**Diary Entry – A Twist of Fate**
Sales manager Edward had never been married, so when he spotted young and beautiful Emma on her first day in his department, he was smitten at once. He approached her with a warm smile that made her pause.
“Good morning, colleague,” he said warmly.
“Good morning,” she replied softly, returning the smile.
“Right then, get started. Katherine will show you the ropes—she’s the senior here. Have a read through the job description. Best of luck—hope we’ll work well together.”
The team, mostly women, exchanged knowing glances as he left. Katherine leaned over to whisper to Vera beside her, “Since when does Edward take such an interest in new hires?” They both stifled a laugh.
Emma kept to herself at first—new workplace, after all. She wasn’t shy, far from it, but she played the observer. Young but sharp, just twenty-two, she’d already broken up two marriages by seventeen. Even in college, she’d tangled with a much older lecturer until rumours reached his wife and he cut ties.
Before long, Edward invited her for coffee after work.
“Why not? You’re my boss,” she grinned. “Good relations are key, wouldn’t you say?”
Her smile seemed so genuine he almost thought she was joking. But she’d agreed, and he was thrilled. At thirty, Edward had never married—close, but never quite there. This moved fast. They dated, fell in love, and soon shocked the office by announcing their wedding.
Married life was indulgent. He granted her every whim, even agreeing to her terms:
“No children yet. I want to live for myself. When I’m ready, I’ll tell you. Until then, no nappies or babygros, darling.”
Edward assumed she’d change her mind—what was a family without children? But time passed, and Emma shut down every mention of kids.
“Ed, I warned you upfront. Don’t nag me about it. I’m not ready.”
Then one day, he found her distressed, clutching a positive pregnancy test.
“Emma… you’re pregnant?” She nodded.
Overjoyed, he swept her up—but she burst into tears.
“I don’t want this! I won’t be some fat cow. Fix it!”
He held her close, kissing her tear-streaked cheeks. “Don’t be angry, love. This is happiness. We’re having a baby!”
Emma was resolute. She booked a termination, but Edward stormed into the clinic just in time. He begged her:
“Please, don’t do this. Let our child live. I’ll help with everything.”
She relented—on condition she’d never change a nappy or wake for night feeds. He doted on her throughout the pregnancy. When the time came, he rushed her to hospital, relieved when their healthy daughter, Alice, arrived.
Exhausted but happy, he went home to rest. Returning the next day, the nurse met him with news:
“Your wife’s gone. She left the baby.”
“Impossible!” Edward insisted. “She must be nearby—check again!”
But Emma had vanished. No calls, no trace. A month later, she phoned coldly:
“Pack my things. My boyfriend, James, will collect them. File for divorce yourself—I won’t show up.”
Alice meant nothing to her—nor did Edward. He became both mother and father to her, grateful his own mum lived close by to help.
**Sophia**
The school’s call startled Sophia. Mrs. Thompson, her son Danny’s Year 3 teacher, demanded, “Come now. Your son’s caused quite a scene.” No details—just urgency.
Sophia grabbed her bag, dashed from work, her mind racing. *Danny’s calm, well-behaved—what could he’ve done?*
Danny was her miracle. Before marrying Henry, he’d confessed—sterile, doctor’s note and all. His third marriage.
“Well, doctors can be wrong,” she’d said, marrying him for love. If children never came, adoption was an option—though she kept that to herself.
Henry’s first wife had cheated; the second left after his diagnosis. So Sophia’s pregnancy shocked him. Overjoyed, she’d rushed home with the scan—eight weeks along.
“Henry, look! We’re having a baby! I told you doctors err—”
His slap cut her off.
“*Your* joy? Whose bastard is this?” He swung again as she shielded her face, sobbing.
Later, he cooled. “Fine. A family needs a child—even if it’s not mine.”
She stopped arguing. Danny was born, the spitting image of Henry—who refused to see it. At first, he’d watch the baby, even hold him. Then the rage returned.
“You slut! Who’s the real father? Why’d you put my name down? Make *him* pay!”
Sophia wept, pleaded. Danny grew up hearing it, crying at his shouts. Once, Henry sneered, “Go to your *real* dad—let him feed you.”
A DNA test proved Henry’s paternity. He scoffed, “You bribed them! I’ll expose you!”
Sophia left for her mother’s, then a rented flat across town. He found her. She filed for divorce, endured humiliation, then fled to another city. Now, life was stable—Danny, eight, well-behaved. Until *that* call.
At school, she found Danny outside the head’s office with a scraped cheek, opposite Alice—top of the class—and her father.
Mrs. Thompson sighed. “Daniel pushed Alice. She fell and hurt herself.”
**Reconciliation**
“Mum, she started it! Called me ‘fatherless’ and scratched me! You said never hit girls, but—”
“Alice, you too,” her father chided.
The children muttered apologies, still glowering.
“Parents, sort this out,” the teacher said.
“Gladly,” Sophia and Edward replied in unison—then laughed.
“I’m Edward, Alice’s father.”
“Sophia, Daniel’s mum.”
Alice touched Danny’s arm. “Truce?”
“Truce.”
“Perfect,” Edward grinned. “How about pizza to celebrate?”
The children cheered. Over slices, Danny whispered, “If anyone bothers you, tell me.” Alice beamed.
The parents exchanged glances, sensing something more. Soon, they were dating—cinema trips, park strolls, dinners. The children noticed, thrilled.
Years later, Edward and Sophia would joke about their luck—how a playground scrap brought them together. “Every cloud…”
Now, expecting a boy, they listened as Alice and Danny debated names. “Stevie,” they decided.
Sometimes, happiness arrives in disguise.
