeam cut through the clouds, splashing the kitchen in gold, glinting off the kettle’s steel curve.
Emily pressed a hand to her mouth—then vanished. Polly froze for a second before darting after her.
“Emily, open up. Are you okay?” Polly listened, then knocked on the locked bathroom door. The tap ran. “Emily!” She hammered harder.
Dread pooled in her chest. Polly shoved it down—maybe just a stomach bug. Then a chilling thought hit. “No. Not Emily. Top of her class, uni-bound… God, why would this happen?”
The stench of burning snapped her back. She rushed to the kitchen, swearing as she scraped charred pancakes into the bin. The shock grounded her. “Right. Stay calm.”
The doorbell rang—Mark back from his jog? She flung the door open.
A young man stood there, clutching a bouquet of mixed tulips.
“Morning, Mrs. Carter. These are for you.” He held them out, smiling.
“Thanks,” Polly said, baffled, taking the flowers. “Come in—Emily’s in the loo.”
He stepped inside, hesitated by the door, jacket still on. His nervous stare told her everything.
“So it’s you?” she hissed. “You—you know I could have you arrested?”
He flinched.
“I came to talk. I love Emily. I won’t run,” he blurted.
Just then, Emily stumbled out, pale and shaky. She stared at her mum, then him.
“You?”
“Which of you explains what’s happening? Why’s she sick? Is it you?” Polly’s voice rose, sharp as a blade.
“Mum! It’s fine.” Emily threw up her hands and fled to her room.
“Emily! Come back!”
The front door clicked—Mark walked in.
“Ooh, secret admirer?” He nodded at the tulips. “Hope you screamed with joy—heard you from the stairs.”
“Joy?” Polly choked. “He—” The words stuck.
“I love your daughter. I want to marry her,” the boy blurted, red as a beet.
“Blimey. Thought I’d have to duel for my wife,” Mark joked. “Emily’s still in school. Reckon we’ve got a chat ahead. Your name?”
“Alex. Alex Turner. I came so you wouldn’t think I’d—”
“Jacket off. Kitchen. Polly, vase those.” Mark vanished into the shower.
With Mark back, Polly breathed easier. She set the tulips on the table, watching the colours brighten the kitchen. Then returned to the pancakes.
The sun hid behind clouds, as if afraid of her temper. Soon, a stack of golden pancakes steamed on a plate. Polly laid them on the table just as Mark strode in, fresh from the shower.
“Pancakes! Emily, bring your guest!” He turned to Polly. “So—what’s happened?”
Before she could answer, Alex shuffled in. Daylight made him look painfully young. Mark gestured to a chair, and Alex sat, staring at his plate.
Emily reappeared—washed, dressed, calmer. “Maybe nothing’s wrong?” Polly hoped desperately, scrambling for the sugar bowl.
“Polly, relax,” Mark said, forking two pancakes onto Alex’s plate. “Not sitting?” He glanced at Emily, who shook her head.
Polly eyed her daughter. “Afraid she’ll be sick again?”
“Not hungry?” Mark asked. Polly shook her head, leaving the kitchen.
Mark found her on the sofa.
“What’s happened?”
“Happened,” she echoed. Then Alex and Emily appeared, and she fell silent.
“Right, son—why’ve you scared my wife?”
“I—” Alex cleared his throat. “I’m taking responsibility. I love Emily. I’ll marry her.”
“Got a reason for the rush?”
“There is,” Polly cut in. “She’s pregnant.”
“Mum!” Emily’s voice cracked.
“True?” Mark clapped his knees, standing. “Your parents know about this?”
“They do. They’ve supported us.” Alex met his gaze, ears burning.
“And you?” Mark turned to Emily. “I won’t shout. But an abortion could ruin your chances of having kids later.”
“Mark—she’s seventeen!” Polly flared.
“Calm. Alex, sit.”
Emily spoke first. “We’ll have the baby.”
“Seventeen,” Polly seethed. “Ever heard of contraception? This isn’t just a baby—it’s your life, Emily. No uni, no freedom. You’ll resent each other—”
“Polly, breathe,” Mark cut in. “First, finish school quietly. Then, if she wants, study remotely.”
“You’re too calm.” Tears welled.
“What should I do? Beat them? Or send her to abort—and let her hate us forever?” Mark’s voice frayed.
“God, why us?” Polly turned away.
Mark pulled her close.
“It’s not the worst. At least she’s healthy. We’ll figure it out.”
Alex spoke up. “I’ll work. My dad’s ex-military—he’ll help.”
Mark smirked. “See? He’s got a plan.”
“Better if he’d thought sooner,” Polly spat.
Alex stood. “I should go. Sorry—didn’t mean to ruin your day.”
Mark saw him out.
Later, over tea, the families agreed: No scandal. They’d sort a registry wedding after school. It wouldn’t be easy—but young parents manage.
Would Emily and Alex last? Only time would tell. But blame wouldn’t help. Not now.
