Twelve years later, he returned… but I’m not the same woman who once cried into his back.
“There’s no embryo.” The doctor avoided her gaze and quietly closed the test results folder. “Take a year to rest. Then we can try again.”
In that moment, everything blurred for Emily. So much pain, injections, tests, surgeries… Months of hope, fear, and prayers—all for nothing. Even IVF, which cost them a fortune, hadn’t given her a chance to become a mother. Not just a chance—her dream. The one she’d carried since she was twenty. She stood, thanked the doctor, stepped into the corridor, pulled out her phone, and silently sent the same message to everyone close to her:
“Please don’t call me. I need time.”
Back in the flat, she didn’t even take off her coat. She just curled up on the sofa and fell asleep. Not crying—there were no tears left.
Jonathan was there. Yes, he held her hand, brought her water, wiped her forehead, offered his shoulder. But there was no fire in his eyes. He’d never truly dreamed of children. He couldn’t understand why she tortured herself, why she kept climbing that mountain of pain, knowing she might fall again.
A year passed. She decided to try once more. They went for a second attempt. The doctors implanted two embryos, saying it would increase the odds. And then—a miracle. Both took.
Emily was afraid to even breathe. She slept propped up, avoided lifting her arms too high, spoke to the babies, cradled her belly, shutting out the world. Her face glowed. She didn’t dare believe it, but her heart sang.
Then, at one of the scans, the doctor looked up and smiled.
“Congratulations. You’re having three. One of the embryos split.”
Emily sobbed—from joy, from fear, from gratitude to heaven. She’d never dreamed of triplets—one would have been enough. But now there were three, and she already loved each one.
Jonathan, though, turned pale. He said nothing. Just walked out. After that, he started coming home late, speaking sharply, disappearing on “business trips.” Her happiness didn’t bring him joy—only irritation. She chose not to notice. Couldn’t. Inside her were three tiny lives, and for them, she’d endure anything.
The birth was difficult. A C-section, doctors fighting to save her. But they made it. Three beautiful babies—two girls and a boy—came into the world. They were perfect. And that was the moment Jonathan… vanished.
He didn’t come for the discharge. His phone was off. Later, she learned he’d gone to Manchester, packing his things while she was away. He’d waited, hoping the babies wouldn’t survive, that she’d break. When he realized they’d made it—he ran. He never wanted children. He never wanted responsibility.
Emily was terrified. Three cots, three cries, three voices—and only her mother beside her. Those first weeks, her mother saved her. Without her, she wouldn’t have survived.
Years passed. The children grew. The girls—Sophie and Lily—were as different as night and day, but both brilliant. Her son, Thomas, took on the role of “man of the house” from the start. Emily worked nights, holidays, went days without sleep, but never regretted it. She was a mother. That was enough.
Twelve years later, the children were grown. Thomas was at college, the girls in grammar school. Emily taught piano at a music school, took online gigs. Life was modest but warm. Laughter filled the house, the kettle was always boiling, meals cooked for everyone.
And then… he reappeared.
Jonathan.
Gray, aged, his eyes dull. He came. Knocked. Stood at the door with his head bowed.
“I get it… but I’ve got no one. My wife left. No kids. I’m alone. I’m sorry… Just let me talk.”
Emily stood silent. Behind her, in the doorway, Thomas lingered—no longer a boy but a tall teenager with serious eyes. Lily clutched their cat, Sophie quietly poured tea.
“I’m sorry. I want to come back.”
She smiled. Softly. Calmly.
“You should’ve come back then—when we needed you. When the babies screamed through the night and I couldn’t stand from the pain. When I cried from exhaustion. We didn’t wait for you. And we’re not waiting now.”
He opened his mouth, but Thomas stepped forward, shielding his mother.
“Leave, mate. You’re no one here. We’re the family.”
Jonathan left. Slowly. And, it seemed, for good.
That night, for the first time in years, Emily didn’t cry. She just sat with her children at the kitchen table, brewed tea, and whispered,
“Thank you. You’re my life. My victory. My happiness.”
