Emily had dreamed of having a child for years. Five years of marriage, countless medical tests, hundreds of injections, hormone therapy, and tears hidden beneath her pillow—all with no result. She clung to hope, even as her husband grew increasingly impatient, and her mother-in-law… well, her mother-in-law never missed a chance to remind her who was to blame.
*”This is your fault—my son still has no children!”* Margaret would snap. *”God knows how you behaved before marriage. Now you’re reaping what you sowed!”*
*”But I’m doing everything I can… I’ve seen every specialist,”* Emily whispered. *”Thomas won’t even get tested—”*
*”Because he’s fine!”* Margaret scoffed. *”You’re the one who can’t build a proper family. Don’t you dare drag my son into this!”*
Emily kept fighting. She endured the treatments, stuck to strict diets, tracked her ovulation. But Thomas only grew colder—snapping, shouting, slamming doors. The warmth between them had long vanished.
*”I’m done with all this,”* he finally said one evening. *”Work’s a nightmare, and you’re drowning me in your problems.”*
*”But we’re family… we should face things together,”* Emily pleaded.
*”What family? The only thing tying us is the mortgage,”* he shot back.
She was left alone—with the dishes, the stew simmering on the stove, the freshly baked pies. She’d cooked with love, like always, waiting for Thomas to come home, hoping for some kindness. But when he walked in, his eyes went straight to the dirty plates.
*”What kind of mess is this?”* he muttered instead of hello.
*”I made you dinner—”*
*”Doesn’t matter. Sit down. I need to tell you something.”*
Emily’s pulse roared in her ears.
*”This isn’t working. Mum’s right—we should stop pretending.”*
*”I don’t understand…”*
*”It’s simple. There’s someone else. I’m filing for divorce.”*
*”But what about our dream? A child? A home? We planned everything…”*
*”I do want kids. Just not with you.”*
And he left.
The divorce was brutal. The flat was split, though Margaret insisted Emily didn’t deserve a penny. She demanded everything go to her *”perfect”* son. No one asked how Emily was. She faded—day by day—becoming a ghost of herself.
Her mum, Susan, wouldn’t let her give up.
*”You’re only thirty! Thomas isn’t the last man on Earth!”*
*”I can’t do it again,”* Emily wept. *”He left because I couldn’t give him children. Who’d ever want me now?”*
*”Enough. I’ll drag you to every doctor if I must, but I won’t watch you bury yourself!”*
And she did—clinics, tests, specialists. Emily went along for her mum’s sake, though she’d lost all hope.
Life went on. Work, a few close friends, endless hospital queues. Emily grew used to being alone. She accepted it. No more relationships—why bother? Her past, her diagnosis… who’d ever look past that?
Then she met Daniel.
He was different. No grand promises. No prying. Just quiet, steady presence.
*”I don’t care about your past. I love you. If we never have kids, we’ll get a cat. Or a dog. Or nothing. All that matters is you.”*
Five months later, they married. Bought a small house. Adopted a scruffy stray cat. For the first time, Emily lived without fear or guilt. Just lived.
Five years passed. Now they had two children—Lily and Alfie. Loud, joyful, adored. Nature had listened after all. Not right away—but exactly when it was meant to.
Then, one day, she ran into Margaret.
*”Oh, you’ve done well for yourself,”* the older woman sneered. *”Found a richer man, did you?”*
*”You look well too,”* Emily replied evenly.
*”Thomas is my problem now,”* Margaret muttered unexpectedly.
*”Really?”* Emily kept her tone polite. *”Third wife not working out?”*
*”Third, and likely not the last. You were actually the most decent. Pity it didn’t last.”*
*”These things happen,”* Emily said, turning to leave.
*”Don’t tell me you’ve got three kids and a dog now,”* Margaret called after her.
*”No dog,”* Emily smiled. *”Just the cat we rescued.”*
*”Any children?”* Margaret pressed.
Emily paused.
*”We’re not close enough for that conversation. Goodbye.”*
*”It’s just—Thomas never managed it. Maybe you two could try again?”* Margaret shouted.
Emily didn’t look back.
*”No, thank you. I’m perfectly happy.”*
And she was.
She didn’t tell her ex-mother-in-law about the family she had now—the husband who never blamed her, the children she’d once feared to dream of, the two grandmas doting on them in turns. A life where pain and bitterness had no place.
Emily didn’t gloat. Didn’t seek revenge. She just walked away—off to sort Lily’s nursery papers while Susan watched Alfie.
And as she went, she thought: *”Thank you, Margaret. If you hadn’t pushed me out of that life, I’d never have known what it means to be truly loved.”*
