James had adored Emily since they were schoolchildren, and they whispered about marrying one day.
Jamess mother, Margaret Hartley, who ran the maternity ward at St.Marys Hospital, never approved of her sons choice. She had long favored a nurse named Clara and dreamed that James would wed hera woman beloved by the staff and patients alike, born into a family of physicians.
After school, James entered medical school, while Emily enrolled in a university of modern languages, aiming to become an English translator like her mother and grandmother. Their friends decided to celebrate the graduation by escaping to Jamess familys cottage in the Lake District.
They lingered there for almost an entire month, reluctant to return. At last, lectures were due to begin, and they had to make preparations.
One crisp autumn evening, Emily confessed, Im pregnant, James. How will you react?
What else? James laughed, pulling her close. Ill whisk you straight to the register office.
Im not light, James. Im carrying a weight.
Dont frighten a former wrestler, he teased. Youre as light as a feather to me.
But what about our studies?
School, love youll need a years break after the birth.
Ill switch to distance learning, like my mother did. She had me at nineteen and managed everything. Agree this now: after were married youll move in with us, and youll keep your distance from my mother. Ive known shell never accept meshes a force of her own.
For your peace of mind, Emily, James agreed.
They filed their marriage notice at the local register office and then went their separate ways. At Emilys flat, guests were arriving. A friend of her father turned up with his wife and their son William, a lanky sixteenyearold.
Back at his family home, James announced the news to his parents, urging them to begin wedding preparations.
Margaret, furious, stormed to Emilys parents house that night to cause a scene. She rattled the doorbell repeatedly, but no one answered. Inside, a dinner was being set and a record played, its melody matching the doorbells chime, so the knocks went unnoticed. William was taking a shower and, bewildered by the silence, wrapped a towel around his hips and opened the door.
Margaret stared, then, realizing she still held her mobile, hit record and began filming the hallway, the boys toweled figure filling the frame.
Are you here to see Mrs. Hartley? William asked, puzzled by the sudden filming.
Not any more, Margaret snapped, hurrying down the stairs.
At home she showed James the video, emphasizing how long it had taken them to answer the door.
Recognise the hallway? she said. We still dont know who the babys father is.
I understand, Mum. You were right. She isnt the one for me.
James sent an angry text to Emily, then switched his phone off. Emily, confused and unable to reach him, decided to go to his house despite the late hour.
Margaret anticipated Emilys desperate arrival and watched from the window as she approached. When she saw the girl, Margaret flung open the door herself, but barred her entry and stepped onto the landing.
What do you want from James? Hes already in bed. And you, playing both sides? Keep seeing other men, you twofaced liar, she snarled, then slammed the door behind her.
Emily, tears streaming, collapsed onto the stairwell. After a while she stood and returned home. In the kitchen, her mother, Margaret (her mothers name now also Margaret), was washing dishes. The grieving daughter clung to her.
Emily, love, the weddings near. You should be happy.
Mother, theres nothing left but the child Im carrying. It seems my motherinlaw stirred up trouble after learning wed applied for marriage, Emily sobbed, showing her mother the angry message James had sent.
If James behaves like that, hell always bow to his mother. God has taken him from you. Well raise the child ourselves, her mother tried to comfort her.
The split with James left Emily a wreck. Her pregnancy grew fraught, and one night she was rushed to the maternity ward while her parents were at work. Under anesthesia, she delivered a son, only to be told moments later that the baby had been stillborn.
The paperwork handed the tiny, lifeless body to the grieving parents, who buried him quietly. Emily remained in the ward, missing the funeral.
In the weeks that followed, Jamess parents sold their house and left the town.
Its for the best, love, his mother said. Youve suffered enough with Jamess coldness.
I hope I can forget him soon, Emily whispered.
Eight years slipped by.
Emily worked as a translator for a modest agency. One morning, James stepped into her office.
Why are you back in my life? she asked, icy. Ive moved on.
Im sorry. Tragedy has forced me to seek you out.
Thats absurd, James. My mothers a strong woman. Talk to her if you need help. I have no time for you. Leave.
Emily, please listen. Its important for you too. Meet me at the café across the street after work, he pleaded.
Ill only come out of curiosity, she replied, eyes fixed on her screen, closing the conversation.
That evening, they met on a quiet street.
Im sorry, Emily, but my son is ill and needs a donor.
Youve the wrong address, James. Your mother has the resources you need.
Weve been waiting, and no donor has come forward. Ive even put my flat on the market. Youre a motheryou might help our son.
This is a joke, James. Our child was stillborn. My parents buried him.
Hes alive, eight now.
How?
Remember the day we filed our marriage notice?
Ill never forget your cruel text.
James recounted the story Margaret had told him about the night in the hallway. Emily explained who William was, and Jamess face turned ashen. He still loved her, hadnt married, and she remained single, fearing another pregnancy that might end in loss.
James, tell me about our son, Emily urged. What did your mother do?
When you were in the maternity ward, my mother saw you being wheeled to the operating theatre. She suspected I was the father, ran a test, and it confirmed it. Yet she refused to let you keep the baby. Im the one who agreed to that. My bitterness towards you has haunted me. God seems to be punishing us; our son, Samuel, is ill.
Lets go to him. Test me for compatibility. If Im not a match, he must share my blood type.
Yes, Im type O, youre type A, James said.
Emilys hands trembled as they entered the clinics ward and saw a frail boy.
Samuel, weve finally found our mother, James whispered, while Emily could only stare, speechless.
Mom, Ive waited for you. I imagined you just like this, even though we never had a picture of you, Samuel said.
Sweetheart, everything will be alright. Im here, and Ill do anything to make you well, Emily sobbed, hugging him.
Son, let your mother go. She needs to speak with the doctor, the nurse advised.
Tests showed Emily was a perfect match; Samuels condition improved dramatically. James sold his remaining property, paid the clinics fees, and the three of them moved into a flat above Emilys parents home.
Emily, forgive me. We must marry, and you should have another child. Our son needs a sibling donor, James pleaded.
Ive read about that, James. For our childrens health, Ill do whats necessary, she replied.
They wed, and alongside Samuel they now raise two more childrena boy and a girlbuilding a new life from the wreckage of the past.
