She traded her grandkids for an old dog, then silently buried her guilt.
“Emily, get your boy away from my poor Winston!” snapped Margaret, glaring at the scruffy dog curled up in the armchair. “I told you—take your little devil away, now!”
Emily went pale, pulling little Oliver aside and whispering, “Sorry, love.”
From the bedroom, Oliver’s father trudged in, rubbing his temples.
“What’s all the shouting about? I can’t get any work done with this racket!”
“Oh, heaven forbid we disturb your precious work!” Margaret scoffed. “Meanwhile, my Winston’s on his last legs, and you lot with your screaming and nappies! That’s it—I’ve had enough. Time you moved out. You can’t live off me forever!”
“Mum, come on, we’re not mooching! We buy groceries, Emily does all the housework—”
“I don’t care! I’ve done my time—now sort your own lives out! Pack your things. You’ve got three days.”
Oliver shot the old dog a bitter look and stormed off. Emily slumped by the cot where her six-month-old twins slept and broke down in silent tears.
“We’ll leave tonight,” her husband said, squeezing her shoulder.
“But where? We’ve got no savings, no flat of our own—”
“Dave lent me his keys—he’s away for work. We’ll stay there while I pick up odd jobs. We’ll manage, Em. I promise.”
She nodded numbly and started packing. When they left, Margaret didn’t even come out—just shouted from the kitchen, “Off you go, then? Good riddance!”
But fate had other plans. On the way to their friend’s place, their cab was hit by a speeding car. Oliver and the twins died instantly. Emily survived but was hospitalised, critical.
She lay in a coma for two months. Then, on a bleak, drizzly morning, her lashes fluttered. The first face she saw was Margaret’s.
“Em, love… Oh, thank God you’re awake,” she murmured, pressing her lips to Emily’s hand.
“Who… who are you?” Emily whispered.
“Your mum,” Margaret lied, voice shaking.
She kept the truth from Emily, telling the doctor her memory was gone. “Not yet,” she decided. She threw out Oliver’s things, hid the photos in a box at the top of the wardrobe. She wanted to undo it all. Fix something.
Emily recovered slowly at home. The only person she trusted was Alex, her physio. With him, she felt safe—only for him did she smile genuinely. Margaret’s touch felt cold, unfamiliar.
One day, dusting the shelves, Margaret wobbled on a shaky stool. It collapsed, and she hurt her leg. Emily drove her to A&E but forgot the paperwork.
Back home, she spotted the dusty box. Inside—photos. Her, Oliver, the twins… Memory struck like lightning. Pain seared through her skull. She screamed.
She burst into A&E, clutching the pictures. “Tell me the truth… Where are my children? Where’s Oliver?!”
Margaret sobbed—really sobbed—for the first time. Tears of guilt, grief. Silence like a knife to the heart. Emily fainted on the spot.
When she woke, she bolted. Rain lashed her face as she ran blindly, reaching the bridge. The river below called to her. “Jump. Just silence. Just nothing…”
Then—strong hands. Alex’s.
“Emily… I won’t let you fall. Cry. Just don’t shut down, don’t disappear. I’m here.”
She buried her face in his chest and wept like never before. He held her, stroking her hair.
They had a long road ahead—forgiveness, healing, learning to live again. But in that moment, under grey skies, a new chapter began. Not the same happiness, but hope for light ahead.
