Millie grew like weeds by the roadside—unloved, ignored, left to fend for herself. No hugs, no kindness, not even a simple “I need you.” Her clothes were always hand-me-downs, so threadbare you could see her bony knees through the holes. Her shoes were always falling apart, soles flapping or letting in rainwater. To avoid dealing with her hair, her mum just hacked it short with a bowl cut—except it stuck out in every direction, like a cry for help no one heard.
She never went to nursery. Maybe she would’ve liked it—somewhere warm, with toys and other kids. But her parents were too busy hunting down their next bottle. Dad and Mum drank, fought, threw punches. When they vanished, Millie hid—in basements, on stairwells. She learned young: stay small, stay quiet, stay alive. If she didn’t sneak away fast enough, she’d hide the bruises later.
The neighbors pitied her. Gossiped about her mum, Sharon—who used to be decent, until she got tangled up with some lowlife and lost herself. But mostly, they pitied Millie. Felt bad—but what could they do? Some tossed her food, gave her an old jumper, but if it was too nice, Sharon sold it for booze. So Millie stayed ragged, barefoot, starving.
School came late for her. And suddenly, she found something good. Learning came easy. She scribbled letters neatly, raised her hand, devoured every book she could reach. She’d sit in the library till closing, turning pages like they were sacred. Teachers wondered: how could this quiet, neglected kid shine so bright?
But the other kids wanted nothing to do with her. Didn’t get her. Didn’t pity her. Feared her. The tatty clothes, wild hair, the way she never spoke—it made her “weird.” She didn’t play, didn’t laugh, didn’t get jokes. And worst of all—her parents. Kids mimicked drunken Sharon, called Millie “Worthless.” And it stuck. First whispered, then shouted. Soon, no one remembered her real name.
Teachers saw the cruelty but stayed quiet. Some feared upsetting the “proper” parents. Others felt helpless. Some just shrugged—used to it. And Millie kept hiding.
Her safe space? An old park behind school, near a weed-choked pond. Under an ancient oak, she spent evenings—sometimes nights—when home was too scary. Stray cats and dogs kept her company. She shared food with them, hugged them, talked. There, under rustling leaves, she could breathe.
Her dad died when she was fourteen. Frozen drunk in a snowdrift. Only Sharon and Millie went to the funeral. Mum howled, wailed, threw herself at the coffin. Millie just stood there. No tears. No words. Just quiet relief—and shame for feeling it.
After Dad died, Mum lost it completely. Screaming fits, blackouts. Sometimes she didn’t even recognise Millie. So the girl started working—scrubbing stairwells, hauling water, cleaning. Neighbors tossed her spare change. She spent it on medical books, convinced she’d cure her mum someday.
School got worse. Someone found out Millie cleaned for cash—bullying kicked up again. The ringleader? Olivia, the queen bee, daughter of well-off parents.
“Oi, Worthless! Off to scrub toilets again?” she’d shout as Millie hurried away after class.
Millie stayed silent. Learned to tune it out. But each slur sank inside her like a stone.
“Why do they hate me?” she whispered to the scruffy mutt nuzzling her leg. “What did I do? Is this fair?”
Then *he* showed up. James Aldridge. New kid. Tall, dark-haired, soulful eyes. Moved from Manchester with his family. Smart, athletic, quiet. Every girl in school fell for him instantly. Millie too—but she buried it. When he walked past, her heart stuttered, cheeks burned. She prayed no one noticed.
Olivia decided James was hers. Designer clothes, perfect makeup, expensive perfume—she went all in. No one dared compete. Millie didn’t even dream of trying.
One day, late after a meltdown with her mum, Millie rushed into class and dropped her medical textbook. Olivia snatched it up.
“What’s this? *Psychiatry*? Gone mental like your mum, Worthless?”
Millie snapped. Clamping a hand over her mouth to stop screaming, she bolted—shoulder-checking James in the doorway. He blinked, confused.
She ran to the park. To the oak. Collapsed in the snow. Sobbed.
Then she saw it—a dog stumbling onto the icy pond. The crack. The plunge.
Millie tore off her coat. Crawled. Grabbed the dog’s scruff—then fell through herself. The water stole her breath, burned her skin. The dog thrashed beside her. She fought to swim. Weakness crept in. Then—hands. Strong hands hauled her out. The dog too.
On the bank, James stood, dripping.
“Come on. Mum’s a doctor. You’re freezing. We live close,” he said, peeling off his soaked jumper to wrap around her.
Millie nodded, barely hearing.
Next day, they walked in together.
“Seriously?!” Olivia shrieked. “She’s *Worthless*!”
James just smiled.
“Only thing worthless here is your heart. And yours is the worst I’ve seen.”
Olivia flinched. The class went silent. Millie took her seat—not alone this time. Not with her head down.
Now she had someone. Someone who saw *her*, not the label. And Bella—the dog they’d saved. James’s dog now.
Sometimes, if you wait long enough, life throws you a bone.
