The scorching July heat hung over the dusty village of Meadowbrook, nestled in the rolling hills of the English countryside. The road stretched out like an endless ribbon ahead. “Blimey, this heat’s brutal, innit? Feels like an oven out here. Could do with a bit of rain,” mumbled the taxi driver, glancing in the rearview mirror. But Anna, sitting in the back, stayed silent, gazing out the window. “Quiet one, aren’t ya? Most folks natter nonstop, but you haven’t said a word all trip. Where you headed? Not from round here, I can tell. What’s your story?” he grumbled. Anna just sighed and whispered, “Home.” After paying in pounds, she stepped out. The taxi sped off, leaving her in a swirl of dust.
Anna walked the familiar streets of her childhood, but everything felt strange. Fifteen years had passed since she’d been back. There it was—her family home, where her mum was waiting. In the twilight, two windows glowed, and in one, a hunched figure moved. “God, she’s so old now…” Anna’s heart clenched with guilt, so heavy it felt unbearable. Her chest ached, tears choking her. “Mum… My sweet mum…” She wanted to rush to the door, ring the bell, fall to her knees, begging forgiveness. But her legs gave way. “I can’t… Just… Need a minute…” she whispered, sinking onto a bench. Memories surged like a storm, pulling her back.
Her childhood had been bright as a balloon her dad once gave her. At five, Anna adored her red-and-blue ball, and when a car ran over it, she cried herself sick. Her mum, a paediatrician, nursed her day and night. At thirteen, lanky and awkward, Anna hated her nickname “Beanpole.” “Mum, why won’t my chest grow? Everyone laughs at me,” she’d whinge, burrowing into her mum’s arms. “You’re my beautiful girl, just perfect as you are,” her mum would soothe, stroking her hair.
By seventeen, Anna had bloomed—slim, tall, and starting nursing college. That’s when she met James, a med student dreaming of becoming a surgeon. He rented a room from an elderly woman. Their love ignited fast. James walked her home, held her hand shyly, hugged her tight. She lived and breathed for him. One weekend, when her parents were away at a wedding, Anna convinced James to stay over. Three blissful days they spent, swearing they’d never part. They planned to marry as soon as she turned eighteen.
But her parents returned early. Her dad, William, turned crimson seeing James. “This is James. We love each other. If he leaves, I go too,” Anna said firmly. “Out! Both of you!” William roared. James bolted; Anna chased after him. William paced the flat, furious. He adored his daughter, but this betrayal gutted him. “How could she shame us like this? Bringing some lad here while we’re gone!” he spat at his wife, Margaret. “You spoiled her! Never let her lift a finger! This is your fault!”
“Stop shouting! Why should she scrub floors or cook? That’s my job. Bringing a boy home—happens to everyone,” Margaret whispered, wiping tears. “Fool!” William snapped, slapping her. Margaret staggered but stood her ground. “She’s seventeen. Times have changed,” she muttered. “Life’s the same! You ruined my girl!” he screamed. “You forgot you even have a daughter!” Margaret shot back. William froze. “Yes, I have a daughter—Anna. But you don’t. Her mother died in childbirth. Anna was frail, an orphan. I swore at her grave I’d raise her. Married you for her sake. You, a paediatrician, doted on her at the hospital, loved her. I saw how attached you got. Remember when you proposed to me? Just to care for her. But a mother isn’t who gives birth—it’s who raises the child!”
Margaret gasped in pain. Anna stood in the doorway, pale as death. “So… not my real mum? And you never told me?” she said flatly, stepping toward her dad. “Hello, Dad. Mum’s dead, and you brought this one home? I’m sick of both of you!” she yelled, storming to her room. “Anna, I love you like my own! Please!” Margaret sobbed, pleading at her door as Anna packed. With a bag slung over her shoulder, Anna marched out. Margaret collapsed to her knees. “Don’t go, love!” Anna kicked her hands away, screaming, “You’re nothing to me!” and slammed the door on her past.
Anna moved in with James. She refused to go back—rage at her dad and stepmum burned inside. Their elderly landlady later told her William had a stroke the day she left. He died in hospital. “Funeral’s today. Have pity on your mum, go,” she urged. “Lies. They’re luring me back. They threw me out. She pretended to be my mother!” Anna snapped. For months, they lived there, avoiding Margaret. James graduated; Anna turned eighteen. They married and moved to his hometown.
James became an EMT; Anna worked as a carer at a children’s home. Thirteen years passed. James became a doctor; Anna trained as a nurse and returned to the home. “Can’t abandon my little ones,” she’d say. They loved each other deeply, but one shadow lingered: Anna couldn’t have kids. Years of trying ended in a miscarriage so severe, doctors removed her womb. James never blamed her, loving her fiercely. He tucked her in when she was ill, kissed her goodbye, wept with her in grief.
Four years ago, they adopted a newborn girl. Anna fell in love instantly. When the baby, named Emily, wailed, Anna’s heart reignited. She cradled her, refusing to let go. Now Emily was three—cheeky, joyful, adored. Anna and James couldn’t imagine life without her. But recently, Anna dreamed of her childhood home, the windows, a frail figure inside. “Mum!” she woke screaming in sweat. James understood. As she packed for the train, he hugged her. “Go. She’s old. She needs you.” “What if I’m too late?” Anna whispered, tears falling.
Now, here she was. Home. The hunched silhouette in the window. Anna’s legs trembled as she entered the building. Her old floor, the familiar door. Her heart pounded like a trapped bird. “Mum, my love… Is it really just this door between us?” She rang the bell. Silence. Only her pulse in her ears. “Who’s there? Coming,” croaked a frail voice. Anna froze. The door opened. A silver-haired woman, bent with age, stood there. “Who is it?” she repeated. Anna choked on tears. “I can barely see, just shapes. Give me your hand,” the woman said, confused.
Anna flung herself into her arms, clutching her tight. Her mum’s trembling hands traced her face. “Anna… You? My girl… You came back… I prayed, I waited…” she wept. Anna collapsed to her knees, kissing her hands. “It’s me. Forgive me, Mum… I’m back, and I’ll never leave you again… Forgive me!”
