“Has she left the girl with me?” The dreadful thought sent a rush of heat through Evelyn. “No, it can’t be. She’ll come back. She must.”
Evelyn returned from work to find a short note on the table from her daughter. Her relationship with Emily had always been fraught, but she never imagined her own child would simply vanish like this. She read the note over and over, memorising every word, yet still felt she’d missed something vital, misunderstood some critical detail.
Sleep wouldn’t come that night. The pillow was too hard, the blanket too heavy, the air too stifling. She wept, then argued silently with Emily, reliving every quarrel, every rare happy moment between them. Exhausted, she finally rose, sat at the table, and switched on the lamp. The note lay crumpled atop her paperwork, worn from her constant handling.
For the hundredth time, she read it carefully. No, she’d understood it perfectly. She could almost hear Emily’s bitter, accusatory tone.
“I’m tired of your control… You’re too strict… I want to live my own life. I’m an adult… You’d never have let me go, so I’m leaving while you’re out. I’m fine. I’m not alone. Don’t look for me. I won’t come back…”
No greeting, no signature. “And what about me?” Evelyn whispered, as if Emily could hear. “If something happens to me, you won’t even know. Don’t you care what becomes of me?”
Perhaps Emily had her reasons. But Evelyn, her mother, had only wanted her to get an education, secure a good job—to ensure that sudden emotions or an unplanned pregnancy wouldn’t derail her future. Were there really mothers who let their children do as they pleased?
Evelyn herself had married young, still a student. She remembered how love and passion had faded quickly, evaporating under the strain of poverty, cramped dormitory life, and relentless exhaustion.
When Emily was born, it became unbearable. Her husband, just as young and unprepared, grew distant. They argued constantly. Maybe her own mother had been right—maybe she should have ended the pregnancy. But Evelyn had believed love would conquer all. What a foolish girl she’d been.
Three months later, they divorced. Evelyn took a leave from university and returned to her parents. Astonishingly, her mother adored Emily at once, despite having urged termination. She even sent Evelyn back to finish her degree while she doted on the baby, spoiling her rotten.
With her parents alive, Evelyn had known no hardship. Her mother was there, the child secure in her care. After university, she taught French for two years before becoming a translator.
But her love life fared poorly. Her mother insisted she find an established, mature man. Yet Evelyn attracted only married men who wanted mistresses or divorced ones clinging to their last penny. She feared entanglement with such men.
When her parents passed, one after another, she and Emily were left alone. Emily was all she had. She poured everything into her daughter. And yet—it hadn’t been enough. Spoiled by her grandmother, Emily saw her mother as harsh. She dreamt not of education or career, but freedom. And now she was gone.
“I’ll wait. What else can I do? You’ll return one day. I’m your mother—I’ll forgive you. Just stay safe…” Evelyn sighed, turned off the lamp, and lay down. She tossed for half an hour before slipping into a fitful sleep.
She never truly accepted Emily’s departure. She waited, flinching at every phone ring, every sound at the door. She took on extra translation work, labouring late into the night over journals and articles. She slept little. The exhaustion left no room for self-pity. She told herself Emily was fine.
A year and a half later, a knock at the door pulled Evelyn from her work. Reluctantly, she removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. The translation was flowing well—she hated to stop. The knock came again. She rose and opened the door.
There stood Emily—thinner, older, her beauty hardened. Evelyn gasped, rushing forward.
“Emily! At last. I’ve waited so long.”
But Emily’s cold stare stopped her mid-step. Only then did Evelyn notice the bundle in her arms—a child.
“Is this yours? Let me.” Evelyn took the baby. “A girl?” she exclaimed, delighted. “I’ll take her to the room. You get settled.”
She carried the sleeping child to the sofa, marvelling at the tiny lashes, the rosebud lips. The slam of the door barely registered at first. Then she realised—Emily had gone.
The hallway was silent. A plush bag sat by the door. Only the wet footprints on the floor proved Emily had been there at all.
Evelyn flung the door open. “Emily!” she cried into the stairwell. No answer. No fading footsteps. She raced to the window—no car, no Emily below.
“Emily…” she whispered desperately.
Back in the room, the child slept, oblivious.
“Has she left her with me?” The horrifying thought burned through her. “No. She’ll come back. The bag—she left the bag…” Evelyn snatched it up. Inside, only baby clothes.
The girl stirred, fussing in her oversized snowsuit. Evelyn undressed her, murmuring reassurances—more for herself than the child—that Mummy would return soon. A fresh nappy soothed her.
In the bag’s side pocket, Evelyn found documents. The reality crashed down: Emily had abandoned her child.
The girl was named Lily, Lily Grace Thornton. So Emily had never married, giving the child her own surname. The father’s middle name? Or something plucked at random?
A second note held no greeting, no goodbye. “Please, let her stay with you a little while.” That was all.
Evelyn emptied the bag—a half-used bottle, an opened box of formula. “Small mercies,” she thought, rushing to the kitchen to prepare a feed. Her forgotten translations lay untouched.
A new life began. Evelyn switched to full-time remote work to care for Lily. Exhausted but purposeful, she clung to this sudden reason for living.
Lily walked by one, started nursery at three and a half. Evelyn enrolled her, listing herself as guardian. To the headmistress, she explained Lily’s mother was often abroad for work.
Years passed. Evelyn adored the quiet, clever girl. Lily refused to call her Granny, insisting on “Mum.”
“You have another mother, sweetheart. That makes me Granny,” Evelyn explained.
But Lily would forget, slipping back to “Mum.”
“Call me Evie,” Evelyn said finally. “Granny Evie.”
Lily nodded. From then on, it was always “Evie”—no “Granny” attached.
Emily never returned, never sent word. As Lily’s first school day neared, Evelyn feared questions—why a grandmother was raising her. Would social services intervene? She delayed until late August, then visited her old school. The deputy head was new—a stern woman with piercing eyes. But the headmaster remained. Evelyn confessed everything. He arranged Lily’s admission without fuss.
Evelyn loved Lily so fiercely she now dreaded Emily’s return. She wasn’t overly indulgent, but gave her all—ensuring Lily wanted for nothing. At parents’ evenings, she glowed with pride at the praise heaped upon her granddaughter.
Lily was thoughtful beyond her years. Evelyn often wondered—had Emily been like this? The answer pained her: no. Emily had been restless, indifferent to books, quitting music lessons after a year. Only revelry held her interest.
Spring came early that year, warm and bright. Walking home from school, they stopped at the shops. Lily chattered about her day while Evelyn carried the heavy backpack, shoes, and groceries. Fumbling for her keys at the door, she froze at a voice behind her.
“Mum.”
Evelyn spun, dropping the keys. She barely recognised Emily—now a striking blonde, expensively dressed, the scent of luxury perfume about her. Elegant. Alien. But hers. Joy flashed—briefly—before dread set in. She’d come for Lily.
Lily picked up the keys, handing them to Evelyn, who noticed Emily’s intense scrutiny. Though curious, Lily stayed close to Evie.
“You’ve come back. And I know why,” Evelyn said, opening the door and gently steering Lily inside.
The last thing they needed was a scene on the doorstep. They climbed to the flat in silence. Only inside did Evelyn ask, “How long are you staying?”
“Aren’t you glad to see me?” Emily challenged.
“I waited years. Now… You look well. Life’s been kind.”
“It has. I live in Spain. Married. You didn’t think I’d forget about—”
Their eyes fell on Lily, now quiet.
“Go change, sweetheart,” Evelyn said.
“Lily, I’m your mother,” Emily cut in, moving to embrace her. Lily ducked behind Evelyn, then fled to her room.
“Why rush her? She needs time,” Evelyn scolded.
“Always know best, don’t you?” Emily laughed bitterly,Despite her doubts, Evelyn found solace in knowing that, although imperfect, the love they shared as a family would always bring them back together in the end.
