Polly had always been a well-behaved child. She did well in school and never gave her mother or grandmother any trouble. Then, in her final year of school, she fell in love—and everything changed. She skipped classes, talked back, and started wearing heavy makeup. One day, Veronica stumbled upon expensive cosmetics in her daughter’s drawer and confronted her.
*”They were a gift,”* Polly muttered.
*”From who?”* Veronica pressed.
*”Anthony.”*
*”Really? And where does he get the money?”* Veronica assumed he was just another schoolboy.
*”He’s got a job, actually.”*
And just like that, Veronica learned her daughter wasn’t dating some teenager—she was seeing a grown man with a degree and a salary.
*”Do you even realise how young you are to be with someone like that?”* Veronica demanded.
*”I’m not a kid. You did the same thing, didn’t you?”*
Veronica blinked in shock. *”I never—wait, are you… pregnant?”*
*”Yes, Mum,”* Polly burst out, her voice breaking. *”You had me at eighteen. Like mother, like daughter, right?”*
Veronica stared at her daughter in horror.
*”I’m leaving.”* Polly shoved past her toward the door.
*”Where are you going? We’re not done talking!”* Veronica chased after her. *”And what about your homework? Your exams are coming up!”*
Polly whirled around, blowing a strand of hair from her face. *”Homework? Really? Who’s the one staying out late these days? Think I don’t notice?”*
Veronica had been so careful—or so she thought. With a smug smirk, Polly stormed out.
*”Polly!”* Veronica shouted at the closed door.
She sank onto the sofa, heart pounding. Her little girl was grown—and now, so were the problems. Pregnant? God, it couldn’t be real. She’d put off *the talk*, assuming Polly was still a child. But it wasn’t too late to fix this. Who could she turn to? Only one person: her own mother.
*”Mum, what do I do? Polly’s seeing a grown man. She’s pregnant,”* Veronica blurted into the phone.
*”Are you overreacting?”*
*”No. She admitted it. I can’t even talk to her—”*
*”She’s just like you. Never listened to me either. Should’ve married that boy back then… what was his name?”*
*”I didn’t love him! This isn’t about me!”*
*”It *is* about you. If you’d married him, Polly would’ve had a father—she wouldn’t be searching for one now.”*
Veronica swallowed hard. *”Mum… why didn’t you let me have an abortion?”*
*”Do you regret having Polly?”*
*”No, of course not, but—”*
*”That’s your answer. Imagine your life without her. Just don’t shout at her or push her—you’ll only make it worse.”*
They talked for hours. Veronica stayed up, waiting. When Polly finally came home, Veronica stepped into her room. Polly was pulling off her jumper, and Veronica’s gaze landed on her bare stomach—still slim, but… was that a slight curve? No, she wasn’t lying.
*”How far along?”* Veronica whispered.
Polly stiffened, clutching the jumper to her stomach.
*”Sweetheart…”* Veronica wrapped her in a hug. *”I’m not angry. I just want to help.”*
Tears spilled down Polly’s cheeks. *”He promised it wouldn’t happen.”*
*”Does he know?”*
A nod.
*”And?”*
*”Mum, I’m sorry.”*
*”Don’t cry. You met him… where?”*
*”He works in… He’s *good*, Mum. We’ll marry after exams. He rents a flat near here.”*
*”So he’s not from London?”*
*”Graduate from Manchester Polytech.”*
*”Are you keeping it? What about uni?”*
*”I’ll go later,”* Polly mumbled.
*”Alright. Sleep now. Tomorrow’s another day.”* Veronica left, her mind racing.
Sleep was impossible. Memories flooded back—her own teenage mistake, the boy who’d vanished after their one-night stand, her mother fighting his parents, refusing to let Veronica abort. Back then, she’d resented her for it—but Polly had been worth it. Now history was repeating itself.
*”I’ll be a grandmother at thirty-six?”* She laughed bitterly.
Last year, a handsome younger colleague, Oliver, had started flirting with her. She’d resisted—until she didn’t. For six months, they’d met at his place. She’d lied to Polly, but apparently, her daughter had known all along.
Oliver wanted marriage. Veronica hesitated—afraid he’d prefer Polly, afraid of betrayal.
The next day, she begged Polly to reconsider. *”You’re too young. I’ve lived it—it’s hard.”*
*”Did you regret having me?”*
*”At first, yes. But I love you. That’s why I’m warning you.”*
Polly’s resolve wavered, then hardened. *”We’ll marry. It’ll be different for me.”*
Veronica told Oliver everything.
*”That’s *great*,”* he beamed. *”Once she’s settled, we can marry, and you’ll move in!”*
But Veronica stalled. Until Polly’s landlord evicted them for the pregnancy, forcing them to stay with her. Not wanting to intrude, Veronica moved in with Oliver—temporarily.
*”Finally! You’re staying for good,”* he insisted.
Yet unease gnawed at her. Weeks passed. Polly and Anthony showed no signs of leaving. Oliver grew impatient. *”They’re using you.”*
Then—Veronica fainted at work. A pregnancy test confirmed the impossible. *Oliver’s child.*
She kept it secret, terrified—until Polly guessed.
*”Mum, are you *pregnant*? You’re *mad*!”*
*”I’m thirty-six! Plenty have babies older than me!”*
*”What about *me*? You won’t help me anymore!”*
Oliver was overjoyed—then furious she’d hidden it. *”Don’t you *dare* abort!”*
Polly’s jealousy grew. One day, lifting baby Paul, Veronica gasped—pain ripped through her.
She lost the baby that night.
Oliver blamed Polly. *”She didn’t want you to have it!”*
*”Don’t say that! She’s my child—my priority!”*
*”And what am I?”* He stormed out.
For hours, she sobbed. Would he return?
When he did, he snatched her suitcase. *”You’re not leaving. I was scared—scared I’d say things I didn’t mean.”*
They talked all night. *”You’re exhausted. Polly’s grown. *We* matter too.”*
Against her protests, he booked a holiday to Spain. Reluctantly, Veronica went—sleeping, walking, healing. Polly barely called. *She was fine without her.*
Returning home, they set a wedding date. Polly even brought Paul to visit. Oliver doted on him.
Watching them, Veronica’s heart ached—for the baby she’d lost, for Oliver’s crushed hopes, for Polly’s rushed adulthood.
But maybe—just maybe—she’d try again. She was only thirty-seven. She *deserved* happiness.
**Life’s lesson?** Love isn’t a zero-sum game. Sometimes, letting go is the only way to hold on to what truly matters.
