On that summer day by the river…
Vicky’s family was close-knit. When she was in Year 3, her little sister, Daisy, was born. Vicky loved being the older sister and her mum’s little helper. She happily pushed the pram while her mum cooked lunch or tidied their flat in Nottingham.
When Daisy grew older, she couldn’t get into nursery—the classes were full, and there weren’t enough staff. No one wanted to work with children for pennies. The nursery manager agreed to take Daisy if their mum started working there. She agreed, even though it meant a pay cut.
Daisy had been a weak, sickly baby, and Mum fussed over her constantly. At nursery, she was always under her mother’s watchful eye. After school, Vicky often stopped by to visit. Not all children liked the nursery’s baked custard, salads, hot chocolate, or jelly, but Vicky adored them. Mum saved her portions that other kids refused, and Vicky happily ate her fill.
Once she’d had her fill of custard, she’d take Daisy home and look after her until Mum returned. She loved her little sister—until Daisy grew older and became insufferably difficult.
Daisy was only four when their father died. That summer was unbearably hot. For three weeks straight, temperatures soared above 30 degrees. On weekends, families fled the stifling city for the countryside or the river.
Their parents packed snacks, bottles of water, and took the girls out early. The riverbank was packed—not an inch of space to spare. Everyone sought relief in the sun-warmed water. Children splashed near the shore under the watchful eyes of parents. Daisy played in the shallows while Vicky made sure she wasn’t knocked over or wandered too deep.
When Dad sprinted and dove in, sending up a spray of water, Vicky thought he was just swimming. But he swam further and further from shore. Then she noticed two teens in the middle of the river.
At first, she thought they were messing around. She wondered how their parents had let them swim so far. The river was wide—even a grown man would struggle to cross it, though no one tried. Yet these boys had made it halfway.
One kept sinking, the other diving after him. Only when she saw Dad swimming toward them did she realize—they weren’t playing. One was drowning, the other trying to keep him afloat.
Nobody else noticed. Parents laughed, children splashed, and no one saw the struggle in the middle. Vicky stared, tense, forgetting Daisy at her feet.
Dad reached them and dove down, dragging one boy up. He swam back slowly, paddling with one arm, holding the boy’s head above water with the other. The second teen, exhausted, clung to him, making it harder.
“He’ll drown them both!” Vicky shouted.
Two men nearby turned. They followed her gaze, understood, and raced to help. Others on the bank started watching as the men took the boys from Dad. Vicky waved in relief—until she realized Dad was gone. She strained her eyes, searching the water.
“Dad!” she screamed.
Mum ran over, clutching Daisy.
“There—” Vicky pointed, choked by fear. “Dad’s gone!”
Mum scanned the crowd, murmuring, “There he is,” but Vicky kept shaking her head, pointing to the river’s center. The men, now ashore with the boys, plunged back in.
When they pulled Dad out, he was already gone. Mum refused to leave. Vicky held a sobbing Daisy.
After the funeral, Mum wandered the house like a ghost, barely noticing the girls. Vicky took Daisy to nursery, rushed to school, then collected her again. Daisy whined, demanding Mum pick her up.
“Mum’s not well,” Vicky said.
“Then I want Dad.”
Vicky would come home to find Mum as she’d left her—curled on the sofa, facing the wall.
Mum wasn’t eating. Terrified, Vicky knocked on their neighbor’s door. The talk helped—Mum got up, started cleaning. By the next day, she returned to work, much to Daisy’s delight.
Now it was just the three of them. At first, they managed. The railway, where Dad had worked, gave them some money. They had savings, too. The nursery helped—Mum brought home leftover food. Vicky suspected she wasn’t eating, saving it for them.
After school, Vicky decided not to go to university but to work and help Mum. But Mum wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted Vicky at least do a part-time degree. “Your dad wouldn’t want you to quit.” Reluctantly, Vicky agreed.
She enrolled in a part-time program, picking the course with the most available spots. What job it led to didn’t matter—Mum said any degree would help. She found work, earning little, but money didn’t grow on trees.
Years ago, Dad had bought land and started building a house. He’d planned a garden; Mum dreamed of flowers by the windows. But he’d only laid the foundation before he died. One of his friends offered to buy the land. Mum, relieved, sold it cheap. The money helped for a while.
Daisy grew older—and demanding. New clothes, a phone, a tablet. “All my friends have them!” If refused, she’d cry, snap at Mum, scream that she shouldn’t have been born. She ran off twice. The world revolved around her.
“We’re not poor, are we? I won’t eat nursery leftovers.”
She never visited Mum at work like Vicky had. She stayed out late with friends, barely studied.
That summer, their neighbor’s nephew, Oliver, visited. Vicky fell for him—but his holiday ended too soon. He begged her to come to London. She wanted to, but how could she leave Mum with Daisy? So she refused. He left, promising to call.
By winter, Daisy wanted a fur coat like her friend’s. She threw tantrums.
“If I wanted something, I worked for it—delivered papers, mopped floors. Do the same, then buy what you want,” Vicky said.
Daisy stormed off, called her selfish, threatened to run away.
Mum borrowed money and bought the coat.
“Why indulge her? She’ll never stop,” Vicky scolded.
“She’s growing up without a father. Who’ll spoil her if not me?”
“Mum, she’s not a child. She primps all day, stays out till midnight. You’ve worn the same coat for years, like an old woman. Everything for poor Daisy—until she ruins us.”
Vicky regretted staying, not leaving with Oliver.
Oliver called, even visited at Christmas. Daisy barely finished school, didn’t bother with university—just kept going out.
Summer again. Oliver returned. Vicky, denied leave, saw him evenings and weekends. Then he suddenly left—friends invited him rafting. She was upset—her boss wouldn’t let her see him off.
When she got home, Daisy’s note waited: “Gone to London. Want to be an actress. Talent matters, not grades. Don’t look for me. Took the savings. Sorry.”
Vicky put it together. Daisy was pretty—no wonder Oliver fell for her. She called him. He confessed. “Send her home,” she demanded.
“Tell your mum I’ll take care of her,” he said.
Mum came home to find Vicky in tears.
“Where’s Daisy?”
“Ran off with Oliver. To London.” She showed the note, told her about the call.
“You spoiled her—‘poor fatherless girl.’ She took all our money. I cared for her, and this is how she repays me. Too young to work, old enough to steal a man.”
“Find her, bring her back,” Mum begged. “She’ll be lost alone.”
“I’m not going. She’ll return.”
“Do you know something? Did she say she’d come back?”
Vicky laughed bitterly.
Daisy did return—a year later, with a baby. Mum was at work. Daisy walked in, dropped a whimpering bundle on the sofa.
“Her name’s Lily. Clothes, formula, and papers are in the bag.”
“What are you doing? Whose child is this? Oliver’s?”
Daisy turned to leave.
“Wait! You’re leaving her?” Vicky chased her.
“You’ll take better care of her.”
Her calm tone stunned Vicky. Daisy slammed the door and ran.
“Why’d you let her go?” Mum screamed later.
“And leave the baby alone? I’m not Daisy. She named her Lily—like a pet.” Vicky sighed. “I warned you… Mum, calm down. We won’t send her to a home, will we?”
Mum collapsed beside her, crying. “Why is she like this?”
“Like herself. You spoiled her. And don’t look at me like that. Daisy’s right—I’ll be a better mother to Lily than she ever was.”
“But how?”
Vicky handed her the papers—a signed parental surrender.
Daisy returned six years later. Lily shied away, clinging toThe years passed quietly after that, and though the house was sometimes lonely, Vicky learned that love wasn’t measured by how much you gave but by how much you chose to keep giving, even when nothing came back.
