**Diary Entry 18th November**
The night hung thick over London, heavy with the promise of sorrow. Dark clouds lumbered across the sky, weighed down by broken dreams. The car glided over rain-slicked tarmac, headlights cutting through the gloom. Thomas gripped the wheel, knuckles white, every jolt in the road like a hammer to his soula cruel reminder that fate had never been kind. Beside him, Emily sat in silence, her breathing shallow. She leaned back as if trying to escape the pain, one hand resting on her swollen belly, her gaze fixed on the lifeless sky outside. There was no fear in her eyes. Only longingdeep, unshakable, the kind that lingers when hope is already lost.
“Tom” Her voice was frail, barely a whisper. “Promise me something.”
He nodded, jaw clenched, bracing himself.
“If something happens dont blame her. Our little girl. She didnt ask for this. Just love her. For me. For us both.”
His throat tightened. He wanted to swear that all would be well, that theyd raise her together in the house hed built, with its nursery and rocking chair and dreams yet unspoken. But the doctors words from months ago still cut like glass: *”Pregnancy with her condition is like rolling dice with death. The odds arent in her favour.”* He remembered how Emily had looked at him thennot afraid, but pleading. *”I want this, Tom. I want to leave something of us behind.”* He hadnt refused. Not because he was weak. Because he loved her.
“Em,” he whispered, voice breaking, “well go home together. All three of us. I wont let you go.”
He sounded brave. Inside, he was shattering.
The emergency room was a blur of rain and fluorescent light. He helped her inside, her arm trembling in his grip. She pressed her forehead to his chest and murmured, *”I love you. More than anything. Youre stronger than you know.”* That momenttoo briefburned into his memory. Then she was gone, wheeled away, leaving him standing in the downpour, soaked through with dread.
Half an hour later, a weary doctor appeared. *”Its critical,”* he said bluntly. *”Her blood isnt clotting. Were doing everything, but miracles dont happen here.”*
Thomas slumped onto the hospital steps, numb. Time crawled. He paced, prayed, bargained with the universe*Take me instead. Just bring her back.*
Then Sarah appearedEmilys friend from uni, now a nurse in paediatrics. She sat beside him, her short brown hair damp from the rain.
“How is she?” he croaked.
Sarah sighed, irritation flickering in her eyes. *”Selfish. She knew the risks. And now youre left picking up the pieces.”*
He flinched. How could she say that about Emily? But grief stole his words.
“Come on,” she said, pulling him up. “Lets get a drink. Waiting here will drive you mad.”
He followed like a sleepwalker. They bought cheap whisky from an off-license, sat on a bench in a soggy park. She talked about work, the weathermundane things. Her voice was steady, a lifeline. He drank without tasting.
He woke on his sofa, head pounding. A call to the hospital confirmed the worst: Emily was holding on, but barely. He raced back. Sarah met him, whispering, *”I pulled strings. You can see herthrough the glass.”*
Behind the partition, Emily was a ghostpale, tangled in wires, the heart monitors beep a fragile thread. He knew then: this wasnt a battle. It was goodbye.
A day later, the doctor delivered the blow. *”Im sorry. We couldnt stop the bleeding. Neither of them made it.”*
Thomas roared, lunging, fists clenched. *”You couldve saved her! Id have paid anything!”*
The doctor shook his head. *”Money cant fix this.”*
Sarah handled the funeralthe coffin, the hymns, the hollow condolences. He sat in their silent flat, surrounded by Emilys things: her scarf, her teacup, her perfume. He couldnt cry. Couldnt speak.
Then came the memorythe one betrayal hed buried. A drunken night, months ago. An argument. Sarah had been there, comforting him, leading him to her bed. Emily never knew. Now the guilt sat like a second coffin on his chest.
At the graveside, he turned away before they lowered her. He couldnt watch.
“Tom! The wake!” Sarah called.
He shook his head. “Im not going.”
A small girlmaybe eightdarted from the gates, clutching his sleeve. *”Sir! Check the cameras! At the hospital! Theyll show you!”*
He brushed her off, tossing her a fiver.
Grief became fuel. He buried himself in workhis construction firm thrived, contracts piled up. Money flowed. But the flat stayed empty. He drifted to Sarahs place more often. Her flat held no ghosts.
Slowly, her things invaded his homea toothbrush, a dressing gown, a suitcase left “for a few days.” Each one a nail in the coffin of his old life.
Then one evening, he found Emilys photothe one that had always sat on the mantelstashed behind paperwork. He froze. But saying nothing was easier.
A year passed.
Sarah grew bolder. *”Lets sell this place,”* she said over tea. *”Too many memories. Well buy a penthouse. Make it official.”*
He stared at her, something cold coiling in his chest. He didnt love her. She was a distraction. A painkiller.
That night, half-asleep, he murmured, *”Em”*
Sarah jerked upright, shoving him. *”Emily? Even dead, shes between us! She was a fool! I deserved better!”*
The mask slipped. Rage twisted her face.
Thomas woke fully. *”Get out,”* he said, voice like ice.
Silence swallowed the flat. He drove blindly, ending up at the hospitalthe place hed avoided for a year. The girls words echoed: *”Check the cameras.”*
This time, he listened.
The guard, bribed with cash, pulled up the footage. Grainy, black-and-white. The neonatal ward. His daughteralive, squirming. Then Sarah, masked, swapping her for a stillborn.
His legs gave way.
Police swarmed the hospital. Records showed Sarah had registered the baby as abandoned, sold her to an orphanage.
And the girl from the cemetery? Lizaa ward of that same home. *”I heard Sarah talking,”* she said. *”No one believed me.”*
Thomas fell to his knees. *”Forgive me.”*
The orphanage was bleak, bars on the windows. The matron led him to a playroom.
There she washis daughter. Blonde curls, Emilys eyes. She toddled over, arms raised.
He scooped her up. She smelled of innocence.
That night, he returned Emilys photo to its place. *”Forgive me,”* he whispered.
He hired the kindest carerMargaret.
Months later, as he tucked his daughter in, he took Margarets hand. *”Ill always love Emily,”* he said. *”But my hearts learned to beat again.”*
He opened a ring box. *”Marry me. Lets be a family.”*
She smiled through tears.
Life wasnt perfect. But it was real. Built on ruins, yet full of light.
**Lesson learned: The truth always surfaces. And love, even broken, finds a way to heal.**
