The woman who became Mum: A story you won’t forget
Lucy arrived in the village late in the evening. As soon as she pushed open the garden gate, she saw her mother sitting on the porch with a ball of wool in her hands, knitting.
“Lucy!” the woman gasped, struggling to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I’d have made your favourite—pea soup!”
Lucy studied her face, then blurted out, “And why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” Mum asked, confused.
A day earlier, Lucy had been packing for a long-awaited holiday with friends. She and Tom, the man she loved, had their rucksacks ready. Then her younger sister Emily called—Mum might have a serious illness. Without hesitating, Lucy cancelled her trip, booked the next train home.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Tom asked anxiously.
“No, stay. Just text when you can. And… I’ll miss you,” she whispered.
Lucy was strong, reserved. She’d known betrayal, an unhappy marriage—not just stories. That’s why she hadn’t told her parents about Tom yet. She needed to be sure he was forever.
The journey was agonising. Two train changes, endless waits, and worse—a gnawing dread. For two years, she’d visited the village only a handful of times. Work had taken her far from home, and each return weighed heavier on her heart.
Mum… wasn’t her birth mother. A stepmother, technically. But Lucy and Emily had always called her Mum. Because she hadn’t just entered their lives—she’d saved their family.
Years ago, their real mother had left—lies, affairs, indifference. Their father, after trying to mend the marriage, came back from working abroad and took the girls home. He raised them alone, doing his best. But it was hard. The farm, two girls, school, chores—all on his shoulders.
Then Margaret appeared. A mother of three, a teacher, trapped in a loveless marriage. One evening, her youngest ran to the neighbours in tears: “Dad’s shouting at Mum again.” Lucy’s father stepped in. Days later, Margaret moved in with them.
“What if I marry Aunt Margaret?” he asked the girls.
Emily cheered, “Brilliant!” Lucy stayed silent. She didn’t want to share her father. But then she fell gravely ill. Margaret never left her bedside—staying up all night, bringing her homemade lemonade by day.
“Will you always be like this?” Lucy whispered once.
“I’ll never replace your mum… but I’ll never hurt you either,” Margaret answered.
From that morning, everything changed. Lucy accepted her. Not as a stepmother, not as a stranger. As her mum.
Now, years later, she was back—heart weighed with worry.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were ill?” Lucy asked, fighting tears as she took in Margaret’s tired face.
“They’ll confirm tomorrow…” she said softly. “But tonight, Lucy, you’re home. That’s happiness enough.”
The family gathered around the table like it was Christmas. Everyone hid their fear. Emily had graduated, now teaching. James helped Dad at the sawmill. Oliver was applying to law school. Little Sophie dreamt of being an actress.
And Margaret… She kept goats, took up knitting, and joked about grandchildren—
“I’ve already knitted three sets of booties. Waiting for the pitter-patter!”
Late that night, Lucy sat with Mum in the kitchen. She hugged her, squeezed her hand.
“Tomorrow will be better. I can feel it.”
“You’re all so busy… I’ll probably never see grandkids,” Margaret sighed.
“Not true.” Lucy pulled out her phone, showed a picture of Tom. “Meet Tom.”
“Handsome… and kind,” Margaret murmured, reading his text: *”How are you? Should I come?”*
Lucy smiled. Yes—she knew now. It was time to tell her family about him. He was her person.
In the morning, they drove to the hospital. The results came back clear. No illness. Mum wept with relief, and Lucy held her tight—
“See? I came for a reason. We’ve got baby booties to give out yet!”
