“Don’t go clucking like a hen, Poppy. The main thing is to marry well. You’ll come out on top no matter what,” her aunt advised.
Poppy grew up as the only beloved daughter, utterly doted on by her parents. By the end of school, she started mentioning more often that she wanted to study in London.
“Sweetheart, we’ve got a good university here. Why go all the way to London?” her father asked.
“Dad, I want to be a journalist. If I stay here, I’ll just end up a teacher.”
Her parents resisted letting her go for ages. They’d seen enough films about provincial girls whose lives were ruined chasing dreams in the capital. But eventually, they caved. Her father reached out to a distant cousin in London, who agreed to take Poppy in during her studies. Poppy was over the moon. She promised her parents she’d make them proud, that they’d never have to blush for her.
Her father drove her down himself, made sure she was settled, left her some cash to start, and headed back home.
Poppy wasn’t staying for free. She cleaned, shopped, cooked. Neighbours tutted, saying her cousin Doris had turned family into hired help. Doris lived alone—her husband had left years ago for another woman, leaving her the flat. She considered her life a success. London, the capital! Not some backwater. And she made sure Poppy knew it.
“Don’t go clucking like a hen, love. Studying’s fine, but it’s not the main thing for a woman. Marry a Londoner—that’s your ticket. You’ll win either way. Just like me.”
Poppy listened with a patient smile. Marriage wasn’t on her mind. She dreamed of being noticed, her talent recognised, landing a job at a top paper—or with a stroke of luck, even telly.
But dreams are dreams, and life loves throwing curveballs. In her third year, Poppy fell for Simon. They met by chance at a pub, celebrating the end of summer exams. Simon and his mate were there. He spotted the pretty girl, asked her to dance, then walked her home.
Her friends urged her not to let this one slip. Eight years older, Londoner, owns a flat, handsome. Simon was upfront—divorced, had a daughter. But who doesn’t make mistakes when they’re young? The girl lived with her mum, so no bother. And hey, at least he was a devoted dad.
Poppy wasn’t plotting anything, but she liked him. He could tell she wasn’t worldly in romance, took things slow, didn’t rush to invite her over. They went to galleries, theatres, concerts. In all her years in London, she’d never explored it like she did with Simon.
He started talking love, future plans, kids—their kids. Poppy’s head spun. When he finally proposed, she said yes in a heartbeat. Just one year left of uni, then adult life awaited.
Simon took her to meet his parents. His father smiled politely behind his newspaper. His mother made it clear—her son wasn’t short of female attention, she wouldn’t let him make another mistake, and she saw right through Poppy’s motives: a London postcode, a flat…
“Couldn’t you fall for someone on your level? Making the same blunder again,” his mother finished.
“What blunder? Enough, Mum. Jessica was a Londoner. Didn’t stop us divorcing,” Simon snapped, steering Poppy out.
She didn’t see his parents again till the wedding. But Simon often brought his daughter, Victoria—named after some grandmother who’d either been a famous actress or married one. Poppy never quite figured it out.
Victoria was a big girl, plain-faced, quiet. Simon was thrilled she and Poppy got on. At the wedding, her mother-in-law hinted they shouldn’t rush kids. Poppy assured her—finish uni, work a few years, gain experience. Plenty of time.
When Victoria first stayed over, her mum declared a father shouldn’t neglect his daughter. Simon doted on her all day, spoiling her rotten. Poppy bit her tongue. She’d known what she signed up for.
After graduation, Poppy got a job at a small London paper—not glamorous, but still the capital. Her dream: living and working in London with the man she loved. They visited her parents a couple of times with gifts. But the best gift was seeing their daughter happy.
Nearly three years passed. Just before New Year’s, Poppy told Simon she was pregnant.
“Meant to tell you at midnight, but I couldn’t wait!” she beamed.
“You said you didn’t want kids yet. How? You’re on the pill. Miss one?” he frowned.
“Not an accident. I stopped. Thought it’d take time—body adjusting. But it happened straight off. Brilliant, right?” His face made her pause. “You’re not happy?”
“I am, but… Why not discuss it?”
“If a man leaves contraception to the woman, he’s handing her the choice, full stop. Right? I want a child. Wait till I’m forty?” she snapped, fighting tears. She’d thought he’d be thrilled.
“Don’t shout. What’s done’s done. Hope it’s a boy. You’ll be the one stuck at home. What about work?” Simon hugged her stiffly. Peace restored.
New Year’s, Simon told his parents. His father clapped his back. His mother went nuclear.
“Knew that country girl would trap you with a baby. First the postcode, now this. Sure it’s yours? She’ll take your flat next. We can’t buy her one like we did for Jessica.”
“Mum, stop. We love each other. Poppy wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t she? You know what she’s scheming?”
Simon slammed the door and stayed away. Poppy’s pregnancy was smooth. Nine months later, she had a healthy boy.
His parents did show at the hospital. Her mother-in-law scowled till they brought out the bundle wrapped in blue. One peek, and her frown melted. The boy was Simon’s double.
“Three of us now—time to upgrade. He’ll need a room,” Simon slurred after a drink.
“He’s tiny. Years till he needs space. Once I’m back at work, we’ll save, then think about moving,” Poppy said. He kissed his sensible wife.
He started visiting his parents again. Poppy let him go alone. Little Henry was too small, and her mother-in-law wasn’t fussed about him. Only Victoria mattered—mustn’t feel less loved.
Simon brought Victoria over, took her out, while Poppy stayed home with Henry. The first time Victoria saw him sleeping, she stared forever.
“Sweet, isn’t he?” Poppy asked.
Victoria said nothing, retreated to the sofa, clutching her stuffed bunny. She only played with toys her dad gave her. “Daddy bought me this,” she’d say proudly. That Poppy picked most—better taste—went unmentioned.
Victoria often slept over. She’d only share Simon’s bed. Poppy got the sofa.
One day, Simon popped to the shops. Poppy was cooking when the silence struck her. She peeked in. Victoria sat on the sofa, hugging a toy. Something felt off. Poppy checked Henry’s cot. He was asleep, blanket over his face.
She yanked it back. He wasn’t breathing. She shook him. He blinked, cried. She clutched him, shaking.
“Why’d you cover him? He could’ve suffocated!” she yelled.
Simon walked in mid-shout. Victoria fled to him, sobbing.
“How could you accuse her? Maybe he wriggled the blanket himself? And you scream like a madwoman!” He took Victoria to his parents.
Henry was fine. Poppy apologised later. Peace restored.
She hoped her in-laws would keep Victoria away. But whether Simon said nothing or his mother was playing the long game, Victoria kept visiting. Now Poppy never left them alone.
Time passed. Henry grew, toddled after Victoria, missed her when she left. Even Victoria seemed to enjoy it.
One winter break, they went sledging. Poppy nervously sat Henry in front of Victoria. But she held him tight, led him up the steps. Simon beamed at their bond. Poppy relaxed. Victoria was in Year 3 now.
Heading home, tired and happy, Poppy and Simon walked arm in arm. Victoria pushed Henry on the sled. He laughed, begging to go faster. Just the road to cross.
Simon’s phone rang. He stopped, tugging off gloves.
Poppy realised the kids weren’t beside them. Then she saw—Victoria gave the sled a hard shove onto the road. It hit the kerb, flipped. Henry tumbled into traffic.
Her scream mixed with screeching brakes. Or was that someone else? A split second. Poppy snatched Henry up, unharmed but clueless.
“Ought to watch your kids better… Social services should hear about this…” bystanders muttered, seeing only a child onShe held Henry tight all the way home, refusing to let Simon carry him, while Victoria trudged silently beside them, dragging the cursed sled behind her.
