Emily hurried home. It was already past ten in the evening, and she couldn’t wait to get back, have supper, and crawl into bed. She was exhausted. Her husband, James, was already home, dinner was ready, and their twelve-year-old son, Oliver, had been fed.
Emily worked at a small hair salon, and today had been her turn to close up. After tidying everything, setting the alarm, and locking the doors, she’d ended up running late.
The quickest way home took her through a little park. Usually, it was quiet and peaceful—during the day, elderly ladies sat on the benches, but by evening, the place was empty. The streetlights were on, so it wasn’t scary.
Except tonight, one of the benches wasn’t empty. Huddled together sat two children: a boy around nine or ten and a little girl no older than five. Emily slowed her pace and approached them.
“What are you doing out here so late? Time to go home!”
The boy gave her a long look, stroked the girl’s hair, and pulled her closer.
“We’ve got nowhere to go. Our stepdad kicked us out.”
“Where’s your mum?”
“Inside. Drunk.”
Emily didn’t hesitate long.
“Come on, then. You’re coming with me. We’ll sort it out tomorrow.”
The children stood hesitantly. Emily took the girl’s hand and offered the other to the boy, leading them back to her house. She explained everything to James and Oliver. Knowing her big heart, they didn’t argue—just showed the kids where to wash up and sat them down for supper. The hungry pair ate everything timidly but eagerly.
Then Emily popped next door to her neighbour, whose daughter was in primary school, and asked for spare clothes. Soon, she had a generous assortment—every family had hand-me-downs lying around.
She bathed little Sophie—as the girl was called—and dressed her in clean clothes. The boy, Alfie, washed up and wore some of Oliver’s old things. Emily settled them on the sofa in the living room, as Sophie refused to leave her brother’s side, and he kept hugging her protectively.
Exhausted and full, the children fell fast asleep on clean bedding. Emily sent Oliver to bed, while she and James whispered late into the night, figuring out what to do next.
She rose early the next morning, saw James off to work (she was on the later shift), and fed the kids breakfast before walking them home. She packed their freshly washed clothes in a bag for them to take.
They led her to a nearby house. The third-floor flat was unlocked. The children stepped inside but hovered at the threshold. Emily stayed close. She wanted to look their mother in the eye and ask what she’d been thinking all night while they were gone.
Out shuffled a woman who might’ve once been young but was now worn down, a nasty bruise under her eye. She barely glanced at the children.
“Oh. You’re back. Who’s this?”
“This is Auntie Emily. We stayed at hers.”
“Oh. Right.” Then she turned back toward the bedroom.
Emily was stunned. *This* was their mother?
But suddenly, the woman reappeared. “Come to the kitchen.”
It was oddly tidy inside—not a speck of mess, dishes clean, floors swept. Even her tatty dressing gown was spotless, though missing buttons.
“Sit.”
Emily did. The woman sat across from her, studied her with that bruised eye, and asked, “Got kids?”
“A son, twelve.”
“Listen. If something happens to me… don’t let my kids get lost. Keep an eye on ’em. They’re good ones.”
“You’re planning to leave them?”
“I can’t stop now. Tried before. And *he* won’t let me.” She jerked her chin toward the bedroom, where snores rumbled.
“Call the police!”
“Done that. He gets fifteen days inside, comes back angrier. And I can’t quit the drink. Not anymore. He throws the kids out—he’s no father to ’em.”
“Where’s their dad?”
“Drowned when Soph was one. Been drinking since.”
“You work?”
“Mopped floors at the supermarket. Got sacked last week.”
“And him?”
“Odd jobs. We scrape by.”
She studied Emily again. “Promise me. If it comes to it—don’t let ’em rot. You seem decent. Just… visit ’em in care, yeah?”
Emily walked out dazed, struggling to process it. The children hugged her goodbye. Tears pricked her eyes—she swiped them away, told Alfie he knew where to find her, then hurried off. Outside, she let the tears fall properly, drawing stares from passersby.
That evening, she told James everything. He agreed: if things went south, they wouldn’t abandon the kids. Oliver, eavesdropping, joined them for a silent kitchen hug.
Three days later, Alfie came running. Mum had vanished. Stepdad was arrested. Sophie was with a neighbour, but social services were taking them that day. He dashed back to her—they were collected that afternoon.
Their mother was found the next morning in the river, signs of violence on her. Maybe she’d known it was coming—why she’d begged Emily to step in.
Emily and James fought through paperwork for guardianship. With no living relatives, they were approved—especially after Emily recounted that kitchen plea. Soon, Alfie and Sophie were theirs.
Emily quit her job. Sophie was terrified, clinging only to Alfie. Even dropping a spoon made her flinch at James, fearing punishment. Winning her trust took patience. Alfie, older, understood this family meant safety.
Slowly, Sophie relaxed. She chatted with Emily and Oliver, even played—but still eyed James warily. He treated her gently, secretly thrilled; he’d always wanted a daughter, but Emily couldn’t have more children.
Then came the day she finally hugged him. Returning from a work trip, he crouched, arms open. Sophie hesitated—then threw her tiny arms around his neck. He lifted her, and they walked inside, grinning. Oliver and Emily joined them, and for a moment, they just stood there, wrapped in each other, smiling.
Life in this family was going to be all right.
