Emma clutched the test results in a trembling fist, the thin paper slick with sweat. The hallway of the women’s health centre in a cramped Manchester flat was packed, no room to breathe.
Emma Smith! a nurse shouted, voice echoing off the bland tiles.
Emma rose, slipped into the consulting room. The doctora solidbuilt woman with weary eyestook the folder, flicked through the pages with a detached glance.
Take a seat, she said, her tone flat. She scanned the results with indifferent eyes.
Everything looks normal. Get your husband examined.
A chill ran down Emmas spine. James? But he
Later, at home, Helen Carter was chopping carrots for stew, the knife flashing as if she were felling an enemy. She didnt look up.
Well, love, any news? she asked, voice flat.
I’m fine, Emma muttered, pulling off her coat.
Helen finally lifted her gaze, a flicker of worry crossing her face. Then why James needs a checkup.
The knife froze midair. Helen straightened, as rigid as a rod.
Absurd! My son is perfectly healthy! Its your doctors who dont understand. Women gave birth without any tests before.
Emma slipped into another room. On the sofa lay two socksone blue, one black. She picked them up automatically, tossed them into the laundry basket. In three years of marriage those mismatched socks had become a quiet symbol of their fractured life.
James trudged home late, slumping into a chair. What a funeral face youve got, he grumbled.
James, we need to talk.
What about?
She handed him the papers. He skimmed them, then flung them onto the coffee table.
So?
You need to get examined.
Why? Im a healthy bloke! Look at me! He stood tall, broadshouldered, dark hair in a tidy cut. Yet health isnt always visible.
James, please Emma pleaded.
Enough! If you dont want children, just say it! Why all this doctor drama? He paced the room, fists clenched.
The kitchen clattered with the sound of his slippers. Helen lingered behind the doorway, breathing so loudly it seemed to fill the room.
I want children more than anything, Emma whispered.
Then why none? Are you hiding something? Abortions perhaps? The accusation hit hard. Emma recoiled.
How could you?
How could I? Three years and nothing, and now the doctors say I He stopped, his knuckles white.
The door burst open. Helen stormed in like a tank.
James, ignore her! Its all laziness. Work more, stop spending every week in doctors offices.
Emma glanced at her husband. He turned toward the window, eyes distant.
James, do you really think I
I dont know what to think, he spat through clenched teeth. One things clear: a healthy man doesnt go to doctors.
Helen nodded triumphantly. Exactly, son. This isnt a mans businessrunning around hospitals.
Inside Emma felt something snap, a taut string finally breaking.
Fine, she said evenly.
The next day the war began. Helen seized on every tiny faultsalt overspilled, a pot left unwashed, dust on the dresser. Emma bit her lip, teeth clenched.
Maybe you shouldnt be staying at home at all? Helen snapped over dinner, her tone poisonous. Get a job, stop chasing doctors.
James chewed his meat patty, eyes glued to the plate.
Im working, Emma replied.
Three days a week isnt work, its a hobby.
What does my work have to do with this?
It does! My son is fine, and you want to make him sick! No childrenwomans fault! Its always been that way!
Emma rose from the table, legs wobbling.
Whats wrong with you? Helen asked, bewildered. Eat and then bolt?
Im tired, Emma whispered.
Tired? From what? You work three days a weekwho knows the strain!
James finally lifted his gaze. A flicker of pity passed through his eyes, but he said nothing.
That night Emma lay awake, listening to Jamess snore. Once a comforting rhythm, now an irritating reminder of his stubbornness.
At dawn she packed a battered sports bagtwo dresses, some underwear, a small makeup case.
Where are you off to? Helen stood in the kitchen doorway, a mug in hand.
To my motherinlaws.
For how long?
I dont know.
James emerged from the bathroom, his hair damp, and saw the bag.
Emma, whats that?
Just what you see.
Youre serious?
Of course I am. You wont get checked, Mom blames me for everything. Why should I stay?
He stepped closer, voice low. Dont be foolish. Where are you going?
To Gran Nellies.
In that cramped flat? Its only a mile away!
Cozy, not offensive.
Helen snorted. Good. Let her go. Shell learn how nice it was there.
James shot a furious glance at his mother but said nothing.
Emma lifted the bag and headed for the door.
Emma! James called.
She turned. He stood in the hallway, hair slicked from the shower.
When will you be back?
When you see a doctor.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Gran Nellie gasped at the sight of her granddaughter with a bag. Emma dear! Whats happened?
Ive had a row with James. Can I stay here?
Of course, love. Its tight, but well manage.
The flat was tinybed, table, two chairs, an ancient TVbut spotless, scented with vanilla from Grans constant baking.
Tell me everything, Gran said, putting the kettle on.
Emma poured out the saga. Grans head nodded slowly.
Oh, love men are like that. Proud. To admit somethings wrong feels like a death sentence.
So I have to wait forever for him to finally see a doctor?
No, love. You did the right thing by leaving. Let him think.
The first days were quiet. Emma set up a foldout cot in a corner, helped Gran with chores. James called, but she let it ring.
Later Gran complained of chest pain. The ambulance whisked her away.
Dont worry, love, Nellie whispered as they lifted her onto a stretcher. Im old, things happen.
In hospital Gran improved. Emma visited daily, bringing homecooked soups and sharing news.
Hows he? Gran asked one afternoon.
Nothing much. He called a couple of times, shouted into the phone.
You answer?
The first time, yes. The second, no. Whats the point of hearing the same thing?
Maybe hes finally gone to a doctor?
Unlikely.
In the bustling ward corridor Emma hurried toward the exit, nearly colliding with a young doctor in a white coatblond, kind eyes.
Excuse me, she muttered.
No harm done. Who are you looking for? he asked.
Gran, in Ward Seven, Emma replied.
Oh, Mrs. Eleanor Finch! Wonderful patient. Im Dr. Daniel Brooks, cardiologist.
Emma, she said.
Pleasure. Dont worry, shell be finejust age.
He explained Grans condition, the treatment plan. Emma watched his handslong fingers, neat nailssteady and reassuring.
Thank you, she said.
He returned the next day, then the following, lingering a little longer each time, hoping to catch her glance.
Gran, Emma said one evening with a sly smile, the doctor wonders if youll be here today.
The doctor? he chuckled.
Yes, he asks, Hows your granddaughter? Good lad, single.
Emma blushed. Gran, what are you on about
Just that youre practically single. Your James
Im married.
Ha! Helen burst out laughing as she tugged James by the sleeve. Come on, Jimmy.
James stayed rooted, eyes fixed on the stroller, on Emma and Daniel, realizing too late the depthAnd as the Manchester sunset painted the sky amber, Emma finally felt the heavy silence break, knowing she had chosen her own destiny.
