**The Clock is Ticking**
So, what do we do now, doctor? Lucys voice trembled. Years of tests, tears, and dashed hopes had led them hereto the final authority, a renowned specialist with a reputation for bluntness.
What do you do? Live. Or His gaze flicked from her to Simon. find another partner. Youre nearly forty, my dear. The clocks ticking. You could still have a childjust probably not with him.
Dr. Mark Harrisons brutal honesty was considered a flaw by colleagues and cruelty by patients. But to him, it was the only form of mercy he knew. Hed seen too many women waste their last fertile years chasing false hope. Better a sharp truth than a sweet lie that stole your future.
You dont believe in miracles, then? Lucy asked. You think weve no chance at all?
Theres always a chance, Harrison replied. But I believe in statistics, and theyre heartless. Better a bitter truth than a pretty lie. Youre both healthyidiopathic infertility often has psychological roots. Your call.
Lucy had been warned about Harrisons bedside manneror lack thereof. But hearing it herself was another thing entirely.
The car ride home was silent.
*Find another husband.* The words hung in the air like toxic fumes. Lucy studied Simonthe man shed weathered storms with, built a life alongside. *Leave him? After all these years? For the slim chance of a baby with someone else?* It wasnt worth it.
Maybe its punishment, Simon muttered. All those years we said we didnt want kids, just focused on money
Dont say that, Lucy whispered. We have each other. Honestly? Im tired of trying. Lets just be happy as we are.
Simon squeezed her hand.
For a decade, theyd been more than spousesthey were partners, a team. From splitting their first posh sandwich after a big deal to sleepless nights drafting business plans. Their success was their baby. The flat, the car, the country cottageall theirs, built together.
After Harrisons verdict, Lucy finally relaxed. They adopted two cats (long overdue, always postponed for *someday* kids), bought a cozy townhouse, and let go of the desperate chase for parenthood. Fate knew best, they decided.
Then, eighteen months latera miracle. Two pink lines.
James arrived, and Lucy embraced motherhood like a textbook-perfect parent. Simon buried himself in work, the model provider. From the outside, they were the picture of happinessa marriage that had survived infertility and been blessed with a late miracle. But even the sturdiest rocks crumble, not from earthquakes, but from slow, silent erosion.
Lucy was five years older. Theyd met at 22, bonded over ambition. Shed always led; hed followed. Infertility had united them in grief, but also planted a quiet sorrow. And when James came, Lucy poured everything into him. They stopped being husband and wifejust Mum and Dad.
***
The fateful day was ordinarya routine check-up at the clinic. Simon sat in the sterile corridor, James fidgeting beside him, when *she* walked in. A woman with a six-year-old boy. Not stunning, but electric, restless. Their eyes locked. Neither looked away.
A few seconds. Thats all it took.
Dad? James tugged his sleeve. Simon startled.
Nothing, mate.
He stood, pretending to fetch water. Their eyes met again. Simon said somethingjust a few wordsbut it was lightning. A quiet, devastating strike that burned his past to ashes.
Her name was Olivia. They talked for an hour in that waiting room, spilling everythingtheir suffocating marriages, the gnawing sense of life slipping by. It wasnt just attraction. It was *recognition*.
Two weeks later, Simon came home late. Lucy waited, dinner cooling.
Simon, James missed you
He didnt take off his coat. His face was gaunt, yet alight.
Lucy. We need to talk.
Her stomach dropped.
Ive met someone, he blurted. And I I think our whole lifes been a lie. A comfortable one, but a lie.
The room tilted.
What? We have a *family*! A son!
I havent breathed in years! His voice cracked. I functioned. Played the perfect husband, the perfect father. But I wasnt *alive*. Now I am.
And me? Lucy whispered, tears falling. Our love? James? Was none of it real?
I thought it was love, Simon said tiredly. Turns out it was habit.
He left. Just like that.
***
The first months were hell. Lucy moved mechanicallyfeeding James, tucking him in, crying into her pillow. Anger, grief, self-pitya tangled mess.
But one night, she stopped saying *Daddys at work* and told the truth: Daddy lives somewhere else now. But he loves you. Speaking it aloud, she began to believe it too.
She cut her hair, went blonde, dug out her old degree, and enrolled in a refresher course. The world, once shrunk to playgrounds and nappies, widened again.
There, she ran into Stephenher old schoolmate, the one whod passed her silly notes in class. His marriage had ended too. They started meetingno grand gestures, just coffee, walks, nostalgia. And Lucy realized she could be *herself*flawed, tired, unpolished.
Their wedding was quietno frills, just a registry office and a weekend in the Cotswolds with James. Stephen never tried to replace Simon. He just *was there*helping with homework, fixing bikes, teaching James to fish. Slowly, Lucys heart healed.
At 43, when she found out she was pregnant, she braced for the *clocks ticking* speech. But Stephen just held her. Well manage. Together.
The birth was tough. The midwife, a kind older woman, smiled as she handed over a healthy girl.
Second baby after forty? Brave of you.
Lucy laughed weakly. Not brave. Just with the right man.
***
Three years later, dropping her daughter at nursery, Lucy bumped into Simon.
You look well, he said. Heard lifes treating you kindly.
It is, she said simply. *Really* well.
That afternoon, on impulse, she looked up Dr. Harrisons clinic. He was still practicinga legend.
She walked into the same office. He hadnt changed much.
You wont remember me. Years ago, you told me to leave my husband if I wanted a child.
He frowned, bracing for anger.
I came to thank you, Lucy said, smiling. Your honesty broke my world back then. I didnt listen, but life found its own way. Thank you.
Harrison nodded. After she left, he stared out the window. Of course he didnt remember herafter forty years, patients blurred into diagnoses.
Outside, Lucy took her daughters hand. For the first time in years, the *ticking clock* didnt haunt her. Just gratitudefor both her lives. The one with Simon, and this one, *real* one, with Stephen. Both had shaped her. Both had been necessary.
