“Listen, Lizzie, don’t go clucking like a chicken. The main thing is to marry well. No matter what, you’ll come out on top,” her aunt advised.
Lizzie grew up as the only, adored daughter—her parents doted on her. By the time she finished school, she kept mentioning she wanted to study in London.
“Sweetheart, we’ve got a good uni here. Why go all the way to London?” her dad asked.
“Dad, I want to be a journalist. If I stay, I’ll just end up a teacher.”
Her parents resisted letting her go for ages. They’d seen too many films about provincial girls whose lives fell apart chasing dreams in the capital. But in the end, they relented. Her dad reached out to a distant cousin in London who agreed to take Lizzie in while she studied. Over the moon, Lizzie promised her parents she’d make them proud—she wouldn’t let them down.
Her dad drove her there himself, made sure she was settled, left her some cash to start with, and headed home.
Lizzie didn’t live with her cousin for free—she cleaned, shopped, cooked. Neighbours tutted, muttering that Sarah had turned family into a maid. The cousin lived alone, her ex-husband long gone, leaving her the flat. She considered her life a success—London, the capital! And she drilled it into Lizzie:
“Lizzie, don’t go clucking like a chicken. Studying’s fine, but it’s not what matters for a woman. Marry a Londoner—that’s the ticket. You’ll always land on your feet. Just like me.”
Lizzie listened, smiling to herself. Marriage wasn’t on her mind—she dreamed of being noticed, her talent recognised, landing a job at a top paper or, if luck favoured her, working in telly.
But life loves throwing curveballs. In her third year, she fell for Robert. They met by chance at a pub celebrating the end of exams. Robert was there with a mate, spotted Lizzie, asked her to dance, then walked her home.
Her friends all gushed—older by eight years, a Londoner, with a flat, good-looking. Robert didn’t hide being divorced with a daughter, but who doesn’t make mistakes when they’re young? The girl lived with her mum—no hassle. And hey, it showed he loved kids.
Lizzie wasn’t planning anything, but she liked him. He saw she was inexperienced, didn’t rush things. They went to galleries, theatres, concerts. In all her time in London, she’d never known the city like this.
He talked more about love, their future, their kids. Lizzie’s head spun. When he finally proposed, she said yes instantly. Just one year left of uni, then real life began.
Robert took her to meet his parents. His dad smiled behind a newspaper. His mum made it clear Robert wasn’t short of female attention, that she wouldn’t let him make another mistake—Lizzie just wanted a London postcode, a flat…
“Couldn’t you fall for someone on your level? Making the same mistake again,” his mum finished.
“What mistake? Mum, stop. Emma was a Londoner—didn’t stop us divorcing,” Robert cut in sharply, whisking Lizzie away.
She didn’t see his parents again before the wedding. But Robert often brought his daughter, Charlotte. Named after some grand relative—an actress? An actor’s wife? Lizzie never quite got it.
Charlotte was a big, quiet girl, not pretty. Robert was chuffed they got on. At the wedding, her mother-in-law hinted they shouldn’t rush kids. Lizzie assured her she’d finish uni, work a few years first. They had time.
When Charlotte first visited, her grandma said a father shouldn’t neglect his child. Robert doted on her all day. Lizzie bit her tongue—she’d known about Charlotte when she married him.
After uni, Lizzie got a job at a paper—not prestigious, but London. Her dream: living in the capital with the man she loved. They visited her parents a couple of times. Their best gift was seeing her happy.
Three years passed. Just before New Year’s, Lizzie told Robert she was pregnant.
“I wanted to wait till NYE, but I couldn’t hold it in!” she beamed.
“You said you didn’t want kids yet… You’re on the pill. Missed one?” he asked, frowning.
“Not an accident. I stopped taking them. Thought it’d take time—but bam! Isn’t it brilliant?” His face froze. “You’re not happy?”
“I am, but… why not discuss it first?”
“If a man leaves contraception to the woman, he’s giving her the choice, isn’t he? I want a baby. Wait till I’m forty?” She blinked back tears. She’d thought he’d be overjoyed.
“Don’t shout. What’s done’s done. Hope it’s a boy. You’ll be stuck at home, though. What about work?” He hugged her. Peace restored.
At New Year’s, Robert told his parents. His dad clapped his back. His mum went icy:
“Knew that provincial girl would trap you with a baby. First the postcode, now this. You sure it’s yours? She’ll take your flat next.”
“Mum, stop! We love each other. Lizzie wouldn’t—”
“That’s what you think. You’ve no idea what she’s plotting.”
Robert slammed the door, didn’t visit for ages. The pregnancy was smooth—nine months later, a healthy boy.
His parents came to the hospital. Her mother-in-law’s face was stiff—until they brought the blue-ribboned bundle. She peeked in, and her frown melted. The baby was Robert’s double.
“Three of us now—time for a bigger place. The boy needs a room,” Robert slurred after drinks.
“He’s tiny. No rush. When I’m back at work, we’ll save, then think about moving,” Lizzie said. He kissed her, proud of her sense.
He started seeing his parents again. Lizzie let him go alone—little Tommy was small, and her mother-in-law didn’t ask to see him. She only gushed about Charlotte, how she mustn’t feel replaced.
Robert brought Charlotte over, entertained her, took her out. Lizzie stayed home with Tommy. When Charlotte first saw him sleeping, she stared silently.
“Cute, huh?” Lizzie asked.
No answer. Charlotte slunk to the sofa, clutching a stuffed bunny. She only played with toys from her dad. “Dad gave me this,” she’d say proudly. That Lizzie bought the bunny—better at picking girl’s toys—went unmentioned.
Charlotte often stayed over, insisting on sleeping with Dad. Lizzie got the sofa.
One day, Robert popped to the shops. Lizzie was cooking when she noticed the silence. She peeked in—Charlotte sat stiffly on the sofa, holding a toy. Something felt off. She checked the cot. Tommy was asleep, blanket over his head.
She yanked it back—he wasn’t breathing. She shook him. He blinked, wailed. She clutched him, shaking.
“Why’d you cover him? He could’ve suffocated!” she shouted at Charlotte.
Robert walked in, heard her. Charlotte fled to him, crying.
“How could you accuse her? Maybe Tommy kicked the blanket off himself? You’re screaming at a child—mental!” He took Charlotte to his parents.
Tommy was fine. Lizzie apologised later. Peace returned.
She hoped her in-laws would keep Charlotte away. But whether Robert said nothing or his mum wanted to break her, Charlotte kept visiting. Lizzie never left them alone again.
Time passed. Tommy grew, trailing after Charlotte. She seemed to enjoy it too.
One winter, they went sledding. Lizzie nervously sat Tommy in front of Charlotte. But she held him tight, helped him up the slope. Robert was thrilled. Lizzie relaxed. Charlotte was in Year 3 now.
Heading home, tired and happy, Lizzie and Robert walked arm-in-arm. Charlotte pushed Tommy on the sled. He laughed, begging to go faster. They neared the road. Robert’s phone rang—he stopped, tugging off gloves.
Lizzie didn’t notice at first—then saw Charlotte shove the sled onto the road. Time slowed—the sled hit a kerb, flipped. Tommy tumbled into traffic.
Her scream merged with screeching brakes. Or was that someone else? She lunged, grabbed Tommy—he was fine, just startled.
“Should watch your kids better… Social services ought to know,” bystanders muttered, seeing only a child on the road and a frantic mum.
She carried Tommy home, refusing to hand him over. Charlotte trudged silently, dragging the sled.
At home, Lizzie told Robert it was deliberate—Charlotte was jealous, wanted Tommy gone. When she asked him to stop bringing her, he called her crazy. Charlotte was just a kid. Lizzie should watch them better.
Charlotte cried, clinging to him. Next day, her mother-in-law stormed in:
“She’s keeping you from your daughter! Know your place!” Lizzie triedOver time, Lizzie rebuilt her life in the countryside, finding happiness in her work, her son, and eventually a love that asked nothing more of her than to simply be herself.
