**From the Diary of Emily Hartwell**
I had no idea she even existed until today. But what else could he do? Hand her over to an orphanage? “She’s my daughter,” he said.
I was humming to myself as I cooked dinner, finally ready to share my news with Daniel. We’d been together for ten years. At first, we weren’t in a hurry to have children—we were happy just the two of us. I wanted to focus on my career, gain experience.
Landing a job at a prestigious firm had been my dream, and I’d promised them I wouldn’t be starting a family anytime soon. It was a good position, with real prospects. I’d proved myself, earned promotions. The salary was decent, and the maternity package generous. Now, at last, it felt like the right time for a baby.
Except it wasn’t that simple. Tests showed nothing wrong with me—or Daniel.
“Be patient,” the doctor had said gently. “It happens. You’ve achieved so much professionally—no wonder your body’s exhausted. Relax. Stop obsessing. Just live, rest more. It’ll happen.” She smiled, prescribed vitamins, and sent me on my way.
But then it did happen. At first, I didn’t believe it. Must be a mistake, I thought, buying two more tests just to be sure. But there they were—two pink lines each time. A week later, I couldn’t wait any longer. Bloodwork at the clinic confirmed it. Daniel and I were going to have a baby! Tonight, I’d tell him. We’d celebrate.
As I fried the chops, I listened to my own body, though I knew it was too soon to feel anything. Still, I swore I could sense that new life inside me. More than once, I lifted my top in front of the mirror, searching for the slightest change. But my stomach stayed stubbornly flat.
The gas had been off for ages, the kettle long cooled, but still no sign of Daniel. He wasn’t answering his phone. Finally, the lock clicked. From the footsteps, I knew he wasn’t alone. My heart sank—there’d be no romantic announcement now. This wasn’t something to share with an audience.
With a sigh, I stepped into the hall. My breath caught. A girl, maybe ten years old, stood there with a defiant, wary look in her eyes. Behind her, Daniel shifted uncomfortably.
“Sorry I’m late. Stopped to pick up Hannah,” he mumbled, eyes fixed on the girl’s head.
“Who is she? Why did you bring her here? Why didn’t you call?” The questions tumbled out before I could stop them.
“Let’s go sit down. I’ll explain,” Daniel said, nudging the girl forward.
I stayed rooted to the spot, staring at their retreating backs. By the time I joined them in the living room, they were side by side on the sofa. I took the armchair instead—better to see their faces. The girl studied me blankly before turning to the window.
“This is Hannah. My daughter,” Daniel said.
He looked guilty, determined, and utterly wretched.
“Your daughter? I don’t understand.”
“I only found out today. Her grandmother called. She’s going into hospital—asked me to take Hannah.”
“And you just believed her? How do you even know she’s yours?” My voice was sharp.
Daniel hesitated. “It adds up. We can do a DNA test, but… I know she’s mine. At least until her grandmother’s better, she stays with us. She’s got no one else, Em. Her mum died in a car crash six months ago.” He glanced at the girl, who sat motionless. “Let’s eat. I’ll tell you everything after.”
I walked to the kitchen in a daze. Every part of me rebelled. But I couldn’t throw a child onto the streets. *It’s only temporary. A few days. This isn’t happening.*
They followed me in silence. I served the chops and potatoes but couldn’t bring myself to eat. Hannah picked at her food, pushing the meat aside.
“You don’t like it?” Daniel asked softly.
She shook her head.
“What do you like?”
“Spaghetti and sausages,” she muttered without looking up.
“Well, *sorry*,” I snapped, my anger spilling over. “Your dad didn’t exactly give me a heads-up.”
“Emily, enough,” Daniel cut in.
I slammed the kettle onto the stove and left. Behind me, I heard them talking. A rare sound—Daniel washing up. By the time he came to the bedroom, I was perched on the edge of the bed, arms folded, staring into the dark. He tried to hug me. I shoved him away.
“Hannah needs to sleep,” he said quietly.
“Sort out the sofa bed, then.” I yanked the spare linens from the cupboard.
The girl hovered by the wall, watching us like a cornered animal. Once she was settled, Daniel and I retreated to the kitchen.
He told me about Hannah’s mother—a fling that ended before we met. “I hadn’t seen her in years. Then today, out of the blue, the call.”
“But why didn’t you *warn* me? Just brought her home like some stray? My opinion means nothing?” I bit my tongue before adding, *We were going to have our own child.*
“Emily, I was in shock. What was I supposed to do? Leave her? Her gran’s dying. She’s my *daughter*.”
“You don’t *know* that,” I hissed.
“I’ll get a paternity test. But she stays. For now.” His tone left no room for argument.
*His decision. Deal with it.* The message in his eyes was clear. Maybe he didn’t even want the baby I was carrying.
That night, I turned my back to him. How could we be close with *her* in the next room? His possible daughter. I cried silently, certain our lives had just veered off course forever.
The tension between Hannah and me thickened daily. We circled each other warily, barely speaking. She buried herself in homework or her tablet; I hid in the kitchen, resentment simmering. *Why now? Just when I finally got pregnant.* Fine, let her stay. But my love would be for my own child.
On Saturday, Daniel left early for the garage. I made lunch, then suggested a walk. Hannah obeyed, pulling on her coat without a word. Outside, she hovered at the edge of the playground, ignoring the other kids.
Nausea rose in my throat. I ducked behind a bare hedge, retching. When I straightened, Hannah was gone. The other mothers shook their heads—no one had seen her. I sprinted across the green, calling her name. Nothing.
“How could you *lose* her? Where do we even look?” Daniel roared when he arrived.
“Don’t shout at me! She’s *your* responsibility! She’s *ten*—I looked away for *one minute*!” I shot back.
“Not your lass, then?” A woman approached, Hannah in tow.
“Where were you?” I lunged forward, but Daniel blocked me.
“Hannah, why did you leave?” His voice was steady but firm.
“I… I thought I saw Mum. I followed her. But it wasn’t her.” Her voice barely trembled, but tears welled.
“You *never* wander off. What if something had happened?” I couldn’t stop myself.
“She looked like Mum,” Hannah repeated, chin jutting.
Daniel exhaled. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
A dull ache had been gnawing at my stomach for hours. Now it sharpened, stabbing in waves. I clenched my teeth, gripping the banister as we climbed the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” Daniel frowned.
“Just… cramps,” I gasped.
Another spasm. I doubled over, crying out.
“Call an ambulance!”
He hauled me inside, dialling with one hand. Hannah shrank against the wall as paramedics swarmed in, pressing my belly, firing questions.
“We need to get her to hospital. Possible miscarriage.” The medic glanced at Daniel. “Grab her things.”
“Miscarriage?” Daniel paled. “Emily, you’re *pregnant*? Why didn’t you say?”
“I tried… that night…” I could barely speak.
The ride to the hospital was a blur. Daniel and Hannah trailed the ambulance. Hours later, a doctor emerged. “I’m sorry. We couldn’t save the baby.”
Daniel forgot Hannah entirely, bolting to my side. “Emily, I didn’t know—”
“Would it have mattered? *She* cost us our child. If not for her, he’d be alive.” A sob tore free. “Just go.”
Two days later, I was discharged. Seeing Hannah reignited my fury. I felt surplus, adrift. She’d stolen Daniel’s attention—attention *I* needed. Even in bed, her shadow lay between us.
Hannah sensed my hatred and retaliated. ASlowly, over shared laughter and quiet moments, we learned to stitch our broken pieces into something new, a family—imperfect, but ours.
