Diagnosis Betrayal
Your relationship is rather serious already, insisted Mrs. Nora Greenwood, her eyes fixing upon her sons probable bride-to-be, so when are you planning the wedding?
I rather think its too soon for that still, replied the young woman, forcing a polite smile as she carefully phrased her words, hoping not to offend her potential future mother-in-law. It has only been a month since we moved in together. Best to wait awhile, dont you think? We need a little more time to see if we get along in the daily grind. Maybe well start quarrelling over the most trivial things.
Mrs. Nora Greenwood raised an eyebrow slightly, though she did not retreat from her mission to find everything out. Truth told, Eleanor rather liked Nora, particularly compared with Patricks last girlfriend. Amanda had been insufferable and brazen! It was a mercy Patrick ended that entanglement.
And how is Harry getting on? she shifted the subject, but her gaze was just as searching. Hes nearly grown, but still…
Eleanor felt a warm glow inside at the mention of Patricks son. She couldnt help but recall their first days together, how shed worried: how on earth would a teenage boy take to a strange woman moving in? Would he see her as a usurper, some imposter angling to replace his mother?
Hes wonderful, Eleanor replied, her initial reserve melting into a genuine, soft smile. At first, I must confess, I was anxious. I half expected Harry to be wary of me, or downright prickly. But its been far better than I dared hope! Hes such an open, affable boy.
She paused, picturing the afternoon Harry had burst through the door after school, sampled her apple crumble, and declared with delight the kitchen would henceforth be home to proper meals.
Actually, Eleanor said with a fondly wry twist of her lips, hes thrilled someone who can really cook is now in charge of suppers, not his dad. He even asks me now and then to teach him a recipe or two.
Patrick, whod been silently observing, nodded in agreement, the barest flicker of a smile crossing his features, as if he too was quietly glad the two most important people in his life were getting on so splendidly.
And has he pestered you for a brother yet? Nora inquired with an unmistakable hint in her tone.
Patrick grimaced at that and shot his mother a silent, reproachful glance that all but said, Must you start this again? He knew Noras ways perfectly well; she was never shy about pressing into the most delicate territory, as if oblivious to how uncomfortable certain conversations could be.
Oh, whats the harm in it? Nora answered breezily, undeterred, her voice cheerfully mischievous, as if this topic were nothing extraordinary. Harrys a dab hand with the younger children. Always playing with his cousins. Youre only thirty-five plenty of time yet to have a couple of little ones.
Eleanor felt the discomfort rise within her like a wave. She hated having to discuss private, painful matters with a near-stranger. Beneath the table, she briskly clasped her hands together, striving to maintain her outward composure.
Im afraid thats simply not possible, she said quietly, determined her voice would be even and calm. My doctors are adamant I should not have children.
The room fell momentarily into silence. Noras eyebrow flicked up, her face shifting quickly the former warmth vanishing, replaced by a chill, almost detached expression.
Womans troubles, then? Nora ventured, her sympathy sounding patently staged, with just a tinge of condescension. Still, you shouldnt lose heart medicines come a long way. What once seemed out of the question can be managed these days, you know.
Eleanor exhaled imperceptibly. She wanted desperately to end this topic, but sensed silence would only let Noras imagination run wild.
In my case, its impossible, she said plainly, staring straight ahead rather than meeting Noras gaze. If she were honest, she deeply resented having to unspool her soul to someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger. But remaining silent would only make matters worse. Its my eyesight. They gave me the diagnosis when I turned eighteen since then, Ive come to terms with it: I cant have children.
Nora paused, clearly processing, her eyebrows lifted high as if confronted with something entirely alien.
Whats your sight got to do with it? she asked, tilting her head, unable to follow the logic. To her, it was plainly just some outlandish excuse.
Eleanor took in a careful breath, weighing her words.
Theres a ninety percent chance Ill lose my sight, she explained, her tone cool and matter-of-fact. The strain of a pregnancy would be simply too much its a huge risk, and I couldnt face the possibility. Imagine having a child youd never be able to see?
Eleanor adjusted her glasses, every bit as intent that Nora understood this wasnt some vain whim, wasnt about her figure or appearance, but a real and terrifying risk.
The disappointment in the room was almost physical. Nora Greenwood no longer tried for conversation, her eyes flicking now and then towards Eleanor with clear, unhidden disapproval. Plain as day, Eleanor didnt fit the vision Nora cradled for her sons wife: healthy, robust, ready to dotingly provide her the grandchildren she craved.
Yet Eleanor felt neither guilt nor the urge to justify herself. She and Patrick had already talked it all through the consultations, the evenings researching possible alternatives, honest talks about the future. The risk was simply too great, and neither of them wished to gamble with her health. If it ever came to it, there were other paths adoption, or even a surrogate. Such things, these days, were hardly insurmountable.
When the pair finally made to leave, the tension in the house thawed just a little. Nora hugged her son in farewell and nodded stiffly to Eleanor in her gesture only the skeleton of courtesy, none of its warmth. As they pulled on their coats in the hallway, Eleanor met Patricks glance; he gave her a look full of silent apology.
They stepped into the evening, both breathing easier. The outside air was uncommonly brisk and fresh, as if scouring away the heavy conversation. Eleanor laced her fingers through Patricks, and he squeezed her hand at once. Nothing was said there was nothing to say. The meeting hadnt gone well. Yet the fact didnt alter anything essential: theyd chosen each other, and no ones prejudices would shift that decision.
***
Three months later.
Eleanor found herself feeling out of sorts more and more. At first, she put it down to exhaustion, perhaps a lingering cold. But with the odd malaise lingering and lingering, she began to worry.
She was constantly weary, queasy on waking, and everyday scents the lemon washing up liquid, the aroma of Patricks cologne began to set her teeth on edge. Shed bought a shelfs worth of vitamins and paracetamol at Boots, upped her water intake, started going to bed early; yet the fog persisted, and work suddenly seemed an impossible effort.
One evening during a phone call to her mother, Eleanor spilled her anxieties in the gentlest of murmured tones.
Are you absolutely sure youre not expecting, love? her mother questioned, soft but probing after a pause, the suggestion hanging in the static.
Eleanor actually laughed, surprised then hesitated. She thought it through, shaking her head as she replied, No, Mum. Not a chance. Ive never once missed a pill the doctor set me up with the right prescription after a full check, and Ive followed it to the letter.
Even so, dearest, just take a test for your peace of mind, will you? Its too big a thing to leave to chance.
Eleanor meant to protest but something in her mothers tone made her stop. In the end, there was no harm: a test was easy, and a certainty was a comfort.
All right, Mum. Patricks still at work. Ill nip out now.
She wrapped herself up and strode to the chemist. It took less than five minutes the chemists windows misted, pavement slick, the clouds hanging thick above the row houses. Eleanor hurried, tense, thoughts wheeling: What if shes right? But its impossible. I did everything right.
Standing in boots before the enormous display of pregnancy kits, she blinked at the overwhelming choices. Cheaper, dearer, digital, analogue, boxes with pastel flower motifs. She made a pragmatic selection neither the cheapest nor the fanciest paid with her debit card, and walked swiftly home.
Back in her hallway, she clenched the packet in her hands, exhaled, and carried out the instructions, ticking off each step with the care of someone handling delicate evidence. She waited, hunched on the bath mat, staring at the timer on her mobile as seconds trickled past.
One line. And then, clear as dawn, two. When she checked the second test, it too confirmed the proof was plain. Eleanor sat, numb, mouth working to form words.
How? she gasped, lost in a surge of panic. Impossible! I prepared so carefully.
The doorbell clattered, echoing through the flat, and Eleanor nearly leapt out of her skin. Checking her watch, she realised who it must be: Harry, no doubt, having forgotten his keys, as he did every other week.
She dumped the pregnancy tests in the kitchen bin, smoothed her hair with trembling fingers, and opened the flat door to find Harry, red-cheeked and breathless, his bag slung over his shoulder.
Lost your keys again? she teased, letting him in.
Sorry, yeah I realised just as I turned the corner, Harry replied sheepishly, tugging off his trainers.
Eleanor hurried to start supper for the famished teenager, entirely unaware that one test had slipped to the kitchen floor, left treacherously, damningly, in plain sight.
***
Ill be off to Mums for a week, Eleanor told Patrick, refusing to meet his eyes as she packed. She loathed lying to the man she loved, but at that moment she simply couldnt tell him the full truth. Nor could she risk her safety: her decision had already been made…
Patrick paused from his laptop, his expression tender with concern.
Anything I can do? he queried instantly. Want me to drive you? I can bring her anything she needs. She shouldnt be left alone.
Eleanor managed a faint, almost apologetic smile, his eagerness to help only making this harder.
Thank you, love. Ill call if theres any need at all, she answered, striving for calm.
Turning away, Eleanor filled her weekend bag as methodically as a soldier: jumper, jeans, shirts, underwear, toothbrush. She kept half an eye on her phone the whole time, waiting for a new message from Mum or Patrick. The plan was fixed in her mind: get to Mums, sort things out, return, then when all was said and done tell Patrick face to face. Honestly, openly.
The journey to the station was a feverish, dreamlike muddle. Eleanor checked her phone repeatedly, thoughts spinning. When she arrived at her mothers, she felt only the frayed relief of being somewhere safe, somewhere with a person who understood without needing story or explanation.
The next morning, Eleanor visited a private clinic. Shed booked discretely online, chosen the doctor based on patient reviews, arranged everything to avoid unwanted questions. The appointment was routine, businesslike: check-up, bloods, scan. The GP a level-voiced, middle-aged woman glanced over the numbers, double-checked Eleanors medical file, then quietly pronounced the truth.
You are pregnant, she confirmed. Early five, six weeks.
Eleanor nodded, mute; shed clung to wild hope that it might be some ghastly mistake, a trick of the tests or mixed-up results, but now it was certain.
But I was on the pill! I followed every instruction! she stammered, bewildered and anxious.
The GP cocked her head, neat and calm, saying, Sometimes even the most reliable medication isnt effective. Perhaps another medicine interfered, or the batch was faulty. These things, though rare, can happen.
She paused, then continued gently.
As I understand, you do not wish to continue the pregnancy?
Eleanor closed her eyes, weighing for the thousandth time the warnings of her doctors: the risk had never disappeared. She let out a long, slow breath.
Nine out of ten chance of blindness. How could I go through with it?
The doctor nodded, having already read Eleanors notes and seen the statistics for herself. Eleanors choice, in her circumstances, made perfect sense.
It is an important decision, entirely yours, the GP agreed. Ill arrange the necessary tests, and we can make a plan together once we have them.
She quickly printed referral slips and handed them to Eleanor.
Come back tomorrow morning. Well have results then, and discuss your next steps.
Eleanor received the papers, absently smoothing the edges. Her thoughts were still a birds nest, yet the outline of a plan began to take form. She thanked the GP, stood, and left. In the corridor she leaned against the wall, gathering herself, inhaling slowly. Tomorrow she would move to the next crossroads…
***
Eleanor! Patrick exclaimed on the phone, his voice so unguardedly delighted that Eleanor tensed on the spot. Why didnt you tell me?
Eleanors insides knotted tight. She clutched the phone, willing her hands to still.
Tell you what? she asked warily, striving for calm. The instant thought: Does he know? How?
That youre pregnant! Patrick replied, barely containing his excitement, his imagination racing far ahead.
Eyes squeezed shut, Eleanor tried to compose herself.
And what makes you think that? she managed.
I found a test with two lines on the kitchen floor, he explained, brimming with uncomplicated joy. Ive already booked an appointment with a specialist. Well go together, yes? I want to be there for you.
Eleanor struggled for the right words, hoping to cool his ardour delicately without bruising him further.
Dont get ahead of yourself, she said, firmly but kindly. Its almost certainly a mistake. You know Ive been on my medication, no misses, and I follow the instructions to the letter. It simply cant be.
A silence stretched; Eleanor felt his mind working at the other end of the line.
Well, Patrick faltered, suddenly uncertain. Actually Mum popped round the other day and went on about your medication. She insisted your diagnosis wasnt anything so dreadful, that all kinds of women have babies in more complicated circumstances. She brought in stories of this cousin and that neighbour, and kept pushing the idea. In the endI I let myself listen.
He paused, hoping for understanding. Eleanor listened, silent, her feelings a tangled mess of anger, disbelief, and sad resignation. Of course he wanted to believe things could be different. Of course he did. Yet she boiled inside at someone else interfering, deciding for her.
So youre saying you what? Did you tamper with my tablets? she asked, voice taut with control though fury simmered beneath.
No! Nothing of the sort. I wouldnt I just Patrick paused, swallowing. The bottle fell on the bathroom floor. They scattered. Ive been buying vitamins as well andMum said maybe We thought it might be a sign. I put the vitamins in the bottle. I justI wanted us to have a family. I believed things could be fineshe made it sound so safe…
Eleanors blood ran cold. She tried to find words, but they came haltingly.
You did what? she whispered.
Patrick, nervously rubbing at the edge of the table, wandered on.
Iswapped the pills out, yes. I wanted a child. Mum said it would be alright.
Eleanors mind reeled. How many times had she explained the necessities of her medication, the consequences, the stark realities?
Are you serious? her voice cracked, hands trembling, vision narrowing into black anger. You swapped medicine for bloody vitamins because your mother said so?
Patrick shifted, embarrassment burning his cheeks. I thought it was for the good of us all… for our family…
For family? Eleanor snapped, biting off the words. She willed herself to breathe. In her head, everything spun, but the core was clear: she could not talk further, not then.
I need some time. Meet me in two days by the bandstand in the park, midday.
Of courseof course Ill be there! replied Patrick, seizing desperately at hope.
Eleanor hung up without preamble.
Inside, she was ablaze. Patrick had deliberately endangered her, disregarded her autonomy utterly. All for the sake of some fantasy, under his mothers thumb! She knew, with sudden clarity, that their foundation was built on broken trust.
On the appointed day, Patrick arrived early, clutching a bouquet of white roses Eleanors favourite. He rehearsed apologies in his mind, hopeful for a reconciliation.
At twelve, Eleanor arrived, her brother John beside her, face set in unsmiling lines. She did not meet Patricks eyes, nor take the roses extended towards her. Instead, she produced a folded sheet of paper, wordlessly handing it over.
Whats this? I dont Patrick faltered, confused by the steel in her voice.
It means there wont be a baby, Eleanor answered, her tone clipped and glacial. You knew my medical history. You chosedeliberately to put my health and life in danger, just because your mother pushed you into it. Ill collect my things tomorrow. John will be with me for claritys sake.
Before he could speak, she turned smartly away. Patrick darted to follow, reaching for her.
Eleanor! Please, talk to me!
She did not turn. John stepped firmly into Patricks path, his posture unyielding, making it plain: Go no further.
I spoke to doctors! Patrick cried, wild, his voice cracking on the chill afternoon air. They told me modern medicine makes everything safer. Youre exaggerating! You just dont want a babyso youre inventing an excuse.
Eleanor spun halfway, her face pale but eyes unflinching, all tears spent, replaced by an icy finality.
Did you discuss my health with strangers without asking me? Did you even know which condition I have? Did you tell them how many women with that diagnosis lose their sight if they get pregnant? Noyou just heard what you wanted to hear, she said, deadly quiet.
Patrick flinched, feeling the weight of her judgement. He tried a final gambit.
I was thinking about our family
This isnt a game, Patrick, Eleanor cut him, her voice laced with pain. This is my body. My eyesight. My life. Youve no idea what living in the dark means. Im not risking that because youre too weak to say ‘no’ to your mother.
John moved a little closer ready, if need be, to intervene further on his sisters behalf.
I dont want anything to do with you anymore, Eleanor said coldly. I wont live in fear youll pull another stunt behind my back.
Patrick tried to speak but the words failed him. There was nothing in her gaze but contempt and finality. She turned, arm-in-arm with her brother, and vanished among the shadows of the yew hedges. John, silent and steadfast, escorted her away.
Left alone, Patrick sank onto a nearby bench, the white rose bouquet crushed in his hands, petals bruised, never delivered.
And as dusk pooled beneath the bandstand and low clouds drifted above the old cedar, he realised what hed lost not just a child, but something far more precious: the woman he loved.
Only one thought echoed in his skull: What if she was right? But it was far too late for ifsWeeks passed. In the flat that Eleanor once called home, the kitchen remained conspicuously clean, untouched by the scent of apple crumble or laughter over failed soufflés. Nora called Patrick at firstinsistent, then impatient, then silent. Harry kept to his room mostly, replying to texts with short answers, no longer bursting in with school stories. The living room was quieter now, the future as Patrick had imagined itfamily meals, small, bright children filling the empty cornerscrumbling to dust as reality seeped in.
Eleanor, meanwhile, found refuge in the steady comfort of her mothers cottage. She walked the chilly morning lanes, breathing in crisp autumn air, letting her anger dissolve among the falling leaves. With each step, she remembered herself: her resilience, her courage, her right to steer her own fate. Her mother brewed tea and held her close. John visited often, making her laugh again, gentle and relentless in his defense of her heart.
One afternoon, when fog rolled thick over the fields, Eleanor sat by the window, tracing the outline of distant trees. Her phone vibrated. A new message, unsigned, but unmistakably Patrick:
I am sorry. For everything. It was unforgivable. I hope you find happinesstrue and fearless. You deserve that, more than I ever knew.
Eleanor closed her eyes. She let the apology settle, neither deleting it nor replying. Some wounds, she knew, were not meant to be re-opened for comfort. Some lessons needed to be lived, not forgiven.
Days became weeks. She visited the clinic for a final check. All clear. The world, though battered, had not dimmed.
Back at her mothers hearth, Eleanor stood with John in the warmth, the kettle steaming and the radio low. She laugheda sound unbroken, certain, real.
And in that unburdened moment, she saw it: her life ahead, unfolding without permission or apology. A life held in her own hands, untethered to anyones vision but her own. And for the first time in months, she felt not loss, but freedom.
Somewhere far behind, the shadow of betrayal slipped away. Ahead, there was only promisea future bright enough for her to walk toward, eyes wide open.
