THEY′RE AFTER ME…..
![f0006-01](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/6wovt92o3k9gb3al/images/fileA5BMXXFH.jpg)
![f0007-01](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/6wovt92o3k9gb3al/images/file2UDDYY7P.jpg)
![f0007-02](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/6wovt92o3k9gb3al/images/file6D99QGE1.jpg)
Staring intently at the pregnancy test, I held my breath.
Slowly, two blue lines started to appear. Positive.
My heart sank. I showed the stick to my husband David, 34.
‘Oh,’ he said.
We were already parents to a little girl, three-year-old Gracie, who we adored.
But this pregnancy hadn’t been planned, and the timing couldn’t be worse.
I’d started at university just two days before.
I was studying to be a midwife, and the course was intense – I was juggling studying full-time, doing practical work experience and looking after Gracie.
David worked as an officer in the merchant navy, which meant he was away for long periods of time.
A new baby was the last thing I wanted.
‘What do you want to do?’ David asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
Terminating the
You’re reading a preview, subscribe to read more.
Start your free 30 days