You wouldn’t believe how fate works, honestly.
Ellie was heading to the club like she was floating on air. Denim skirt, tight metallic leggings, pristine white trainers, a crop top with some model’s face on it, and this massive scrunchie holding up her high ponytail. Pink lipstick, rainbow eyeshadow—total knockout.
Everyone said Ellie was something else. And she knew it. Pride of the estate. Got into uni in London all on her own—no connections, no favours.
Like that time Mrs. Wilkins sneered at her: *”Sutton, you’ve got as much chance of uni as walking to the moon! Best you can hope for is college, and even then, only if your stepdad pulls strings. Otherwise, the street sweepers’ll be crying for you.”*
Oh yeah, stepdad. Real dad vanished ages ago. And stepdad? Not exactly rushing to help *”such a waste of space.”*
Mrs. Wilkins waited for tears. But Ellie just stood up, looked her dead in the eye, and said, calm as anything—*”We’ll see who ends up where.”*
Mrs. Wilkins squinted and swore she’d get her back in exams. But Ellie aced them. Got in. Alone. No *”special treatment.”* Like that.
*”Fancy some proper love, gorgeous?”*
*”With you? Thompson, you’ve lost the plot.”*
*”Ellie, come on. How’ve you been?”*
*”Living my best life.”*
*”That figure though…”*
*”Want one for yourself?”*
*”Wouldn’t say no.”*
*”Come round, I’ll dress you up. You’ll look mint.”*
*”You’re evil, Sutton. What if I fancy you?”*
*”Piss off. Nan blessed me with an oak cross—keeps away nightmares and blokes like you.”*
*”Harsh.”*
*”Safety first.”*
They strolled down the street, bantering like always. Young. Free. Untouchable.
*”Hey, fancy crashing school on Monday?”* Thompson tossed out.
*”You mad? Why?”*
*”Imagine Mrs. Wilkins’ face when she finds out you got into uni. On your own.”*
Ellie smirked. *”Couldn’t care less. What about you?”*
*”Messing about till summer, then army. You gonna wait for me?”*
*”Oh yeah. Perched on a bench in a headscarf, knitting you socks. A hundred metres long.”*
*”Oh, shut it…”*
*”Mate, look—that’s Jess! She went to trade school, didn’t she?”*
*”Yep. Each to their own. Alright, Mike, I’m off. There’s my lot. You and Jess, then?”*
*”Nah, just… y’know, chatting.”*
*”She’s sweet. She’ll wait. I won’t.”*
*”So… no chance?”*
*”None.”* Sharp. Final. And she walked away.
Uni came easy to Ellie—not because it was simple, but because she never complained.
*”How d’you manage it all?”* her flatmate asked.
*”What?”*
*”Y’know—parties, clubbing, and your grades…”*
*”Dunno,”* Ellie shrugged. *”Just living. Not moaning. Avoiding blokes. Uni’s my future. Fun? Now’s the time.”*
*”I just wanna marry rich.”*
*”Not me.”*
She met Jack at a club. Too pushy—she bolted. Next day, he showed up at halls. Flowers, chocolates. She slammed the door. He came back with cinema tickets. She dodged again.
Girl was getting twitchy from the attention. Nearly hated him. Then Thompson started sending letters from basic training—missing *her*, not the army.
And she knew Thompson—remembered him in brown tights under shorts at fourteen… His nan dragging him to some witch to cure bed-wetting.
Jack rode a motorbike, waited for her like some rom-com. Then… he wiped out. Right in front of her. And she sprinted over—not ’cause it was Jack, but ’cause he was a person.
And somehow… she said yes to a date.
Six months together. No butterflies. No grand love. Just… comfortable. He felt like home.
Then a letter from Thompson—anger, insults, filth. Someone had snitched. Not like she hid it.
Jack was easier. Reliable. Safe. With him, she could dream—weddings, futures.
*”Lucky you,”* her flatmate said.
*”How?”*
*”With Jack. You know who he is, right?”*
*”What?”*
*”His dad’s loaded. Bought him the bike. Now a car. Only child. Old money.”*
*”And?”*
*”Rumour is… he’s already engaged. Lily’s her name. Dads merging businesses.”*
That night, Ellie asked Jack. He fidgeted.
*”Dad’s idea. I don’t want Lily. I’ve got you. Let’s just leave.”*
*”I’m visiting my folks this weekend.”*
*”Alright…”* And she swore he sounded relieved.
When she got back—something was off. Side-eyes from the girls. Smirks from lads.
*”What’s going on?”*
*”Sit down… Jack… he…”*
*”What?”*
*”He got married.”*
No shake. No tears. Inside—collapsed. Outside—stone.
*”That’s it?”*
*”You’re so calm…”*
*”What should I be? Knew it. Left to think. He married. I let him. Makes sense.”*
She leaned in: *”Don’t say his name. Ever. To me, he’s gone.”*
After graduation, Ellie didn’t go home. She went to hospital.
Little Alfie was born. Tough. Grasping at life.
*”Ellie… you’ll… tell the father?”*
*”Mum, never. Don’t ask.”*
*”Alright, just… I hoped you wouldn’t follow my path.”*
*”I won’t. You married dad. I won’t.”*
*”You’ll stay with us?”*
Ellie saw it—mum was scared. Stepdad? Not thrilled.
*”Got it. Not even taking us home from hospital?”*
*”Don’t be daft, ’course we will…”*
They arrived. Stepdad shook her hand, silent.
*”Dad says you can stay a month or two.”*
*”Cheers. We’ll be quick.”*
Alfie barely cried. Like he knew they weren’t wanted.
A month later, Ellie moved in with nan. She hugged them tight, whispered, *”You’re home now.”*
Then a knock.
*”Thompson?..”* Ellie blinked. *”How’d you find me?”*
*”Got the address from mum…”*
They sat in the kitchen. Nan squinted.
*”Nan. Not Alfie’s dad. Mike. Childhood mate.”*
*”Right… Get the lad dressed—we’ll stroll,”* nan muttered, leaving.
*”Ellie…”* His voice cracked. *”I’m here for you. Want to be with you.”*
*”Out of pity?”*
*”No! I love you.”*
*”And my kid’s not a problem?”*
*”No, I—”*
*”Remember when your aunt sneered about me having a baby? Your mum. She treated me like dirt.”*
*”Ellie, that’s past—”*
*”Get out. Don’t even look at me again.”*
*”Who’d want you with baggage?!”*
*”Who’d want you with no brains?”*
He slammed the door. She stood there. Crying.
*”Friend?”* Nan asked softly.
*”Schoolmate. Idiot.”*
Ellie laughed through tears. *”He wet himself till he was thirteen!”*
Nan chuckled too. Then, quieter: *”But what if…”*
*”No what-ifs, nan. Lived with a stepdad. I know what I’m saying.”*
Ellie stood tall again. For her boy. For herself.
Because none of this was random. It was her path. Her fight. Her strength.
