**A Diary Entry: Rain and Remorse**
The iron roof of the hospital porch rattled under the autumn rainsharp, relentless, hammering like stones against the metal. The noise woke me, pulling me from the uneasy haze of painkillers. I lay still, listening to the dull ache in my body. The surgery had gone smoothlya cyst removed, along with one ovary. Age, perhaps? Though the ward held women of all ages.
The dim glow from the corridor seeped through the half-open door, mixing with the stale scents of antiseptic and bleach. Then, beneath the drumming rain, I heard ita muffled sob. Silence, then another.
I sat up. Across the room, a girl of sixteen, wrapped tight in her blanket, shoulders shaking. I already knew her storycomplications from a backstreet abortion. A wire, they said. The old way.
I crossed the room, sat beside her on the empty bed. She barely stirred, only her bony knees and tangled hair visible. I draped another blanket over hershe must be freezing.
She peeked out, wiped her nose childishly with her sleeve. They’d operated on her today. Five hours. The orderly whisperedan abscess. They’d taken her womb.
«Does it hurt?» I asked, raising my voice over the rain.
She shook her head.
«Do you need anything? Water?»
«Please…»
I poured weak, lukewarm tea from my flask, helped her sit. She took three sips.
«Dont cry. Whats done is done.»
I wanted to scold her. What were you thinking, you foolish girl? Youve thrown away your futurechildren, a normal life. Nearly lost your own! But not now. She was barely lucid, still reeling from the anaesthetic, the weight of her mistake settling in.
«No one needs me,» she whispered.
«What nonsense. What about your mother?»
«She doesnt care. And hehe doesnt even think about me.»
«Youre crying over *him*?» I almost laughed. «Love? At your age? Its infatuation, nothing more. If he loved you, he wouldnt have let this happen.»
She turned away, face crumpling. «I cant live without him.»
The rain roared, matching her tears. I rested a hand on her shoulder. What could I say? That youth is wasted on the young? That shed learn, in time, how little this boy mattered?
Instead, I said, «Tell me about him.»
And she didhaltingly, desperately. How theyd met at athletics, how he was handsome, popular. How she never dreamed hed pick *her*. A summer competition, a borrowed school building. A candlelit classroom. How hed promised hed be careful.
Then, the change. The coldness. The other girls whispering*hes with Kristina now*.
«Did he know? About the baby?»
She nodded.
«And?»
«He laughed. Tapped his temple like I was mad.»
I clenched my fists. «And you still love him?»
She buried her face in the blanket. «I sterilised the wire with vodka. I didnt know it would…»
Her voice broke. Such childish trust, such *stupidity*.
«Whats your name?»
«Lucy. Lucy Harper.»
«Harper? From Millfield?»
She froze. «How?»
«Is your dad Tom Harper?»
Her eyes widened. «You know him?»
I did. Wed been at school together. And her motherJenny, sharp-nosed, quick-witted, two years below us.
«Lucy, your mother *has* to know.»
«No! Shell kill me! Shell throw me out!»
I didnt argue. The doctors would inform her soon enough.
The rain lightened as dawn crept in. Such a waste. Such a *stupid, needless* loss.
—
Five years later, the memory had faded. Life moved on. I taught primary school, my sons grownone at Sandhurst, the other enlisted. Rare visits to Millfield, where my sister still lived.
Then the news: my nephew, James, was getting married.
Too young, I thought. Barely out of trade school, army duty looming. A rushed wedding? Suspicious.
We drove down for the Easter holidays. The fields stretched smooth as linen, the air thick with thawing earth. Home.
At the table, my sister gushed*such a sweet girl, Lucy Harper*.
My teacup slipped.
*Lucy Harper.*
I remembered the hospital. The wire. The hollow look in her eyes.
James couldnt know.
But he did.
I cornered him in the garden. «Youre throwing your life away! No children, no futurejust *her*?»
He looked at me, steady. «I love her.»
«Love? Shes damaged, James! She did this to herself!»
His face darkened. «And thats why she needs me.»
I went to Lucy next. She stood on her mothers porch, spine stiff, chin high.
«Youll ruin him,» I said.
Her lips thinned. «Or save him from a life he doesnt want.»
A week later, she was in hospital againpills this time. James never left her side.
The wedding went ahead. Tears, toasts, a festival of family values in the village square. Lucy, pale and silent beside James, flinching at every mention of children.
Two years on, I joined the foster panel. Saw the broken homes, the neglected kids. One girlbright, alone.
I went to James and Lucy. «Theres a child who needs a family.»
They exchanged a glance, then nodded.
Perhaps some losses can be mended.
But not all.
