The Final Chance

**One Last Chance**

Emily lay curled up on the sofa, clutching her stomach as a dull ache throbbed through her. She knew exactly what was comingthe sharp pain, the bleeding, the ambulance, the hospital, and then the hollow emptiness. Another miscarriage. No doubt about it. The third in two years, preceded by a stillbirth and, before that, the abortion. *That* abortion, the one shed been paying for ever since with her inability to become a mother.

She fumbled for her phone and dialled emergency services. Half an hour later, she was being loaded into an ambulance while calling her husband, David, to let him know dinner was off.

“Again?” he asked. Emily didnt answer. Tears streamed down her facetears of despair and frustration with herself. How many times could this happen? Why did it always end the same? Or maybe she *did* know the reason. If she hadnt gone under the knife of that dodgy doctor years ago, things might have been different. She and David couldve had a five-year-old by now. But there was no child, and now, it seemed, there never would be.

“It *hurts*,” she gasped. The doctor barely glanced at her, turning up the drip with clinical detachment.

Two days in hospital dragged like an eternity. Then came discharge, David waiting with flowerssame script, different scene.

“You look so pale,” he said. Emily forced a weak smile. No reason to be happy. She couldnt give him a child. That much was obvious.

On the drive home, she fiddled with the bouquet, then turned to him. “I dont want to try anymore. I cant give you a baby.”

“Dont say that,” David said, squeezing her hand. “Itll happen.”

“Do *you* even believe that?” She laughed bitterly. “Five years down the drain. Im nearly thirty, youre pushing thirty-five. Enough playing future mum. The doctors say theres no chance. Maybe its time we listened.”

“Em, we *will* have kids,” he insisted. “Remember what Dr. Whitmore said? Theres still a chance if we follow his advice.”

“Where *is* Dr. Whitmore?” she snapped. “Dead. And his advice? Gone with him. Enough, David. I dont want to torture us both anymore.”

“What are you saying?” His grip tightened on the wheel.

She took a deep breath and turned away. “Lets split up. Find someone who *can* give you a child. You deserve that. I dont deserve youyour patience, your kindness. Im empty. I cant hold onto life. Im *nothing*.”

Tears choked her. David lifted her hand to his lips. “Dont be daft. Well manage. People live happily without kids. We can too.”

“Yeah, surehappiness isnt in children, its in their *numbers*,” she muttered wetly. “Just face it, David. I wont rob you of fatherhood.”

“You wont rob me of *us*,” he cut in.

That was Davidhopelessly in love, enduring her moods, ready to endure anything as long as she stayed. Hed fought for her, swept rivals aside, and once she was his, decided nothing else mattered. Except, perhaps, a tiny bundle of joybut fate seemed determined to deny them that.

He knew Emilys past. Knew shed been married off young by her tyrannical father to some wealthy brute, knew about the botched abortion that left her like this. But none of it could be undone. Shed cut ties with her father years ago, barely knew her younger sister, Charlotte.

“Wouldnt surprise me if Dad forces *her* into some sham marriage for his own gain,” Emily had once muttered.

Charlotte was twenty-twobeautiful, clever, but more obedient than Emily had ever been. Their father had raised them alone, his ex-wives barred from contact. He pulled their strings like puppets, made every decision, dictated every move.

Emily had escaped at twenty-four, met David, and severed all ties. So when Charlotte showed up at her doorstep, heavily pregnant, Emily nearly dropped her tea.

“What happened?” she blurted, only *then* noticing her sisters swollen belly.

“I ran away,” Charlotte sobbed, collapsing into Emilys arms. Over a week had passed since the hospital, and Emily had just begun to steady herselfnow *this*.

“What did he want?”

“Hehe wanted me to get rid of it.”

“Oh my God, youre *pregnant*!” Emily gasped, finally registering. “Whos the father?”

“It doesnt matter. It was love. But hes married. Dad said either I abort it, or hed *drag* me to a clinic.”

Emily held her trembling sister. Five years apart, and Charlotte had gone from awkward duckling to swanstill trapped under their fathers thumb. Emily knew shed waver, might even bolt back home in days. She couldnt let that happen.

David took Charlottes arrival in stride. He never opposed Emilys choicesloved her too much to argue. And Emily never exploited that.

Sure enough, after a week, Charlotte fretted about returning.

“Im *not* letting you go!” Emily grabbed her wrists. “You want him to hurt you? Hurt the baby? Think of your *son*!”

“Its too late for an abortionno doctor would touch me at twenty-one weeks.”

“But he could *induce* labour!” Emilys voice cracked. “Slip something in your tea, and youd never know until God, Charlotte, *I* know what thats like!”

Her tears won. Charlotte stayed, though guilt over their father gnawed at her.

The baby arrived in Julyand Charlotte immediately packed to leave. Emily snatched up the wailing infant.

“I wont let you take him to that monster! You want our father raising another *him*? Go if you must, but Oliver *stays*.”

Charlotte shrugged. “Fine. Dad only wanted me back *without* the baby. And youre dead to him anywaykeep the screeching lump.”

Emily knew it was postpartum talking. In a month, Charlotte would return. But for now, holding Oliverhis warmth, his smell, his gurglesfelt like heaven.

“You know shell want him back,” David warned gently.

“I know,” Emily whispered, heart splitting. On paper, three-month-old Oliver wasnt hers. No guarantee their father wouldnt snatch him.

Then the call came. Her fathers roar through the phone turned her veins to ice:

“Return my grandson, or Ill tear you and your pathetic husband apart!”

Emily braced for his arrival, itching to flee with Oliver. Only Davids steadfastness kept her grounded. But the confrontation never came.

Instead, tragedy. Charlotte and their father died in a car crash. Oliver was Emilys now. She fought through paperwork, securing guardianship. No one else contested it.

Amid the legal chaos, she missed her gynaecologists appointment. When she finally went, the doctor scolded herthen paused.

“Waitany chance youve missed a period?”

Emily shrugged. “Stress, probably.”

“*What* stress? Did you take a test?”

The ultrasound confirmed it. A *pregnancy*twelve weeks along.

“Youve *never* made it this far,” the doctor said. “Bed rest. Now.”

“But Ive got Oliver!”

“Youve got one *inside* you too! Let David handle Oliver while you bake this one. *Look*thats a healthy baby. Fight for it.”

Two months later, Emily left the hospitalpregnancy intact, hope renewed. David waited, as usual, with flowers. This time, though, he pushed a pram. Oliver squealed at the sight of her.

She smiled, cradled her bump, hugged David, then Oliver. Inside her, a little girl stirreddue in months.

One last chance. A happy one.