“You’re a monster, Mum! People like you shouldn’t have children…”
After finishing school, Emily left her small provincial town behind for London to continue her education. One night, while out clubbing with friends, she met Oliver—a handsome Londoner whose parents were away on a year-long work assignment abroad. She fell head over heels for him and soon moved into his flat.
They lived extravagantly, thanks to the steady stream of money from his parents. Every night was either parties or clubs. At first, Emily loved it. But before she knew it, she’d racked up debt and skipped lectures, barely scraping through her winter exams with failing marks. She was on the verge of being kicked out of university.
She promised to turn things around and retake her exams. Locking herself in the bathroom whenever Oliver had friends over, she buried herself in textbooks. Somehow, she passed. But when she tried convincing Oliver to settle down—he was in his final year, after all—he just laughed.
“Come on, Em. We only live once. Youth doesn’t last forever—when else are we meant to have fun if not in our twenties?” he’d reply breezily.
Too ashamed to admit to her mum that she was living with a man out of wedlock, Emily lied during phone calls, claiming they’d had a quick registry office wedding and would celebrate properly once his parents returned.
Then one day, in the middle of a lecture, she felt dizzy and nauseous. Panic set in—she hadn’t been keeping track. A pregnancy test confirmed her worst fear.
The timing was terrible, and Oliver pushed for an abortion. They argued viciously—so much so that he stormed out and didn’t return for two days. Emily was frantic, crying herself sick. When he finally reappeared, he wasn’t alone—a drunken blonde clung to his arm, barely able to stand. Exhausted and desperate, Emily snapped. She screamed at him, shoving the girl toward the door.
“She’s not leaving. If you don’t like it, *you* get out, you hysterical cow!” Then he slapped her—hard.
Grabbing her coat, she fled. She walked all the way to her student halls, her cheek swollen, mascara streaked down her face. The night porter took pity and let her in.
The next day, Oliver came begging—promises, pleas, apologies. He swore he’d never raise a hand to her again. For the baby’s sake, she believed him.
Somehow, she scraped through her first year. Going home terrified her—what would she tell her mother? But staying in London was just as frightening. Oliver’s parents were due back soon, and she was showing, looking worse for wear.
When they finally returned, his father took one look at her provincial roots and barely-passed grades and made his disdain clear. He offered her money to disappear.
“Be reasonable—what kind of father would he be? All he cares about is partying. And who’s to say it’s even his? Take the money. Go home. Trust me, it’s for the best.”
Humiliation burned through her. Oliver just stood there, silent. She refused the money—something she’d later regret—packed her things, and went home to her mum.
The moment she saw her daughter on the doorstep, belly swollen, her mother’s face darkened.
“Why are you alone? Let me guess—no wedding after all? Had his fun and threw you out, did he? At least tell me he gave you money,” she spat, blocking the doorway.
“Mum, how can you say that? I don’t *want* his money.”
“Then why come back? We barely scraped by just the two of us! I thought you’d hit the jackpot—married a London boy, living the high life. Instead, you waltz back here knocked up. How are we supposed to fit four of us in this shoebox? Let alone with a baby?”
“Four?” Emily’s voice cracked.
“While you were off gallivanting, *I* found someone. What? I’m not dead yet—I deserve happiness too. Raised you alone, never had a life of my own. He’s younger. I don’t want him gawking at *you*.”
“Where am I supposed to go, Mum? I’m due soon,” Emily whispered, tears choking her.
“Go back to your *husband*. Or whoever he is. He got you into this mess—let him deal with it.”
Her mother’s stare was ice. No pity, no warmth. Their relationship had never been close, but now it was like speaking to a stranger.
Emily picked up her bag and left. Collapsing on a bench down the road, she sobbed. Where could she go? If even her own mother didn’t care about her or the baby… For a fleeting moment, she thought of stepping in front of a car. But then the baby stirred inside her—as if sensing her despair—and she couldn’t do it.
“Emily?” A familiar voice cut through her tears. She looked up to see a face from the past.
“It’s me, Sophie Wilson. We went to school together. What’s wrong?” Sophie sat beside her, eyes dropping to her stomach. “You’re pregnant?”
The floodgates opened. Emily told her everything.
“Come home with me. My parents are at their holiday cottage until autumn. You can’t sleep on the streets.” Numb, Emily agreed. She had nowhere else.
Sophie’s house was a sanctuary. Emily sank onto the sofa, exhausted.
“Make yourself at home,” Sophie said, already heading to the kitchen. “I work at the hospital during breaks—studying to be a nurse. Heard you were at uni in London?”
“*Was*,” Emily murmured, eyes closing.
Two days later, Sophie burst in, grinning.
“There’s an elderly woman at the hospital—had a stroke, can’t walk, but her mind’s sharp. Her daughter refused to take her in—too busy with her own life. She’s looking for a live-in carer. I thought of you.”
“What? I’m about to give birth—how can I care for her?”
“I’ll help. It’s a roof over your head. Please, Em. Just meet her.”
Terrified but desperate, Emily agreed. The daughter—a sour-faced woman dripping in gold—barely glanced at her.
“Pregnant? Think you can handle it?”
Sophie jumped in. “She’ll manage. I’ll help. She’s got nowhere else.”
“Fine. But you won’t get the house. No wages either—her pension covers expenses. And don’t you dare waste it.”
And just like that, Emily became a carer.
Anna Thompson—frail, tearful—became her charge. Over time, she learned to understand the woman’s garbled speech. She told her everything, crying as she spoon-fed her.
When Emily went into labour, Sophie took over. In the hospital, she gave birth to a daughter—Lily.
Returning, she juggled a newborn and an invalid, barely sleeping. Then one day, she left Lily in her pram by Anna’s bed while she rushed to the kitchen. When she returned, Anna was humming—and Lily was drifting off, soothed.
From then on, Anna helped. Lily slept to her murmurs, giving Emily moments to breathe.
But as Lily grew, Anna weakened. One night, she passed peacefully in her sleep.
Emily called Anna’s daughter. The woman arrived only to bury her mother—then coldly ordered Emily to leave.
“You were warned—the house isn’t yours. I’m selling it.”
“Please—just until it’s sold. I’ve nowhere else.”
“Not my problem.”
While sorting Anna’s things, the daughter found a will—leaving the house to Emily. She exploded.
“You conniving little—I’ll fight this in court! Who knows what you did to her?”
Horrified, Emily called Sophie, who explained: Anna had summoned a solicitor before she died.
“She was lucid. The court won’t throw you out—the neighbours will testify you cared for her while her own daughter stayed away.”
And so, Emily kept the house. Lily started nursery; Emily found work as a receptionist, picking up shifts as a carer.
Just as life steadied, her mother reappeared—wobbling in, claiming she’d sold her flat for a lifesaving surgery. Guilt won. Emily let her stay.
Then, one day, rushing back for her phone, Emily overheard her mother’s hushed call:
“*She’s out… Don’t worry, I’m saving every penny. Won’t be long now… Me? Oh, darling, a star was lost when I became a mother…*”
Emily’s blood ran cold.
“Mum?!”
Her mother spun, phone clutched to her chest.
“You *lied*? No surgery? You’re still renting out your flat—for *him*? After throwing me out pregnant? You’re a *monster*! People like you shouldn’t have children!”
Her mother stammered excuses.
“Be gone by the time IShe never saw her mother again, but years later, when illness finally claimed the woman who had forsaken her, Emily stood by her grave, not with anger, but with the quiet sorrow of what could never be mended.
