**Diary Entry 4th November**
Stepping out of the maternity centre, Emily slumped onto a bench and fished her phone from her handbag. After a few rings, Daniel picked up.
“Dan, why didnt you come?” she asked, her voice heavy.
“Im on my way, love! Traffic!” he blurted. In the background, angry car horns blared.
“Ive left already,” Emily said. “I couldnt stay there any longer.”
A sigh crackled through the line. He understood.
“Ill wait,” she murmured before hanging up.
Tucking her phone away, she took a steadying breath and watched the world around her. A crisp autumn breeze tugged golden leaves from the trees, and the weak sunlight clung to the afternoon, as if squeezing out the last warmth before winter. It was the tail end of an Indian summer. Mothers strolled with their children, making the most of the fleeting warmth, while little ones shrieked and tumbled into piles of crackling leaves. The playground beside the centre was packedmockingly so.
A lump rose in Emilys throat. She would never bring a child here. Because there would be no child. This was her fourth miscarriage. This time, theyd sent her to a specialist clinic. Daniel, ever devoted, spared no expense. Yet the doctors could only shrug. They were both perfectly healthy. The diagnosis remained: “recurrent pregnancy loss of unknown cause.” Her consultant had offered sympathy and, in all seriousness, advised her to pray.
Her thoughts shattered as someone sat beside her. An elderly Roma woman, draped in a long patterned skirt and headscarf, her ears weighed down by heavy gold hoops.
“Youre sad, dear?” the woman asked plainly.
Emily nodded.
“Your little one didnt make it again,” the woman observed.
“How do you know?” Emily blinked, suspecting clinic gossip. Now would come the talk of curses, hexes, and demands for money…
“Your dreams hold the answer. The same one comes before each loss, doesnt it? Look there for your clue. Theres a curse on you, girl. Your child is trying to tell you. Lift it, and another dream will comethen youll know its over.”
Emily gaped. Shed never told anyone about the dreamsnot even Daniel.
Before she could gather herself, the woman stood and walked away, leaving without asking for a single pound.
***
**A week earlier.**
The same train station, the platform split in twoone side bathed in light, the other steeped in shadow. Emily stood at the border, among other waiting women. A distant horn sounded, and the train rushed in, whipping her hair back.
Her heart hammered. The doors slid open, and children spilled outtoddlers in colourful dresses and tiny jumpers, flinging themselves into their mothers arms.
But on the dark side, older children boarded reluctantly, tears streaking their faces.
Emily scanned the windows anxiously. Inside, children lingered. Some, realising they wouldnt leave, shuffled toward the darkened carriages.
Then she saw hera little girl with fair hair and green eyes, waving sadly. One hand was hidden behind her back. A surge of love crushed Emilys chest. She lunged forward, but a conductor in a white trouser suit blocked her path.
“No. The child must come out on her own.”
The girl didnt move, though she strained against some invisible force. Her lips formed silent words: *”Mummy, Ill comejust not yet!”*
“When, darling? When?” Emily cried.
“When you free the bird!” The girl revealed her hidden hand. On her palm rested a blue tit, impaled through its tiny breast by a needle. Crimson dripped onto her skin. With a sigh, the girl withdrew into the shadows.
The conductor stepped inside, and the train pulled away, leaving the grieving women behind.
***
“Em! Snap out of it!” Daniels voice jolted her back.
She found herself on their sofa, staring at a paintinga winter scene of a snow-dusted rowan branch, two blue tits poised for flight. A wedding gift from Daniels ex, Charlotte, as a peace offering after her petty revenge schemes.
Emily squinted. Something glinted on one birds side.
“Love, you alright?” Daniel touched her shoulder.
She rose, approaching the painting. He followed, frowning.
Emily lifted it from the wall and turned it over. There, hidden in the inscription*”In reconciliation, from Charlotte”*was the eye of a needle, driven clean through the canvas. The sharp tip pricked out just beneath one birds wing.
A chill raced down her spine.
“What is this?” Daniel muttered.
“Your Charlottes handiwork,” Emily whispered.
“Shes not *my* Charlotte,” he grumbled, green eyes narrowing.
“Doesnt matter. Its a curse.” She told him of the dreams, the Roma woman.
***
An hour later, they found the woman waiting outside the clinic.
“You knew?” Emily asked.
“I knew youd return,” the woman said. “Did you find the thread?”
“Needle and all,” Emily said bitterly. “You understand these thingscan you help us? Well pay you.”
The woman smiled.
***
**Five months later.**
The same station. The same platform. But this time, Emily stood firmly in the light, her heart pounding as the train approached.
The conductor stepped out, radiant in her white suit. And then*there she was*the little girl with green eyes, sprinting, arms wide, before crashing into Emilys embrace. Two hearts beat as one. A few more months, and theyd never part again. What were months compared to years of longing?
