You lied to me! Michael stands in the middle of the living room, face flushed red with anger. What do you mean, I lied? You knew! You knew you couldnt have children, and you still married me!
Youll be the most beautiful bride, her mother says, straightening her veil, and Emily cant help but smile at her reflection in the mirror.
The white dress, lace-trimmed sleeves, Michael in a sharp suit. Everything just as shed dreamed since she was fifteen: a great love, a big wedding, children. Lots of children. Michael wanted a son; she wanted a daughter, so they agreed on three, just to be fair.
This time next year, Ill be looking after grandchildren, her mum had said through happy tears.
Emily believed every word.
The first months of marriage were a blur of happiness. Michael came home from work and she met him with dinner; theyd fall asleep, arms wrapped tight around each other. Every morning, her heart would skip a beat as she checked the calendar. A delay? No, just her imagination. Another month. Then another. And another.
By winter, Michael stopped asking, Well? Any news? with that spark of hope. Now he just watched her silently as she came out of the bathroom.
Maybe we should see a doctor? she suggested in February, just shy of a year.
About time, Michael muttered, not looking up from his phone.
The clinic smelled of disinfectant and resignation. Emily sat in the waiting room among other women with tired eyes, flicking through a magazine on happy motherhood, convinced thered been some mistake. Surely nothing was wrong. Just bad luck, thats all.
Tests. Ultrasounds. More tests. Check-ups. The names of each procedure blurred together in a cold, clinical haze, nurses with indifferent faces.
Your chances of conceiving naturally are about five percent, the consultant said, glancing down at her notes.
Emily nodded, scribbled some things in her diary, asked questions. Inside, though, everything froze.
Treatment began in March, and with it came changes.
Youre crying again? Michael stood in the bedroom doorway, more irritated than sympathetic.
Its the hormones.
Third month straight? Whens it enough? Im fed up!
She wanted to explain: thats how the therapy works, it takes time, the doctors promised results in six months to a year. But Michael had already gone, slamming the door behind him.
Their first round of IVF was scheduled for autumn. For two weeks, Emily barely left her bed, scared to frighten away a miracle.
Its negative, the nurse said bluntly over the phone.
Emily slid to the floor in the hallway and sat there until Michael returned that evening.
How much have we spent on this now? he asked, instead of, Are you alright?
I havent kept track.
Well, I have. Nearly thirty thousand. And for what, in the end?
She didnt answer. There simply wasnt one.
Try number two. Michael came home after midnight now, always smelling of a perfume she didnt recognise, and Emily didnt ask. She didnt want to know.
Another negative.
Maybe its time to call it? Michael sat opposite her in the kitchen, turning an empty mug over in his hands. How long are we going to do this?
The doctors say the third round often works.
Doctors say what theyre paid to say!
She faced the third round almost alone; Michael was always staying late at work. Her friends had stopped callingthere was only so much comfort they could offer. Her mother cried on the phone: So young, so beautifulhow could this happen?
When the nurse said Im sorry, for the third time, Emily didnt even cry. The tears had dried up somewhere between the second failed round and the latest row about money.
You lied to me!
Michael stood in the middle of the living room, face blazing.
What do you mean, lied?
You knew! You knew you couldnt have kids and married me anyway!
I didnt know! They only made the diagnosis after a year, you were there at the…
Dont lie to me! he yelled, striding towards her. Emily shrank back instinctively. You set this all up! Found a fool to marry you, thensurprise! No kids after all!
Michael, please…
Ive had enough! He grabbed a vase from the table and flung it at the wall. I deserve a real family. With children! Not this…
He pointed as if she were something revolting, a mistake of nature.
Fights became a daily ritual. Michael came home sullen, silent until he exploded at some minor thing: a lost TV remote, over-salted soup, too-loud breathing.
Were getting a divorce, he announced one morning.
What? No! Michael, we could adopt, Ive read…
I dont want someone elses child. I want my own! I want a wife who can actually give me one!
Please, give me another chance. I love you.
Well, I dont love you. Not anymore.
He said it quietly, steadily meeting her gaze, and it hurt more than every row put together.
Im packing my things, he told her that Friday night.
Emily sat on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, watching as he threw shirts into his suitcase. But he couldnt quite pack up in silence.
Im leaving because youre barren.
Michael just kept twisting the knife.
Ill find a proper woman.
Emily said nothing.
The door shut. The flat fell silent. Only then did she finally let herself crydeep, guttural sobs that left her hoarse.
The first weeks after the divorce blurred into one depressing smudge. Emily got up, drank tea, went back to bed. Sometimes she forgot to eat. Sometimes she lost track of what day it was.
Friends dropped round, brought home-cooked meals, cleaned the flat, tried to talk. Emily nodded, agreed with everything, then wrapped herself in the blanket and stared at the ceiling again.
But time passed. Day by day, week by week. And one morning, Emily woke up thinking: enough.
She got up, showered, tossed all the medication from the fridge, and joined a gym. At work, she asked for a new projecta tough, three-month assignment that would demand everything she had.
On weekends, she started taking day trips, then short breaks away. London, Bath, the Lake District. Life kept moving.
She met Daniel in a bookshopthey both reached for the last copy of Stephen Kings new release.
After you, he said with a smile, stepping back.
Well, perhaps Ill let you have it if you buy me a coffee, Emily blurted out, surprising herself.
He laughed, and something about that laugh warmed her from the inside.
Over coffee, he told her all about Daisyhis seven-year-old daughter, whom hed raised alone for five years, ever since his wife passed away.
How hard it was at first, how Daisy cried for her mum at night, how he learnt to plait hair with YouTube tutorials.
Youre a good dad, Emily said.
I do my best.
She didnt want to deceive him. On their third date, when it was clear this was more than a fleeting acquaintance, Emily laid it all out.
I cant have children. Official diagnosis, three failed IVF rounds, my husband left. If that matters to you, you should know now.
Daniel was silent for a long time.
Ive already got Daisy, he finally said. What I want is you, even if we cant have a child together.
But
Youll manage, he interrupted, almost cryptically.
What do you mean?
Youll be a mum. If you want to. My mother was told the same, you know. Yet here I am. Sometimes miracles happen.
Daisy accepted her with surprising ease. At their first meeting, she looked sullen and answered in monosyllables, but when Emily asked about her favourite book, she lit up and talked non-stop about Harry Potter. On the second meeting, she reached for Emilys hand. On the third, she asked her to do her hair like Elsas plaits, please.
She likes you, Daniel observed. Shes never warmed up to anyone so quickly.
Two years went by in a flash. Emily moved in with Daniel, learnt to make pancakes on Saturday mornings, memorised all the episodes of Paw Patrol, and let herself love againfor real this time, without fear or suspicion.
On New Years Eve, midnight approaching, Emily closed her eyes and made a wish. Her lips barely moved: I want a child.
She instantly panickedwhy reopen old wounds?but the wish had already gone, straight to the stars.
A month later, her period was late.
It cant be, Emily thought, staring at the two lines. Faulty test.
Second test. Two lines.
Third. Fourth. Fifth.
Daniel, she said, stepping out of the bathroom on shaking legs, I… I dont know how this is possible…
He understood before she even finished. He lifted her, spun her around, planted kisses on her forehead, her nose, her mouth.
I knew it! He kept repeating, I told youyou could do it!
The doctors at the clinic stared at her like she was a mystery. They went through her records, checked her notes, ran new tests.
This is impossible, the consultant shook his head. With your diagnosis… I havent seen anything like this in twenty years.
But I am pregnant?
You are. Eight weeks. And everything looks perfectly fine.
Emily laughed aloud.
Four months later, she bumped into one of Michaels mates at the supermarket.
Heard about Michael? he asked, giving a pointed glance at Emilys rounded belly. Hes onto his third wife. Still nothing going.
Nothing?
Children. None with his second, none with his third. Doctors reckon its him. Can you believe it? After all those years blaming you.
Emily didnt know what to say. She felt… nothing. No triumph, no bitterness. Just emptiness where love used to be.
Her son was born in August, on a golden morning. Daisy and Daniel waited anxiously in the corridor.
Can I hold him? Daisy asked softly, peering into the room.
Careful, Emily said, passing her the tiny bundle. Support his head.
Daisy stared at her new brother, eyes wide, then looked up at Emily.
Mum, is he always going to be this red? Mum…
Emily burst into tears, Daniel swept them both into his arms, and Daisy kept glancing between her parents and her brother, still not understanding why everyone was weeping.
And at that moment, Emily realised something important. Sometimes, you just need the right person beside you to believe in the impossible.
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