Meant to Be Born Natalie was absolutely furious—angrier than she’d been in years. The truth was undeniable: she was pregnant. The timing, though, couldn’t have been worse. It was the turbulent, uncertain year of 1993. Anyone with a steady job was considered lucky, and Natalie had only just landed a decent position with a good salary for those days. Life, at last, had started to improve—until now. Who would want her after another maternity leave? One child was surely enough. She and her husband, Nicholas, were raising their seven-year-old son, William, who’d just started at primary school. Back in more stable times, they’d hoped for a second child but it hadn’t happened. Now, it seemed impossible. The dinner conversation that evening was long and full of tears, but in the end, Natalie and Nicholas agreed that she would have an abortion. The couple lived in a large village, with the surgery just a short walk from their house. There were no “days of reflection,” and no one tried to counsel pregnant women into reconsidering—so booking the procedure was easy. At the appointment, Natalie was simply asked whether she wanted to keep the baby or not. The “ordeal” was to be carried out by the village’s one and only GP, a woman widely respected for her experience. Early on a sweltering summer morning, Natalie set off for the hospital, which was a bit further than the surgery. Even in the morning, the sun was fierce and the air was stifling—over thirty degrees. The walk, normally twenty minutes, felt like an eternity. Each step seemed harder than the last, as if invisible weights were strapped to her legs. Dizzy and unbearably tired, Natalie realised she couldn’t make it to the hospital that day, so she turned back, grateful she hadn’t gone far. She slept right through until evening, as if she hadn’t slept in days. The next morning, when Natalie finally made it to the hospital, she was told that the doctor who’d been scheduled to carry out the abortion was ill, and wouldn’t be available for at least two weeks. “Two weeks, Mum—do you realise what a disaster that is?” Natalie screamed down the phone. “In two weeks I’ll start feeling the baby move!” Her mother-in-law listened patiently, sighing, “Maybe this is just fate, love?” “Fate, Mum? What are we supposed to live on, raise William, send him to school? Who’s going to hire me after another maternity leave?” “We’ll help, sweetheart. Your father-in-law and I will look after the baby…” “No, Mum!” Natalie snapped, ending the call. Though a devout woman, her mother-in-law chose not to argue. It wasn’t her life or her family. Natalie desperately searched for a solution. The local hospital was booked solid, with a three-week wait for non-emergencies. “Natalie, I know someone who can help in the next town over!” chirped her friend Olivia down the line. “How much?” Natalie asked bluntly. “Not much—I’ve sorted it. You just have to be there tomorrow before ten. Her name’s Dr Eleanor Green—don’t forget!” Natalie was on the early bus, feeling surprisingly rested. The pregnancy symptoms annoyed her even more, making her feel desperate to be rid of the “problem.” When she arrived, the town was lush but empty thanks to a miserable drizzle and cold wind, a complete change from the previous heatwave. Cuddling deeper into her coat, Natalie hurried toward the hospital, anxious to make it before ten. She had to jog to avoid being late. Inside, the building was eerily silent. The peeling paint and empty cloakroom made it feel more like a set from a bad horror film than a hospital. Natalie peeked through the first open door—Reception, she guessed, though there was no sign. Behind the desk slumped a frazzled older woman. “Excuse me, how do I find Dr Eleanor Green?” Natalie called gently. “No one by that name here!” the woman creaked, never looking up but staring at an empty page. Her hands dangled limply by her sides. “Do you mean she’s not in today, or…?” Natalie ventured. “I told you—no one by that name!” the woman snapped, meeting Natalie’s gaze with cloudy, glassy eyes. When she bared crooked, pitch-black teeth in a smile, Natalie fled, heart pounding, not stopping until she was safely on the bus home, surrounded by ordinary people. “Where were you?” Olivia demanded later. “Eleanor Green waited until lunch for you!” “Maybe I’ll just wait for our own Dr Peterson,” Natalie murmured, hanging up. Rain now rattled loudly on the window, and Natalie was lost in thought. Some unseen hand seemed determined to intervene every time she got so close to her goal. She looked out of the window. The empty courtyard was brightened by a young woman and a seven-year-old boy pushing a buggy with a curly-haired little girl. They were hurrying home before the worst of the storm, the mother sheltering them with an umbrella. The girl threw back her head, laughing as she caught raindrops in her hands. The boy grinned at his sister. Natalie’s heart twinged—someday, perhaps, that could be them. “It’s too late now, love—the window’s passed,” Dr Peterson said, eyes warm and reassuring. “That’s nothing to smile about,” Natalie retorted, though deep down she was relieved. Dr Peterson shrugged, “Well, it’s definitely not a reason to be miserable.” With a strange sense of peace, Natalie went home and told her husband with new confidence that they’d be having another child. That night, she dreamt she was walking through a sunlit park, flowers gleaming in every colour. Ahead stood a tall, fair-haired teenage girl in a floral dress, dimples in her cheeks and a dusting of freckles across her nose, her green eyes just like Nicholas’s. Natalie wanted to embrace her, but the girl just waved, blew a kiss and called out, “Call me Lily!” before skipping away. Sixteen years later, watching her daughter Lily—tall, fair, cheeky smiles and a freckled nose—the story of fate and choices was never far from Natalie’s mind. She once told her daughter about the mysterious ways she’d nearly missed her chance, expecting Lily to be hurt, but her daughter simply smiled and hugged her. And ever since, Natalie believed it: children don’t just arrive—they find their way, choosing us, and sometimes leaving us signs long before they’re born. Meant to Be Born

Fate of Birth

I am absolutely livid todayrarely have I felt anger like this. Everything is painfully obvious now: Im pregnant. But what rotten timing. Its 1993an uncertain, difficult year. These days, anyone still holding onto a job is considered lucky. And Id only just landed steady employment, the sort of permanent position that actually pays a decent wageby todays standards, anyway.

At last, things had started to look upthen this happened. Wholl want me after maternity leave? One child is enough. Simon and I were raising our seven-year-old son, Charlie, whod just started year one at primary school. Back in the early 90s, when the country still had some shreds of stability, wed considered having another child, but it never happened. Now it just felt unnecessary.

The dinner conversation went on forever, heavy and awkward. But in the end, Simon and I agreedan abortion was our only option.

We live in a large village not far from Oxford; the local surgery is only a few minutes walk away. In those days, there werent any so-called days of reflection or persuasive chats to reconsiderbooking the procedure was simply a matter of saying you didnt want to keep the pregnancy.

Dr. Martha Bennett, the only gynaecologist in the area, was known as a seasoned pro. On a sweltering summer morning, I left home and walked towards the hospital, which was a bit further on than the surgery. The heat was relentless, even in the morning, with the sun pounding down and barely a cloud in the sky. I usually love long walks, but today my legs felt as if theyd been weighed down with bricks, my head started spinning, and I could barely keep my eyes open. It became obvious I wouldnt make it to the hospital and turned back, thankful I hadnt gone far. I collapsed on my bed and slept through until eveningas though I hadnt slept for days.

Next morning, when I finally arrived at the hospital, the nurse told me Dr. Bennett had fallen ill and would be off for at least a fortnight.

***

Two weeks, Mum, do you understand? I half shrieked down the phone. Its a total disaster for me! The baby will start to move by then!

My mother-in-law, Margaret, listened quietly, just sighing at my distress.

Maybe its simply meant to be, love? she suggested.

How can you say that? I snapped. What are we supposed to live on? Charlie needs looking after and a proper education. No ones going to employ me after another round of maternity leave.

Simon and I will help, she offered gently. Well look after the little one when you go back to work

No, Mum! I replied, firmlyend of discussion.

She sighed. Churchgoing and quietly wise, Margaret disapproved, but shed never argue; after all, it wasnt her life to live.

***

I was desperate for a solution. But the waitlist at the county hospital was outrageousat least a three-week wait for a non-urgent case like mine.

***

Natalie, Ive got a friend in Readingshes willing to help, piped Olivia, my lifelong friend, on the phone.

How much? I asked without a second thought.

Not a lot, dont worry, she said. But you need to get there tomorrow before ten. Her names Dr. Elizabeth Greendont forget!

Early the next day, I was on the bus. After some rest, I felt almost cheerful, though the pregnancy was driving me up the wallmy desire to be free of it had become downright obsessive.

Stepping out in Reading, I saw the town, blooming with greenery but nearly empty. The rain had started in the night, and a biting wind had blown away all memory of the recent heatwave.

Bundled up tight in my jacket, I hurried towards the hospital, panicking that Id be late.

I practically ran inside, breathless, and was greeted by a deserted lobby. The heavy door closed behind me with a groan. The place reminded me of a horror filmthe peeling walls, wide-open cloakroom windows with empty hangers swaying in the breeze, and a silence that buzzed painfully in my ears.

I ventured further and spotted an open door. Peering in, I guessed it was receptionthough there was no sign on the door.

Behind the desk sat a ruffled, elderly woman bent over a blank sheet of paper.

I knocked gently, for manners sake. Excuse me, could you direct me to Dr. Elizabeth Green?

We dont have anyone by that name! she retorted, her voice as creaky as the lobby door. She didnt bother looking upjust stared vacantly at the paper, hands limp at her sides.

What do you mean? Is she not in today, or you dont know her? I tried again.

No such person here, whats not to understand?! she snapped and finally looked up, making me recoil.

It took everything in me not to scream, staring into the womans pale, glassy eyes. When she smiled, exposing jagged black teeth, I fled, forgetting entirely why Id come.

I didnt slow down until I was back at the bus stop, only able to breathe again when the bus filled with lively, everyday people.

***

Where were you? Olivia sounded miffed on the phone. I bent over backwards for you! Dr. Green waited for ages!

I know, but Ill just wait for Dr. Bennett to return, I muttered, hanging up.

Outside, the drizzle turned to fat raindrops banging against the window, and I found myself lost in thought. Id determinedly pursued this course, yet somethingfate, perhapshad thwarted me, steering me away again and again. I glanced outsideempty gardens, until a young woman and a small boy appeared, doing their best to hurry home through the rain. The little boy cheerfully pushed a pram with a curly-haired girl inside. The mother shielded them with an umbrella, but the girl kept poking her head out into the drizzle, catching raindrops and giggling, her brother laughing with her.

My heart gave a sudden ache. In a few years, that could be uswalking home in the rain.

***

Its too late now, dearthe windows passed, Dr. Bennett smiled gently on my return, her large brown eyes full of kindness. Id always called her Bambi.

Is that really something to smile about? I asked, a nervous laugh escaping me. But, deep down, I felt oddly relieved.

Im not sure, she shrugged. But its certainly not worth tearing your hair out over.

Feeling more peaceful than I had in months, I went home and told Simon without wavering that the baby would be born.

That night, I had an extraordinary dream. I was walking through a sunlit park, alive with trees and rainbow-coloured blossoms. Ahead of me stood a girlabout fifteen, tall, with pale hair, long legs bare beneath a sweet floral dress. Dimples danced in her cheeks, freckles splashed across her nose, and her green, almond-shaped eyes shone just like Simons. I wanted to run to her and hug her, but she waved, blew me a kiss, and called out, Call me Lucy! before running away down the path.

***

Sixteen years later, watching my daughter Lucytall, blonde, with those dimples and a sprinkle of frecklesI often remember how, back then, something stopped me from ending that pregnancy. I even told Lucy the story, half-expecting her to be hurt. But she just smiled and hugged me.

Now, Im certain that children do pick their parents after all. And sometimes, they send us their signs long before theyre born.