23October2025
I slipped out of my sisters flat before dawn, heart pounding as if Id just sprinted from a fire. Jane, fresh from the bathroom, stared at me, eyes wide. Are you pregnant? she asked, bewildered. Why are you here?
I tried to explain, but she snapped the laptop shut and glared. Did anyone ever tell you you cant just take other peoples things without asking? Her tone was fierce enough to make me retreat to the spare bedroom. That night, while the city lights flickered outside, I realized I had to get as far away as possibleJane was searching for a recipe for me, a ridiculous excuse for something deeper.
At twentythree, on a rainy evening in Manchester, a stranger approached me on the pavement. He handed me a single white rose on a long stem and smiled. May I introduce myself? he said. His looks were ordinary, but there was a magnetic charm about him, a kindness that felt almost palpable.
Within a month, I couldnt imagine life without James. He felt the same, and a month later I moved from my cramped rented room into his modest twobed flat. Six months after that, he got down on one knee.
Hes hes I stammered, trying to find words that could do justice to the man I was about to marry when I told Jane. I adore him, and he feels the same.
Congratulations, she replied, flat as a winters day. I paid her no mind. Since Mums death, my only close person has been Jane, and our relationship has always been a little tenseshes pragmatic, selfsufficient; Im sensitive, delicate.
I was terrified to bring Jane into my new life. What if she didnt like him? James left for a threemonth assignment in Birmingham, saying he needed to earn extra cash for our wedding trip. Its only about 500 miles away, he texted, Ill be home on weekends or you can visit.
He was rarely back, work swallowing his days. I waited gladlymy modest assistantaccountant salary could hardly help us, so I let him shoulder the burden.
Two weeks into his stint, odd messages began arriving on my phonefirst texts, then voice notes from a robotic, emotionless voice warning me not to do anything that might upset him. The messages vanished after a few hours. I kept it to myself, though the strange tone sent shivers down my spine.
One night a doll appeared on my doorstepa voodoo figure with long chestnut hair, my face cut from a photograph, a needle piercing its chest, and a paper with threats identical to the messages. I felt my fragile nerves snap; I called in sick, claiming a fever that didnt exist. I didnt want to burden James, busy making money, with what looked like a cruel joke.
The next day, while hurrying out of the flat, a motorcyclist veered too close, swerving at the last second. I jumped, caught my heel on the curb, and went down hard, hitting my head on the pavement. A passerby, despite my protests, called an ambulance. In the hospital I learned I had a mild concussion, a few bruises, andshockinglyan early pregnancy.
I refused to admit Id been hit; I said Id simply fallen. The news left me unable to return to Jamess flat. Someone clearly wanted to ruin me, and now I was carrying his child.
Can I stay with you for a few days? I asked Jane, voice trembling.
Whats happened? she replied, irritation evident. Did your boyfriend throw you out?
James is away on work
Oh, right. Come over, tell me everything.
I poured out the whole story: the eerie messages, the doll, the nearaccident.
I dont want to distract James, I sighed, and I need to tell him about the baby in a way that feels righthe loves things done beautifully.
Janes tone softened. This isnt a hostel, but you can stay a couple of weeks, not more.
That was a relief. James had said his boss had granted him two days off, and he would be back soon.
After Mums death we sold the family house, split the money. Jane, with a stable job and solid salary, took out a mortgage. I could only afford a small studio still under construction. The building was supposed to be finished half a year ago, but the work dragged on, leaving me with nowhere else to go. I tried to keep a low profileshopping, cooking, keeping the flat tidyyet I sensed Janes irritation at my presence.
Ten days later my phone froze, the battery died, and I panicked. Jane, can I borrow your laptop? I shouted from the bathroom. The screen flickered, and, without any intention, my fingers typed the first letters of a search that the browser autocompleted to pregnancy termination. The results were a flood of dubious remedies.
The next morning Jane, still halfasleep, appeared at the doorway. Are you pregnant? she asked, eyes wide. Why are you here?
I stared at her, realizing I should have left the flat earlier. The night before, I slipped out in the early hours, hoping James would return in a few days and I could face everything then.
When James finally arrived, his face was hard, his voice sharp. Whos the father? he demanded, eyes narrowing.
Of course its you, I whispered, terrified. How did you even know?
He stared at me for a long minute, then lunged forward, gripping me tightly. Im sorry, he muttered, voice breaking. I almost lost my mind when that anonymous message popped up. Im a fool.
Tears streamed down my face as I finally told him everything that had happened in the past month. His expression shiftedastonishment, pallor, then a flushed heat.
I’m sorry, he said again, softer now. I should have told you everything from the start.
He confessed that three months before we met, he had been seeing Jane. She had even hinted at a wedding. He had driven her to the meeting where I appeared, hoping to introduce us, but Jane had declined. He realized then that he loved me, not her.
Silence hung between us. I called Jane, voice steady. Is this true? Was it you?
You thought you could swipe my fiancé away? Jane said after a pause. I was pregnant with him, had an abortion. I never expected this mess.
The conversation ended abruptly.
We married a month and a half later, no grand ceremonyjust us and a few close friends. Our daughter arrived on schedule, a bright little thing who seemed to seal the fragile peace. I no longer speak to Jane; the silence feels safer than the storm we once weathered.
Now, as I sit by the kitchen window watching the rain tap against the glass, I wonder how much of life is shaped by choices and how much by the unseen hands that push us. All I know is that Im grateful for Jamess patience, for the child growing inside me, and for the quiet moments when the world finally feels still enough to breathe.
