“Have a baby for me. You know I can’t have children… Have a baby for me. You know I can’t…”
First day of uni began with a lecture. Lily fumbled through the corridors before finding the right room. She’d barely taken the last seat in the front row when the professor strode in. He introduced himself, outlining the year’s coursework, emphasising that exam questions would draw from lectures—not textbooks. “Attend now,” he advised, “or waste hours Googling answers later.”
The door swung open. In walked a dazzling, head-turning girl. The room tittered. The professor spun around.
“Late for a lecture? Name?” he clipped.
“Bridget Montgomery,” she chirped, utterly unruffled.
“First and last warning, Bridget. Next time, don’t bother. I don’t tolerate lateness.” He turned to the hushed class. “That goes for all of you. I won’t repeat myself—ask a peer. Sit.”
Bridget teetered forward in sky-high heels, her peacock demeanour clattering against the lecture hall’s sobriety. Lily scooted over.
“Hi. Scare tactics?” Bridget whispered, plopping down.
“Shh, or he’ll toss you,” Lily hissed.
At break, they bonded. Bridget commuted daily from Surrey, misjudging her first-day timing. Lily, a scholarship girl from Leeds, lived in halls. Bridget breezed through uni, unfazed by grades. “Who cares if it’s a 2:1 or a first? Marry well, live comfortably,” she’d say, baffled by Lily’s textbook grind.
“I promised Mum I’d study hard. She raised me alone—dropped out when she fell pregnant. My dad bolted. I won’t repeat her mistakes.”
“Suit yourself. Rot over books, then. When’s *living*?” Bridget scoffed.
“After graduation,” Lily laughed.
Despite opposites attracting, they became inseparable. Lily attended every lecture, lending notes when Bridget skipped to party. Many warned Lily: “She’s using you.”
“So what? Friendship’s rarely selfless,” Lily shrugged.
By fourth year, Bridget fell in love and abandoned studies entirely. Without Lily’s covert help, she’d have been booted. Then—surprise pregnancy.
“Wanted an abortion, but Simon found out and lost it. We’re marrying. You’re maid of honour—no arguments,” she declared.
A raucous New Year’s Eve wedding, then a baby boy arrived just before finals. Bridget stumbled into exams sleep-deprived; pitying lecturers passed her.
Lily graduated with first-class honours, ready to return to Leeds.
“You’re *leaving*? With that degree? London’s begging for you! Simon’s dad owns a firm—he’ll hire you. Your mum can wait. Earn, gain experience—Leeds will *snatch* you later. Simon’s got a single mate, by the way. Remember your ‘live after studying’ vow? I’m not letting you go. Ugh, if not for the baby, we’d paint the town—”
“Don’t say that. Kids grow fast. You’ve got *everything*—family, home, a good man. A baby’s joy,” Lily countered.
She stayed. Simon’s father hired her. Work thrived; love life didn’t.
Years blurred. Bridget, drowning in nappies, rarely met Lily, now climbing corporate ladders. Then—a call. “Come over,” Bridget mumbled, voice hollow.
Lily rushed over. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Lily exhaled. “*That’s* your emergency? Congrats!”
“Congrats?! Just ditched nappies, planned to *work*—now this! How?!”
“Contraception?”
“Tried pills. Simon found them, blew up. He’s an only child—obsessed with a big family. Buying a house, no *consulting* me. Men should *try* childbirth just once! Calls work ‘exhausting,’ yet bolts there like it’s a rave.… Len, does he have someone? At work? Tell me.”
“Stop. Simon *does* work hard. He loves you.”
Bridget had another boy. And wept. “Now he wants a *girl*. What if it’s *another* boy? Annual pregnancies? No!”
Bridget’s mum helped occasionally; her mother-in-law took the eldest weekends only. Juggling two kids, Bridget spun like a hamster in a wheel. Lily, respecting the chaos, stayed scarce.
Then—Lily married Simon’s best mate, yearning for a baby. But fate laughed. Tests revealed infertility. Multiple clinics, same verdict. Crushed but pragmatic, she buried herself in work. Her husband vetoed adoption, then left for another woman. Lily let him go—no love lost.
Meanwhile, Bridget’s family upgraded to a posh Hampshire estate. Invited for dinner, Lily gaped at the sprawling gardens Bridget proudly tended.
No more work chatter—Bridget’s mum, now retired, lived with them, shuttling grandsons to Surrey summers for “country air.”
Lily fought envy until she saw the nursery—sky-blue wallpaper, fluffy clouds, grinning boy photos. Tears welled. She’d never know motherhood’s embrace.
“You’re lucky, Bridget.”
“Lucky? Simon only keeps me for breeding. Always abroad—Sweden venture with his dad. I’m alone, gardening *for distraction*,” she sighed. “…I’m pregnant *again*.”
“Amazing!” Lily fawned.
“*Amazing*? No rest between nappies! After two kids, my waist *vanished*. Three? Simon’ll leave. No. He flies to Sweden—I’ll abort.”
“You’d *do* that? If Simon finds out—”
“He won’t. Try snitching.”
Lena paused. “When’s he leaving?”
“Two weeks. Why?”
“…Don’t abort. Have this baby—*for me*. You *know* I can’t. How far along?”
“Ten weeks.”
“Ten…” Lily’s mind raced. “Come to Leeds for summer. Fresh air, freedom. Simon’s gone for months. I’ll think of a delay excuse. Post-birth, I’ll take the baby. You helped me—now *I* need *you*.”
“*Mad*! He’ll *find out*.”
“But he doesn’t *know* you’re pregnant,” Lily pressed.
“No! You’re asking me to *give away my child*?” Bridget seethed.
“You *just* said you’d *kill* it. This way, it *lives*.”
“*NEVER*.”
Yet when Bridget mentioned Leeds to Simon, he agreed instantly. “Brilliant! Your mum needs a break. Go.”
Too easy. Lily rejoiced—she’d have a baby! Just pray Bridget didn’t change her mind if it was a girl.
Her mum disapproved but hadn’t seen Lily so radiant. Bridget’s pregnancy was smooth; her curves hid the bump. Kids adored country freedom.
One day, berry-picking in the woods, Bridget lagged, clutching her back. By nightfall, contractions hit. The ambulance barely made it. A premature girl—frail, survival uncertain.
“*Why* d’you want her? She might be *sick*,” Bridget said, already detaching.
Lily visited daily. Bridget, relieved, bound her chest to dry milk, returned to London. Her boys, too young to grasp “Mum’s hospital stint,” forgot quickly.
The girl survived—sickly, infection-prone. But Lily was *elighted*. Her *daughter*—her purpose, *Evelyn*. She quit her job, moved to Leeds, devoted herself wholly. Bridget never called.
—
**Fifteen years later**
Under a sprawling oak, a humble garden table hosted a steaming teapot. A woman bustled about it. Across sat a burly, balding man sipping tea, chatting. A pretty teen girl—sundress, plait over shoulder—fidgeted, bored.
From the fence cracks, Bridget watched, devouring the girl’s face. Then—she pushed the gate.
Lily jerked up, startled. “How—? Come, sit. This is Bridget—uni friend,” she babbled, introducing husband and daughter, masking panic.
Bridget stared at Evelyn.
“Mum, can I go to Meg’s?”
“Go.”
“We’ll leave you to catch up,” the husband tactfully offered, excusing himself.
“Why are you *here*?” Lily hissed.
“I’ve come for my daughter.”
“*Mine*. You *renounced* her, wanted her *dead*. *Leave*.”
“I’ve no one left,” Bridget choked. “Our eldest is in Sweden—won’t return. The younger died in a crash. Simon left. I’ve nothing. If you don’t—”
“*No daughter*,” Lily repeated, softer.
“Please. She looks *justBridget wiped her tears, whispering, “Let her choose,” and in that moment, Lily finally understood the bittersweet truth—love isn’t ownership, but letting go when it’s right.
