Please come, I’m in the hospital.
Sophie doesn’t even take the time to change. She hurriedly pulls on her jacket right over her soft home sweater, barely noticing how it rides up slightly with the movement. The thought of looking in the mirror doesn’t cross her mind all her attention is consumed by the short message from Emma that arrived half an hour ago.
The girl is seriously scared after reading these words. She freezes for a second, trying to work out what could have happened, but then shakes her head sharply being there now is more important than guessing. Grabbing the keys and phone from the bedside table, she almost runs to the door, pulling on her boots as she goes.
The journey to the hospital stretches out in her perception into a whole eternity. The usually familiar route now seems endless: traffic lights seem to turn red deliberately, buses crawl at a snail’s pace, and pedestrians appear not to notice her urgency. Sophie keeps glancing at her phone screen, as if waiting for a new message, but it stays silent. Questions spin in her head what happened? how serious is it? why the hospital? but there are no answers, and this silence only heightens the worry.
Sophie slowly approaches the correct ward and carefully pushes the door open a little. Her gaze immediately falls on Emma, lying on the narrow hospital bed. She stares at the ceiling with a motionless look, as if trying to find answers to her questions there. Usually her hair is neatly arranged in an elegant style, but now it’s tangled and spread across the pillow, as if it hasn’t been combed for a couple of days.
Looking more closely, Sophie notices other worrying details: her friend’s face looks unusually pale, dark shadows have settled under her eyes, and dried traces of tears are still visible on her cheeks. All this together paints a picture of deep inner turmoil, from which Sophie’s heart tightens.
She quietly approaches the bed and carefully sits on the edge, trying not to make any noise. Her voice drops to a whisper by itself, as if loud sounds could cause harm:
Emma, what happened?
Emma slowly turns her head. Her eyes are dry, but they hold such a deep, almost tangible sadness that Sophie involuntarily feels a wave of concern rising inside her. She suddenly realises how fragile her friend appears now!
He left, Emma whispers barely audibly, and her fingers clutch the edge of the sheet convulsively. The knuckles whiten from the tension, as if she is trying to hold on to something real in this world that has fallen apart. He just gathered his things and said he can’t do it anymore.
Who? Andrew? Sophie can’t restrain the impulse and instinctively grabs her friend’s hand. This gesture is almost automatic it seems to her that this way she can pull Emma back from that dark place her own thoughts have dragged her to.
Emma nods silently. At this moment, a single tear finally breaks through the barrier of composure and slowly slides down her cheek, leaving a moist trail on the pale skin. She doesn’t attempt to wipe it away, as if she no longer has the strength for such simple actions.
Sophie swallows, feeling a lump form in her throat. She desperately tries to find words that might ease her friend’s pain a bit, but her mind is blank. The girl simply cannot believe that someone who so desperately wanted children could declare such a thing!
Emma falls silent, and in the silence of the ward the quiet ticking of the wall clock can be heard. Her shoulders shake more and more, and her fingers grip tightly, as if she is trying to hold onto something intangible. Then she slowly raises her hands and covers her face, as if hiding from the whole world. In this simple action there is such boundless exhaustion that Sophie’s chest aches.
Several minutes pass, maybe more time flows differently in these moments. Gradually the shaking subsides, her breathing steadies. Emma moves away a little, wipes the tears with the back of her hand and looks at Sophie pain still lingers in her eyes, but a bitter clarity has joined it, as if she has finally accepted something unavoidable.
And the reason? Sophie asks quietly, almost in a whisper. She picks her words carefully, afraid to stir up the wound again. But to help, she needs to understand what occurred. He must have given some explanation for his decision?
Emma gives a crooked smile, and there is no hint of amusement in it only bitterness and confusion.
The children, she says, and her voice wavers. He says he’s tired of sleepless nights, of the constant noise, of always having to look after someone. Can you picture it, Sophie? Yet he was the one who insisted we keep trying. He himself said: We’ll manage, this is our happiness, we must fight.
She pauses, as if reliving these words, which once sounded like a promise but now seem like a joke.
We saw doctors, had tests done, underwent procedures I endured so much! So much agony, pain so many tears shed!
Her voice cracks, but she immediately gets a grip, inhales deeply and goes on:
And I thought that if we had been through all that together, then we would surely stay by each other’s side to the end. Whatever happened. But it seems I was wrong.
She gazes out the window, where evening shadows are slowly gathering, and adds almost without sound:
Twelve years. Eight attempts. And all for nothing?
Their story begins like something out of a romantic film easily, brightly, at first sight. Emma and Andrew meet at a friendly party. That evening the flat is noisy: music plays, people chat, laugh, shouting over one another. Andrew stands by the window with a glass of juice and lazily watches the guests when Emma flutters into the room. She is animatedly telling her friend something, gesturing with her hands, and when she notices she is being listened to, she laughs heartily. It is then that he notices the scattering of freckles on her nose and how her gaze warms when she smiles.
He approaches to get acquainted. The conversation starts easily as if they have known each other for many years. They chat about everything under the sun: favourite films, travels, odd habits. Time flies unnoticed, and when the party draws to a close, Andrew realises he doesn’t want to say goodbye. He suggests a walk, and they wander through the city at night until dawn, discussing dreams and plans.
After three months they are already living together. The flat quickly fills with shared items: his books on her shelves, her cosmetics on his bedside table, two pairs of shoes by the entrance. Everything falls into place somehow by itself naturally and correctly. After six months they marry. The wedding is modest, only close friends and relatives, lots of laughter, toasts and dancing until they drop.
On the first anniversary of their wedding, they sit on the balcony of their flat, drink tea with pastries and recall how it all started. Andrew suddenly looks at Emma seriously, takes her hand and says:
I want children with you. Lots of children. A whole football team.
Emma laughs, hugs him around the neck and presses her cheek to his shoulder.
Of course we will, she promises. We’ll have a big, noisy family.
At that moment everything seems so simple and clear: love, shared life, children. They believe it is only a question of time.
The first two years they don’t hurry. Both build their careers Emma works as a designer in a studio, Andrew climbs the career ladder in an IT company. They travel a lot: in summer to the seaside, in winter to the hills, at weekends to nearby towns. They enjoy each other, learn to live together, create their own little world.
Then they decide it is time. Time to start a family.
And then the problems begin. At first it all looks not too bad. They go to the doctor, and he says calmly:
Don’t worry, this is normal. Many couples find that conception doesn’t happen straight away. Keep trying.
They try. Month after month. But nothing happens. Then the doctor suggests checking hormones. Tests, examinations, more tests. New consultations, new prescriptions.
Treatment may be required, the doctor says after another visit.
Emma tries to stay optimistic. She studies information, watches her health. Andrew supports her goes to appointments, follows all advice, tries to encourage her.
But fate has other ideas. The first setback at six weeks. Emma learns she is pregnant, barely has time to be happy, and a few days later she is in the hospital. She remembers everything in the finest detail: the cold ultrasound room, the doctor’s indifferent gaze as he states the fact, and Andrew’s hand gripping her palm so hard that bruises are left on the skin.
A year later the story repeats. The second one, again at an early stage. The pain is just as sharp as the first time, only now added to it is a sense of unfairness. Why are they so unlucky? What have they done wrong?
They keep fighting. They do new tests, go through examinations, try different treatments. Every month Emma waits with bated breath for the test results, and then, seeing a negative, silently puts the kit away in a drawer. Andrew sees her disappointment, but doesn’t know how to help. He is just there holds her hand, makes tea, listens when she wants to talk, and stays quiet when she withdraws into herself.
Time passes, and answers still don’t come. But they don’t give up because they believe: sooner or later it will all work out for them.
The doctor pronounces the diagnosis “infertility” calmly, almost casually, but for Emma and Andrew these words hit like a blow. They sit in the office, listen to explanations, nod, try to ask questions but inside everything seems to stop. Emma squeezes Andrew’s hand so tightly that her nails dig into the skin, and he doesn’t even flinch. They look at each other and see the same thing in each other’s eyes: “How do we go on?”
But they have no intention of giving up. After long talks, consultations and thinking, they decide to try IVF. The first attempt. The second. The third. Each time waiting, hope, anxiously checking tests, clinic visits, ultrasounds And each time disappointment.
Then there is another failure. This time Emma holds herself outwardly calmer, but Andrew sees how she changes: she laughs less, lingers longer watching children playing in the yard, falls silent more often in the evenings. He tries to cheer her up, jokes, hugs her, says they will manage, but understands her strength is waning.
IVF again. Waiting again. Pain again. The cycle repeats, wearing them down physically and emotionally. Emma keeps a diary, notes all the readings, monitors how she feels. Andrew accompanies her to all appointments, holds her hand during procedures, brings tea when she is tired. They try to keep a normal pace of life: work, see friends, even take short trips but thoughts always return to the same thing.
One evening Emma stays in the bathroom a long time. Andrew knocks, opens the door a crack she is sitting on the edge of the bath, clutching a test in her hand. Her gaze is blank, as if she is looking through the walls.
I can’t do this anymore, she says quietly, not turning. I’m tired. Physically, mentally I’m just tired.
Andrew approaches, sits beside her, puts his arm around her shoulders. He doesn’t offer grand words, doesn’t try to persuade her that everything will be fine. He just holds her close, feeling her shoulders tremble.
We’re nearly there, he whispers after a minute. One more try. The last one. Please.
Emma closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. She knows it will be hard. She knows that ahead lie again months of waiting, tests, procedures. But she sees how Andrew looks at her with hope, with love, with faith. And she agrees. Because she loves him. Because she believes their happiness is somewhere there, just around the next corner.
Preparation for the eighth attempt proceeds as usual tests, examinations, strict schedules. Emma tries not to think too far ahead, not to dream, not to imagine. She just does everything the doctors say and tries not to dwell on the past.
The procedure. The wait. The first tests. And a miracle a positive result.
At the ultrasound she holds Andrew’s hand so tightly that he winces a little, but doesn’t pull away. The doctor moves the probe over her stomach, comments on something, and then smiles:
Look. Two heartbeats.
Emma can’t believe it. She peers at the screen, sees two small pulsing lights and feels nothing but overwhelming joy.
It’s a miracle, she whispers, not taking her eyes from the screen. A real miracle.
Andrew is silent. Then he passes a hand over his face, and Emma sees that his eyes are full of tears. He is crying just as sincerely as on their wedding day, when they promised each other to be together in joy and in sorrow. Now it is a joy they have fought for, that they have earned, that they have waited for so long
And then
Everything changes on one of the most ordinary evenings. Nothing hints at a storm: the day passes calmly, the children eat, play, then they are bathed, dressed in pyjamas. Emma is just settling the little ones one in the cot, the other in her arms, softly humming a lullaby. The house smells of milk and baby cream, in the corner a soft night light projector glows, projecting a starry sky on the walls.
Andrew comes home later than usual. She isn’t surprised recently he has often stayed late at work. She hears him enter, remove his shoes, go to the bathroom to wash his hands. Then silence falls. Emma thinks that, as usual, he will peek into the nursery, kiss the children, ask how the day went. But he just stands in the doorway, watching.
She feels his gaze on her back, turns around. Andrew looks tired more than usual. Dark circles under his eyes, shoulders drooped, arms hanging limply by his sides. Emma smiles at him, wants to say something, but he speaks first. Quietly, almost in a whisper:
I’m leaving.
Emma freezes. The son she holds in her arms stirs, but she doesn’t even rock him, as if time has stopped.
What? she asks again, hoping she misheard. Her voice sounds unusually high, like someone else’s. Please repeat that.
I’m tired, he repeats, not moving from the spot. Of sleepless nights, of constant noise, of having no time for myself anymore. I can’t go on like this.
Emma slowly lowers her son into the cot, trying not to wake him, then turns to her husband completely. It doesn’t compute in her head how can he say such a thing? They went through so much to get here! The children this is their happiness!
But we went through all this together, her voice wavers, but she tries to speak steadily. You yourself insisted, said you wouldn’t give up Remember how happy we were when we found out it would be twins? How we chose names, bought cots?
Andrew lowers his eyes, as if he can’t meet her gaze.
I thought I could handle it. I really did. But it’s too much… I can’t do it anymore.
The girl takes a step towards her husband, as if trying to detect even a hint of doubt in his face, a sign that he might reconsider.
You’re just going to leave us? she finally whispers, and her voice sounds very quiet, almost lifeless. Me and them?
Andrew sighs deeply, runs a hand over his face, as if trying to gather his thoughts.
I need time, he replies, looking away. I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back.
He says this without anger, without raising his voice just states a fact, and that makes it even more frightening. Emma stands before him, feeling everything inside her turn cold. She wants to ask “what about us?”, wants to shout “you can’t do this to us!”, but the words stick in her throat. Instead, she just looks at him, trying to understand when everything went wrong, when he stopped being the person with whom she shared dreams and hopes.
And behind her back two little people sleep peacefully, who don’t yet understand that their world has just cracked apart.
He leaves. The door clicks quietly, and the flat becomes particularly quiet as if the whole world has suddenly muted the sound. Emma stands in the middle of the room, still not believing what has happened. She slowly turns around, as if hoping it is just a bad dream and Andrew will now come from the kitchen with a cup of tea, as he has done hundreds of times before. But the hallway is empty.
She takes a few steps to the window, mechanically straightens the curtain, then returns to the cots. The children are sleeping both breathing peacefully, occasionally moving their little hands. Their small faces are so peaceful, as if they know: everything will be all right. Emma bends down, touches their palms warm, soft. Satisfied that the babies are sleeping soundly, she quietly steps back.
The flat is clean and cosy everything in its place, as she likes. On the table stands a half-finished cup of cooled tea, on the sofa lies an open magazine with tips for young mums. Everything looks so ordinary, as if nothing has happened. But now it is a different flat a flat without Andrew.
Emma slowly sinks to the floor next to the cots. Her legs suddenly feel so heavy, as if she has walked dozens of miles without stopping. She presses her daughter the one sleeping closer to her and feels the warmth of her small body. This touch usually calms her, gives her strength, but now everything inside is shaking.
For the first time in many years she feels completely alone. Not just tired or busy with chores truly alone. Before, even in the hardest moments, when the children didn’t sleep at night, when she didn’t have time to make dinner or forgot to call her mum, she knew: Andrew was there. He might not say nice words, he might just silently bring a cup of tea or pick up a crying child but he was here. And now he isn’t.
The silence is broken only by the steady breathing of the infants. They sleep, not knowing that their world has just changed. Emma looks at them and tries to collect her thoughts. What should she do next? How to live?
Tears come unnoticed. First one, then another, and then they flow like a stream quietly, without sobs, just rolling down her cheeks and falling onto her daughter’s pyjamas. Emma doesn’t try to stop them. She just sits on the floor, holds the child close and cries for the first time in many years allowing herself this weakness.
Outside the window it slowly grows dark. Evening gently turns into night, and Emma still sits on the floor, afraid to move, afraid to break this fragile moment of silence, in which there is only her and her children
****************************
Emma sits by the window in the hospital ward, hugging her knees with her arms. Snowflakes slowly circle outside the glass, falling onto the grey pavement. She looks at them, but sees not the winter scene, but a chain of events long years of struggle, hopes, small joys and big disappointments. Andrew’s last words echo in her head again and again, and each time they wound just as sharply as at the first moment.
I just don’t understand, she continues quietly, not taking her eyes from the window. How can someone just decide to refuse them? Us? After everything we went through together
Her voice trembles, but she doesn’t cry the tears seem to have already dried up. Only questions remain, to which there are no answers.
Sophie, sitting next to her on a chair, silently rises, goes to her friend and hugs her, holding her close. She has no words. She knew Andrew as a caring husband and loving father, but it turns out everything isn’t so straightforward. This man just up and left, leaving his wife and children on their own
Emma buries her face in her friend’s shoulder, and her shoulders shake a little.
I don’t know how I’ll manage, she whispers. But I must. For them.
There is no drama or heroism in these words only quiet, stubborn resolve. She understands: ahead lie sleepless nights, thousands of small tasks, fatigue that she won’t be able to share. But there, in the cots, lie two little people who need her more than anything.
Sophie squeezes her hand more firmly. She also doesn’t know what to say. What words could lessen this pain? But in her silence there is a solid assurance: her friend won’t be alone. They will manage together step by step, day by day.
***********************
A couple of days after this conversation, Andrew’s mother walks into the ward without knocking. In her hands she holds a bag of fruit an ordinary gesture of care that looks almost mocking against her impassive face. She stops at the door, surveys the ward, then shifts her gaze to Emma.
Well, she begins, not rushing to come closer, I see you’ve made yourself at home here.
Her tone isn’t angry, but there is a distance in it, as if she is speaking not to her daughter-in-law but to a stranger. Emma lifts her eyes, but says nothing. She waits for what comes next.
Andrew’s mother goes to the table, sets down the bag, but doesn’t sit. She stands with her arms folded across her chest and looks at Emma as if assessing her state.
You do realise this was bound to happen? she continues, finally breaking the silence. Andrew has always been someone who needs his own space. And here two children, constant noise, sleepless nights He simply couldn’t cope.
Emma takes a deep breath. She wants to object, to remind her how Andrew himself pushed for the children, how he celebrated every pregnancy update, how they picked names. But she stays quiet. Words are useless now before her stands a woman who has already made up her mind about everything.
The girl slowly pushes herself up on the bed, supporting herself on her elbow. The movement comes out clumsy she still feels a strong weakness, and even simple actions like this drain her strength. But inner tension makes her pull herself together. An icy wave builds in her chest, cold and heavy, like a lead slab. She looks at Andrew’s mother, waiting for her to say something that will explain it all, that will make everything clear.
You have to understand, the woman continues, still not sitting, Andrew doesn’t want to bring up children. But he is prepared to help financially.
Emma feels her fingers clench by themselves, gripping the edge of the sheet. She tries to process what she has heard, but her thoughts tangle.
What do you mean by that? she asks, trying to speak evenly. Her voice wavers slightly, but she immediately composes herself.
Andrew’s mother turns her head slightly toward the window, as if it is hard for her to look Emma in the eye.
He will leave his half of the flat, she continues, choosing her words carefully. But this will count as maintenance payments. For a long while. He has no plans to return, but he also doesn’t want you to go without.
A heavy silence fills the ward. Somewhere in the corridor muted voices of nurses can be heard, a car passes outside, but for Emma all this seems switched off. Only the steady voice of her companion and her own thoughts, fluttering in her head like birds in a cage, remain.
She grips the edge of the sheet so hard that her knuckles whiten.
So he wants to pay his way out? she says, and there is no anger in her voice, rather a bitter puzzlement.
Margaret slightly lifts her chin, and her tone hardens:
Don’t be so blunt! He is doing all he can. He is in a difficult period right now. But he isn’t dodging responsibility. It’s just he isn’t ready to be a father in the full sense.
She says this as if explaining the obvious, as if this setup is the only possible and sensible one. Emma looks at her and tries to understand: do both Andrew and his mother really believe that a flat in place of fatherhood is a fair trade? That money can replace presence, support, love?
Do you truly think this is the answer? she asks quietly, not averting her gaze. That you can just walk away, leaving the keys to the flat instead of yourself?
The woman shrugs lightly, as if the question needs no deep thought.
It’s better than nothing. Andrew isn’t abandoning you to your fate. He just didn’t gauge his own strength. Not ready for fatherhood. It happens, you know. That’s life, I’d advise getting used to it.
And am I ready? Emma asks, staring ahead. After everything we endured? After twelve years of struggle?
These words seem to hang in the air, filling the ward with the weight of unspoken memories countless doctor visits, tests, hopes and disappointments, long nights by the newborns’ cots. All this suddenly feels incredibly distant and yet painfully close.
It’s your choice, Margaret cuts in with a firm, level voice. But I must warn you: don’t ring him, don’t cause scenes, don’t put obstacles in the way of the divorce. Otherwise
She stops, but the pause lingers, hangs heavy with an unmistakable threat. Emma feels everything inside her tighten, but with willpower she makes herself meet her companion’s eyes.
Otherwise what? she asks, trying to keep her voice steady.
The woman raises her chin a little, as if gauging how seriously Emma takes her words.
Otherwise you could lose this help too. And even she pauses, selecting words, even the children. Andrew has good lawyers. He doesn’t want trouble, but if you pick a fight
The final words sound cold and precise, like a hammer blow. Emma feels the ground shift beneath her feet. How can this be? Now they are threatening her as well! The nerve!
I’m simply passing on his position, Andrew’s mother adds, softening her tone slightly, but her eyes still hold no sympathy. She goes to the bedside table, places the bag of fruit she was carrying, and adjusts it, as if it is important. Think it over. This is the best he can offer.
After these words she turns, the door clicks quietly and she is gone.
Emma remains alone with her thoughts. The scent of expensive perfume that Andrew’s mother brought with her still hangs in the air, but gradually fades, leaving only a sense of icy emptiness.
Emma is alone in the ward. She slowly moves her gaze from the bag of fruit to the window. Outside the glass evening is slowly falling the sky turns from blue to lilac, then to dark blue. Shadows lengthen, cast bizarre patterns on the pavement, and in this quiet dimming of the day Emma suddenly clearly realises: her life has split into “before” and “after”.
The girl stares out the window for a long time, not noticing the darkening outside. Thoughts whirl in her head, one piling on another, but she can’t grasp any of them. Then she takes a deep breath, reaches for the bedside table, pulls out her phone and dials Sophie’s number. Her fingers tremble a little, but the movements are precise, as if she fears losing her composure if she stops even for a moment.
Sophie, she says, and her voice sounds even, almost emotionless, come over. I need to talk to someone.
Sophie arrives quickly she must have dropped everything immediately. When she enters the ward, Emma is already sitting on the edge of the bed. Her back is straight, shoulders squared, eyes dry. She isn’t trying to put on a brave face she has simply taken the position that helps her stay upright.
Sophie silently approaches, sits beside her, gently touches her hand. Emma turns her head slightly, looks straight ahead and starts to speak calmly, without breaking down, as if reciting long-considered facts:
You know what I’ve realised? I won’t let them frighten me. I’ve been through too much to back down now. Yes, he can leave the flat. Yes, he can pay maintenance. But he won’t take the children. I can cope. I will be strong. For them.
There is no defiance or anger in her voice only cold, clear determination. She no longer tries to understand Andrew’s or his mother’s motives, doesn’t seek justifications, doesn’t torment herself with “why” and “for what”. All that is in the past, in that life now called “before”.
Sophie doesn’t offer grand words, doesn’t console her. She just nods, squeezes her hand a bit tighter and says quietly:
Of course you can cope. And I’ll be here. We’ll do it together.
Emma finally looks at her friend. There are no more tears in her eyes only firm conviction. She knows: many challenges lie ahead sleepless nights, exhaustion, having to decide everything herself. But somewhere there, at home with grandma, two little people are waiting for her, for whom she fought for so many years. They are her anchor, her motivation, her happiness.
And now she knows for certain: nothing and no one will take this happiness from her. No matter what other trials await ahead she is ready to meet them head on. Because she is a mother. And that means she is stronger than any threats, any words, any circumstances.Please come, I’m in the hospital.
Sophie doesn’t even take the time to change. She hurriedly pulls on her jacket right over her soft home sweater, barely noticing how it rides up slightly with the movement. The thought of looking in the mirror doesn’t cross her mind all her attention is consumed by the short message from Emma that arrived half an hour ago.
The girl is seriously scared after reading these words. She freezes for a second, trying to work out what could have happened, but then shakes her head sharply being there now is more important than guessing. Grabbing the keys and phone from the bedside table, she almost runs to the door, pulling on her boots as she goes.
The journey to the hospital stretches out in her perception into a whole eternity. The usually familiar route now seems endless: traffic lights seem to turn red deliberately, buses crawl at a snail’s pace, and pedestrians appear not to notice her urgency. Sophie keeps glancing at her phone screen, as if waiting for a new message, but it stays silent. Questions spin in her head what happened? how serious is it? why the hospital? but there are no answers, and this silence only heightens the worry.
Sophie slowly approaches the correct ward and carefully pushes the door open a little. Her gaze immediately falls on Emma, lying on the narrow hospital bed. She stares at the ceiling with a motionless look, as if trying to find answers to her questions there. Usually her hair is neatly arranged in an elegant style, but now it’s tangled and spread across the pillow, as if it hasn’t been combed for a couple of days.
Looking more closely, Sophie notices other worrying details: her friend’s face looks unusually pale, dark shadows have settled under her eyes, and dried traces of tears are still visible on her cheeks. All this together paints a picture of deep inner turmoil, from which Sophie’s heart tightens.
She quietly approaches the bed and carefully sits on the edge, trying not to make any noise. Her voice drops to a whisper by itself, as if loud sounds could cause harm:
Emma, what happened?
Emma slowly turns her head. Her eyes are dry, but they hold such a deep, almost tangible sadness that Sophie involuntarily feels a wave of concern rising inside her. She suddenly realises how fragile her friend appears now!
He left, Emma whispers barely audibly, and her fingers clutch the edge of the sheet convulsively. The knuckles whiten from the tension, as if she is trying to hold on to something real in this world that has fallen apart. He just gathered his things and said he can’t do it anymore.
Who? Andrew? Sophie can’t restrain the impulse and instinctively grabs her friend’s hand. This gesture is almost automatic it seems to her that this way she can pull Emma back from that dark place her own thoughts have dragged her to.
Emma nods silently. At this moment, a single tear finally breaks through the barrier of composure and slowly slides down her cheek, leaving a moist trail on the pale skin. She doesn’t attempt to wipe it away, as if she no longer has the strength for such simple actions.
Sophie swallows, feeling a lump form in her throat. She desperately tries to find words that might ease her friend’s pain a bit, but her mind is blank. The girl simply cannot believe that someone who so desperately wanted children could declare such a thing!
Emma falls silent, and in the silence of the ward the quiet ticking of the wall clock can be heard. Her shoulders shake more and more, and her fingers grip tightly, as if she is trying to hold onto something intangible. Then she slowly raises her hands and covers her face, as if hiding from the whole world. In this simple action there is such boundless exhaustion that Sophie’s chest aches.
Several minutes pass, maybe more time flows differently in these moments. Gradually the shaking subsides, her breathing steadies. Emma moves away a little, wipes the tears with the back of her hand and looks at Sophie pain still lingers in her eyes, but a bitter clarity has joined it, as if she has finally accepted something unavoidable.
And the reason? Sophie asks quietly, almost in a whisper. She picks her words carefully, afraid to stir up the wound again. But to help, she needs to understand what occurred. He must have given some explanation for his decision?
Emma gives a crooked smile, and there is no hint of amusement in it only bitterness and confusion.
The children, she says, and her voice wavers. He says he’s tired of sleepless nights, of the constant noise, of always having to look after someone. Can you picture it, Sophie? Yet he was the one who insisted we keep trying. He himself said: We’ll manage, this is our happiness, we must fight.
She pauses, as if reliving these words, which once sounded like a promise but now seem like a joke.
We saw doctors, had tests done, underwent procedures I endured so much! So much agony, pain so many tears shed!
Her voice cracks, but she immediately gets a grip, inhales deeply and goes on:
And I thought that if we had been through all that together, then we would surely stay by each other’s side to the end. Whatever happened. But it seems I was wrong.
She gazes out the window, where evening shadows are slowly gathering, and adds almost without sound:
Twelve years. Eight attempts. And all for nothing?
Their story begins like something out of a romantic film easily, brightly, at first sight. Emma and Andrew meet at a friendly party. That evening the flat is noisy: music plays, people chat, laugh, shouting over one another. Andrew stands by the window with a glass of juice and lazily watches the guests when Emma flutters into the room. She is animatedly telling her friend something, gesturing with her hands, and when she notices she is being listened to, she laughs heartily. It is then that he notices the scattering of freckles on her nose and how her gaze warms when she smiles.
He approaches to get acquainted. The conversation starts easily as if they have known each other for many years. They chat about everything under the sun: favourite films, travels, odd habits. Time flies unnoticed, and when the party draws to a close, Andrew realises he doesn’t want to say goodbye. He suggests a walk, and they wander through the city at night until dawn, discussing dreams and plans.
After three months they are already living together. The flat quickly fills with shared items: his books on her shelves, her cosmetics on his bedside table, two pairs of shoes by the entrance. Everything falls into place somehow by itself naturally and correctly. After six months they marry. The wedding is modest, only close friends and relatives, lots of laughter, toasts and dancing until they drop.
On the first anniversary of their wedding, they sit on the balcony of their flat, drink tea with pastries and recall how it all started. Andrew suddenly looks at Emma seriously, takes her hand and says:
I want children with you. Lots of children. A whole football team.
Emma laughs, hugs him around the neck and presses her cheek to his shoulder.
Of course we will, she promises. We’ll have a big, noisy family.
At that moment everything seems so simple and clear: love, shared life, children. They believe it is only a question of time.
The first two years they don’t hurry. Both build their careers Emma works as a designer in a studio, Andrew climbs the career ladder in an IT company. They travel a lot: in summer to the seaside, in winter to the hills, at weekends to nearby towns. They enjoy each other, learn to live together, create their own little world.
Then they decide it is time. Time to start a family.
And then the problems begin. At first it all looks not too bad. They go to the doctor, and he says calmly:
Don’t worry, this is normal. Many couples find that conception doesn’t happen straight away. Keep trying.
They try. Month after month. But nothing happens. Then the doctor suggests checking hormones. Tests, examinations, more tests. New consultations, new prescriptions.
Treatment may be required, the doctor says after another visit.
Emma tries to stay optimistic. She studies information, watches her health. Andrew supports her goes to appointments, follows all advice, tries to encourage her.
But fate has other ideas. The first setback at six weeks. Emma learns she is pregnant, barely has time to be happy, and a few days later she is in the hospital. She remembers everything in the finest detail: the cold ultrasound room, the doctor’s indifferent gaze as he states the fact, and Andrew’s hand gripping her palm so hard that bruises are left on the skin.
A year later the story repeats. The second one, again at an early stage. The pain is just as sharp as the first time, only now added to it is a sense of unfairness. Why are they so unlucky? What have they done wrong?
They keep fighting. They do new tests, go through examinations, try different treatments. Every month Emma waits with bated breath for the test results, and then, seeing a negative, silently puts the kit away in a drawer. Andrew sees her disappointment, but doesn’t know how to help. He is just there holds her hand, makes tea, listens when she wants to talk, and stays quiet when she withdraws into herself.
Time passes, and answers still don’t come. But they don’t give up because they believe: sooner or later it will all work out for them.
The doctor pronounces the diagnosis “infertility” calmly, almost casually, but for Emma and Andrew these words hit like a blow. They sit in the office, listen to explanations, nod, try to ask questions but inside everything seems to stop. Emma squeezes Andrew’s hand so tightly that her nails dig into the skin, and he doesn’t even flinch. They look at each other and see the same thing in each other’s eyes: “How do we go on?”
But they have no intention of giving up. After long talks, consultations and thinking, they decide to try IVF. The first attempt. The second. The third. Each time waiting, hope, anxiously checking tests, clinic visits, ultrasounds And each time disappointment.
Then there is another failure. This time Emma holds herself outwardly calmer, but Andrew sees how she changes: she laughs less, lingers longer watching children playing in the yard, falls silent more often in the evenings. He tries to cheer her up, jokes, hugs her, says they will manage, but understands her strength is waning.
IVF again. Waiting again. Pain again. The cycle repeats, wearing them down physically and emotionally. Emma keeps a diary, notes all the readings, monitors how she feels. Andrew accompanies her to all appointments, holds her hand during procedures, brings tea when she is tired. They try to keep a normal pace of life: work, see friends, even take short trips but thoughts always return to the same thing.
One evening Emma stays in the bathroom a long time. Andrew knocks, opens the door a crack she is sitting on the edge of the bath, clutching a test in her hand. Her gaze is blank, as if she is looking through the walls.
I can’t do this anymore, she says quietly, not turning. I’m tired. Physically, mentally I’m just tired.
Andrew approaches, sits beside her, puts his arm around her shoulders. He doesn’t offer grand words, doesn’t try to persuade her that everything will be fine. He just holds her close, feeling her shoulders tremble.
We’re nearly there, he whispers after a minute. One more try. The last one. Please.
Emma closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. She knows it will be hard. She knows that ahead lie again months of waiting, tests, procedures. But she sees how Andrew looks at her with hope, with love, with faith. And she agrees. Because she loves him. Because she believes their happiness is somewhere there, just around the next corner.
Preparation for the eighth attempt proceeds as usual tests, examinations, strict schedules. Emma tries not to think too far ahead, not to dream, not to imagine. She just does everything the doctors say and tries not to dwell on the past.
The procedure. The wait. The first tests. And a miracle a positive result.
At the ultrasound she holds Andrew’s hand so tightly that he winces a little, but doesn’t pull away. The doctor moves the probe over her stomach, comments on something, and then smiles:
Look. Two heartbeats.
Emma can’t believe it. She peers at the screen, sees two small pulsing lights and feels nothing but overwhelming joy.
It’s a miracle, she whispers, not taking her eyes from the screen. A real miracle.
Andrew is silent. Then he passes a hand over his face, and Emma sees that his eyes are full of tears. He is crying just as sincerely as on their wedding day, when they promised each other to be together in joy and in sorrow. Now it is a joy they have fought for, that they have earned, that they have waited for so long
And then
Everything changes on one of the most ordinary evenings. Nothing hints at a storm: the day passes calmly, the children eat, play, then they are bathed, dressed in pyjamas. Emma is just settling the little ones one in the cot, the other in her arms, softly humming a lullaby. The house smells of milk and baby cream, in the corner a soft night light projector glows, projecting a starry sky on the walls.
Andrew comes home later than usual. She isn’t surprised recently he has often stayed late at work. She hears him enter, remove his shoes, go to the bathroom to wash his hands. Then silence falls. Emma thinks that, as usual, he will peek into the nursery, kiss the children, ask how the day went. But he just stands in the doorway, watching.
She feels his gaze on her back, turns around. Andrew looks tired more than usual. Dark circles under his eyes, shoulders drooped, arms hanging limply by his sides. Emma smiles at him, wants to say something, but he speaks first. Quietly, almost in a whisper:
I’m leaving.
Emma freezes. The son she holds in her arms stirs, but she doesn’t even rock him, as if time has stopped.
What? she asks again, hoping she misheard. Her voice sounds unusually high, like someone else’s. Please repeat that.
I’m tired, he repeats, not moving from the spot. Of sleepless nights, of constant noise, of having no time for myself anymore. I can’t go on like this.
Emma slowly lowers her son into the cot, trying not to wake him, then turns to her husband completely. It doesn’t compute in her head how can he say such a thing? They went through so much to get here! The children this is their happiness!
But we went through all this together, her voice wavers, but she tries to speak steadily. You yourself insisted, said you wouldn’t give up Remember how happy we were when we found out it would be twins? How we chose names, bought cots?
Andrew lowers his eyes, as if he can’t meet her gaze.
I thought I could handle it. I really did. But it’s too much… I can’t do it anymore.
The girl takes a step towards her husband, as if trying to detect even a hint of doubt in his face, a sign that he might reconsider.
You’re just going to leave us? she finally whispers, and her voice sounds very quiet, almost lifeless. Me and them?
Andrew sighs deeply, runs a hand over his face, as if trying to gather his thoughts.
I need time, he replies, looking away. I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back.
He says this without anger, without raising his voice just states a fact, and that makes it even more frightening. Emma stands before him, feeling everything inside her turn cold. She wants to ask “what about us?”, wants to shout “you can’t do this to us!”, but the words stick in her throat. Instead, she just looks at him, trying to understand when everything went wrong, when he stopped being the person with whom she shared dreams and hopes.
And behind her back two little people sleep peacefully, who don’t yet understand that their world has just cracked apart.
He leaves. The door clicks quietly, and the flat becomes particularly quiet as if the whole world has suddenly muted the sound. Emma stands in the middle of the room, still not believing what has happened. She slowly turns around, as if hoping it is just a bad dream and Andrew will now come from the kitchen with a cup of tea, as he has done hundreds of times before. But the hallway is empty.
She takes a few steps to the window, mechanically straightens the curtain, then returns to the cots. The children are sleeping both breathing peacefully, occasionally moving their little hands. Their small faces are so peaceful, as if they know: everything will be all right. Emma bends down, touches their palms warm, soft. Satisfied that the babies are sleeping soundly, she quietly steps back.
The flat is clean and cosy everything in its place, as she likes. On the table stands a half-finished cup of cooled tea, on the sofa lies an open magazine with tips for young mums. Everything looks so ordinary, as if nothing has happened. But now it is a different flat a flat without Andrew.
Emma slowly sinks to the floor next to the cots. Her legs suddenly feel so heavy, as if she has walked dozens of miles without stopping. She presses her daughter the one sleeping closer to her and feels the warmth of her small body. This touch usually calms her, gives her strength, but now everything inside is shaking.
For the first time in many years she feels completely alone. Not just tired or busy with chores truly alone. Before, even in the hardest moments, when the children didn’t sleep at night, when she didn’t have time to make dinner or forgot to call her mum, she knew: Andrew was there. He might not say nice words, he might just silently bring a cup of tea or pick up a crying child but he was here. And now he isn’t.
The silence is broken only by the steady breathing of the infants. They sleep, not knowing that their world has just changed. Emma looks at them and tries to collect her thoughts. What should she do next? How to live?
Tears come unnoticed. First one, then another, and then they flow like a stream quietly, without sobs, just rolling down her cheeks and falling onto her daughter’s pyjamas. Emma doesn’t try to stop them. She just sits on the floor, holds the child close and cries for the first time in many years allowing herself this weakness.
Outside the window it slowly grows dark. Evening gently turns into night, and Emma still sits on the floor, afraid to move, afraid to break this fragile moment of silence, in which there is only her and her children
****************************
Emma sits by the window in the hospital ward, hugging her knees with her arms. Snowflakes slowly circle outside the glass, falling onto the grey pavement. She looks at them, but sees not the winter scene, but a chain of events long years of struggle, hopes, small joys and big disappointments. Andrew’s last words echo in her head again and again, and each time they wound just as sharply as at the first moment.
I just don’t understand, she continues quietly, not taking her eyes from the window. How can someone just decide to refuse them? Us? After everything we went through together
Her voice trembles, but she doesn’t cry the tears seem to have already dried up. Only questions remain, to which there are no answers.
Sophie, sitting next to her on a chair, silently rises, goes to her friend and hugs her, holding her close. She has no words. She knew Andrew as a caring husband and loving father, but it turns out everything isn’t so straightforward. This man just up and left, leaving his wife and children on their own
Emma buries her face in her friend’s shoulder, and her shoulders shake a little.
I don’t know how I’ll manage, she whispers. But I must. For them.
There is no drama or heroism in these words only quiet, stubborn resolve. She understands: ahead lie sleepless nights, thousands of small tasks, fatigue that she won’t be able to share. But there, in the cots, lie two little people who need her more than anything.
Sophie squeezes her hand more firmly. She also doesn’t know what to say. What words could lessen this pain? But in her silence there is a solid assurance: her friend won’t be alone. They will manage together step by step, day by day.
***********************
A couple of days after this conversation, Andrew’s mother walks into the ward without knocking. In her hands she holds a bag of fruit an ordinary gesture of care that looks almost mocking against her impassive face. She stops at the door, surveys the ward, then shifts her gaze to Emma.
Well, she begins, not rushing to come closer, I see you’ve made yourself at home here.
Her tone isn’t angry, but there is a distance in it, as if she is speaking not to her daughter-in-law but to a stranger. Emma lifts her eyes, but says nothing. She waits for what comes next.
Andrew’s mother goes to the table, sets down the bag, but doesn’t sit. She stands with her arms folded across her chest and looks at Emma as if assessing her state.
You do realise this was bound to happen? she continues, finally breaking the silence. Andrew has always been someone who needs his own space. And here two children, constant noise, sleepless nights He simply couldn’t cope.
Emma takes a deep breath. She wants to object, to remind her how Andrew himself pushed for the children, how he celebrated every pregnancy update, how they picked names. But she stays quiet. Words are useless now before her stands a woman who has already made up her mind about everything.
The girl slowly pushes herself up on the bed, supporting herself on her elbow. The movement comes out clumsy she still feels a strong weakness, and even simple actions like this drain her strength. But inner tension makes her pull herself together. An icy wave builds in her chest, cold and heavy, like a lead slab. She looks at Andrew’s mother, waiting for her to say something that will explain it all, that will make everything clear.
You have to understand, the woman continues, still not sitting, Andrew doesn’t want to bring up children. But he is prepared to help financially.
Emma feels her fingers clench by themselves, gripping the edge of the sheet. She tries to process what she has heard, but her thoughts tangle.
What do you mean by that? she asks, trying to speak evenly. Her voice wavers slightly, but she immediately composes herself.
Andrew’s mother turns her head slightly toward the window, as if it is hard for her to look Emma in the eye.
He will leave his half of the flat, she continues, choosing her words carefully. But this will count as maintenance payments. For a long while. He has no plans to return, but he also doesn’t want you to go without.
A heavy silence fills the ward. Somewhere in the corridor muted voices of nurses can be heard, a car passes outside, but for Emma all this seems switched off. Only the steady voice of her companion and her own thoughts, fluttering in her head like birds in a cage, remain.
She grips the edge of the sheet so hard that her knuckles whiten.
So he wants to pay his way out? she says, and there is no anger in her voice, rather a bitter puzzlement.
Margaret slightly lifts her chin, and her tone hardens:
Don’t be so blunt! He is doing all he can. He is in a difficult period right now. But he isn’t dodging responsibility. It’s just he isn’t ready to be a father in the full sense.
She says this as if explaining the obvious, as if this setup is the only possible and sensible one. Emma looks at her and tries to understand: do both Andrew and his mother really believe that a flat in place of fatherhood is a fair trade? That money can replace presence, support, love?
Do you truly think this is the answer? she asks quietly, not averting her gaze. That you can just walk away, leaving the keys to the flat instead of yourself?
The woman shrugs lightly, as if the question needs no deep thought.
It’s better than nothing. Andrew isn’t abandoning you to your fate. He just didn’t gauge his own strength. Not ready for fatherhood. It happens, you know. That’s life, I’d advise getting used to it.
And am I ready? Emma asks, staring ahead. After everything we endured? After twelve years of struggle?
These words seem to hang in the air, filling the ward with the weight of unspoken memories countless doctor visits, tests, hopes and disappointments, long nights by the newborns’ cots. All this suddenly feels incredibly distant and yet painfully close.
It’s your choice, Margaret cuts in with a firm, level voice. But I must warn you: don’t ring him, don’t cause scenes, don’t put obstacles in the way of the divorce. Otherwise
She stops, but the pause lingers, hangs heavy with an unmistakable threat. Emma feels everything inside her tighten, but with willpower she makes herself meet her companion’s eyes.
Otherwise what? she asks, trying to keep her voice steady.
The woman raises her chin a little, as if gauging how seriously Emma takes her words.
Otherwise you could lose this help too. And even she pauses, selecting words, even the children. Andrew has good lawyers. He doesn’t want trouble, but if you pick a fight
The final words sound cold and precise, like a hammer blow. Emma feels the ground shift beneath her feet. How can this be? Now they are threatening her as well! The nerve!
I’m simply passing on his position, Andrew’s mother adds, softening her tone slightly, but her eyes still hold no sympathy. She goes to the bedside table, places the bag of fruit she was carrying, and adjusts it, as if it is important. Think it over. This is the best he can offer.
After these words she turns, the door clicks quietly and she is gone.
Emma remains alone with her thoughts. The scent of expensive perfume that Andrew’s mother brought with her still hangs in the air, but gradually fades, leaving only a sense of icy emptiness.
Emma is alone in the ward. She slowly moves her gaze from the bag of fruit to the window. Outside the glass evening is slowly falling the sky turns from blue to lilac, then to dark blue. Shadows lengthen, cast bizarre patterns on the pavement, and in this quiet dimming of the day Emma suddenly clearly realises: her life has split into “before” and “after”.
The girl stares out the window for a long time, not noticing the darkening outside. Thoughts whirl in her head, one piling on another, but she can’t grasp any of them. Then she takes a deep breath, reaches for the bedside table, pulls out her phone and dials Sophie’s number. Her fingers tremble a little, but the movements are precise, as if she fears losing her composure if she stops even for a moment.
Sophie, she says, and her voice sounds even, almost emotionless, come over. I need to talk to someone.
Sophie arrives quickly she must have dropped everything immediately. When she enters the ward, Emma is already sitting on the edge of the bed. Her back is straight, shoulders squared, eyes dry. She isn’t trying to put on a brave face she has simply taken the position that helps her stay upright.
Sophie silently approaches, sits beside her, gently touches her hand. Emma turns her head slightly, looks straight ahead and starts to speak calmly, without breaking down, as if reciting long-considered facts:
You know what I’ve realised? I won’t let them frighten me. I’ve been through too much to back down now. Yes, he can leave the flat. Yes, he can pay maintenance. But he won’t take the children. I can cope. I will be strong. For them.
There is no defiance or anger in her voice only cold, clear determination. She no longer tries to understand Andrew’s or his mother’s motives, doesn’t seek justifications, doesn’t torment herself with “why” and “for what”. All that is in the past, in that life now called “before”.
Sophie doesn’t offer grand words, doesn’t console her. She just nods, squeezes her hand a bit tighter and says quietly:
Of course you can cope. And I’ll be here. We’ll do it together.
Emma finally looks at her friend. There are no more tears in her eyes only firm conviction. She knows: many challenges lie ahead sleepless nights, exhaustion, having to decide everything herself. But somewhere there, at home with grandma, two little people are waiting for her, for whom she fought for so many years. They are her anchor, her motivation, her happiness.
And now she knows for certain: nothing and no one will take this happiness from her. No matter what other trials await ahead she is ready to meet them head on. Because she is a mother. And that means she is stronger than any threats, any words, any circumstances.
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