**The Clock is Ticking**
“So, what do we do, doctor?” Lucys voice trembled. Years of tests, tears, and hope had led them hereto the final authority, a professor with a reputation as unyielding as his diagnoses.
“What do you do? Live. Or…” His gaze flicked from her to Alex. “Find another partner. Youre nearing forty, my dear. The clocks ticking. You *can* have a childjust likely not with him.”
Professor Stones bluntness was called cruelty by some, honesty by others. To him, it was mercy. Hed watched too many women waste years chasing miracles, only to be left with nothing but regret. Better a sharp truth, he believed, than a sweet lie that stole time.
“You dont believe in miracles, then?” Lucy asked. “No chance at all?”
“Theres always a chance,” Stone clipped. “But I believe in statistics. And theyre heartless. If you want my advice? Dont let hope rob you of what you *do* have. Youre both healthyidiopathic infertilitys often psychological. Your call how to handle it.”
Lucy had been warned about Stones bedside manneror lack thereof. But hearing it secondhand was nothing compared to having your future dissected in five cold sentences.
The car ride home was silent.
*”Find another husband.”* The words hung between them like poison. Lucy looked at Alex, the man shed built a life withthrough lean years and triumphs, takeaway dinners and boardroom battles. Leave him? After all this? For the *chance* of a baby with a stranger? It felt like betrayal.
“Maybe its karma,” Alex finally muttered. “All those years we said we didnt want kids, just focused on the business…”
“Stop,” Lucy cut in. “We have each other. Honestly? Im tired of trying. Lets just *live*. Were happy, arent we?”
Alex squeezed her hand.
Ten years together hadnt just made them spousesthey were co-conspirators. Their “child” had been their success: the London flat, the Cotswolds cottage, the BMW. Kids never fit the schedule.
But after Stones verdict, Lucy exhaled. They adopted two cats (long deferred for hypothetical nursery plans), bought a snug townhouse, and let go. Fate knew best, they decided.
Then, eighteen months later: two pink lines.
James arrived. Lucy became the textbook mum; Alex, the model provider. To outsiders, their marriage seemed unshakablea rock that had weathered infertility and been crowned with a miracle. But rocks erode, not from quakes, but from slow, seeping water.
Lucy was five years older. At 22, Alex had been dazzled by her drivetheir bond built on ambition. But shed always steered the ship. The baby quest had united them, yes, but also buried a quiet grief. And once James came? Lucy forgot about *them*. They werent lovers anymorejust Mum and Dad.
***
The day it unraveled was unremarkable: a routine clinic visit. A corridor reeking of antiseptic and echoing with wails. Alex sat with James, mind adriftuntil *she* walked in. A woman with a six-year-old. Not stunning, but *alive* in a way that crackled. Their eyes locked. Neither looked away.
“Dad?” James tugged his sleeve.
Alex startled. “Nothing, mate.”
At the water fountain, their gazes met again. He said three words. That was all it tooka lightning strike, incinerating fifteen years in an instant.
Her name was Emma. In an hours wait, they spilled everything: the marriages that suffocated, the quiet despair. It wasnt attraction. It was *recognition*.
Two weeks later, Alex came home late. Lucy, as ever, had dinner waiting.
“Alex, Jamie missed you today”
He didnt remove his coat. His face was gaunt yet luminous.
“Lucy. We need to talk.”
Her fork froze. “Whats wrong?”
“I met someone.” The words tumbled out. “And I realised… our whole lifes been a lie. A *comfortable* lie.”
The room tilted. “*What*? We have a *family*!”
“I havent *breathed* in years!” His voice broke. “Ive been a perfect husband, a perfect fatherbut I wasnt *alive*. Now? Now I am.”
“And us?” Lucy whispered. “Our love? Was that nothing?”
“I thought it was love,” he said tiredly. “Turns out it was habit. I cant pretend anymore. Ill see Jamie.”
The door slammed. Lucy sat amid cooling lasagne, the kitchen clock ticking like a taunt.
*The clocks ticking, love.*
***
He left. Vanished into a flat in Manchester with Emma and her son, leaving Lucy with a shattered five-year-old who kept asking when Daddy would read to him again.
The first months were hell. Lucy functioned robotically: school runs, bedtime stories, midnight tears into wine. Anger, grief, self-pityall tangled.
But one night, tucking Jamie in, she didnt say “Daddys working.” She said, “Daddy lives somewhere else now. But he loves you.” Speaking it aloud, she began to believe it too.
Lucy chopped her chestnut hair to a blonde bob, dug out her old law degree, and enrolled in refresher courses. The world, which had shrunk to playground gossip, widened again.
There, she bumped into Stephenher secondary-school crush, the one whod passed her silly notes in maths. Divorced, his daughter with his ex. They met for coffee. No grand gestures, just easy laughter about terrible teachers. For the first time in years, Lucy didnt have to perform.
***
Their wedding was quietjust registry office signatures and a picnic in the Peak District with Jamie. Stephen never tried to replace Alex. He just *showed up*: fixing bikes, helping with homework, teaching Jamie to fish. Slowly, Lucys heart scarred over.
At 43, when the test showed positive again, she braced for the “clocks ticking” speech. But Stephen just held her. “Well manage,” he murmured.
The birth was gruelling. Afterwards, the midwife smiled. “Second baby after forty? Brave woman.”
“Not brave,” Lucy corrected, gazing at her daughter. “Just… with the right man.”
***
Three years later, dropping Lily at nursery, Lucy ran into Alex.
“You look well,” he offered. “Heard things are good.”
“They are,” she said simply. “*Properly* good.”
That afternoon, on impulse, she googled *Professor Mark Stone, fertility clinic*. Still practising. A legend.
His office hadnt changed.
“Professor, you wont remember me. Years ago, you told me to leave my husband to have a child.”
He stiffened, expecting wrath.
“I came to say thank you,” Lucy said. No bitterness left. “Your truth upended my life. I didnt listenbut life found its own way. A better one.”
Stone nodded curtly. After she left, he stared out the window. Of course he didnt recall herafter forty years, patients blurred.
Outside, Lily chattered about fairies. Lucy took her hand. For the first time in decades, “the clocks ticking” didnt sting. It was just lifemessy, unexpected, and finally, *hers*.
