“So, you’re not inviting me to the wedding, love? Ashamed of me, are you?”
Emma fell for her classmate James during their final year of school. He’d been an ordinary, unremarkable lad, but over the summer holidays, he shot up in height, his shoulders broadened. One day in PE, Emma twisted her ankle. James carried her all the way to the nurse’s office. Pressed against him, she suddenly realised just how strong and handsome he’d become.
From then on, they were inseparable. By spring, Emma discovered she was pregnant. After their A-levels, they had a small wedding. James didn’t go to university—instead, he took a job on a construction site. Just before Christmas, Emma gave birth to a baby girl, Lottie. James did his bit, pushing the pram while Emma washed, cooked, or caught up on sleep. Come spring, he was off to join the army.
Then came another blow—Emma’s father left her mother for another woman. Her mum never recovered. She lost all joy in life, wasting away until she was diagnosed with aggressive cancer. Two months later, she was gone. Emma was left alone with her little girl. Her mother-in-law dropped by sometimes, criticising Emma—the flat was a mess, she’d let herself go, the child wasn’t looked after—but never lifted a finger to help.
An elderly neighbour took pity on her. She hired Emma to clean her flat and do her shopping for a little cash, offering to mind Lottie while she worked. Emma scraped by as best she could.
When James finally came home from his service, it wasn’t for a reunion. He told her their wedding had been a mistake, a childish fling they’d outgrown. He blamed her for trapping him with the pregnancy. He wanted to study, to move on.
So Emma raised Lottie alone, with no one to lean on, no one to share the struggle. She worked herself ragged to give her daughter a decent life. And Lottie grew up beautiful, top of her class, never short of admirers—though she turned every one of them down.
“Not a single boy you like?” Emma asked.
“Why? I like Daniel. Michael’s alright too. But they’re just like us—their parents live paycheck to paycheck. I won’t settle for that. I’m beautiful, and beauty’s worth something.”
“Beauty fades, love. I was pretty once too. Look what happened to me after you were born—where did it all go?”
“How can you compare us, Mum?” Lottie cut in. “I won’t be having babies anytime soon. First, I’ll marry well—someone rich and successful.”
“And where will you find him, love? In our little town, you could count the wealthy on one hand. Money doesn’t buy happiness. Rich men marry their own sort—they won’t even glance at you,” Emma argued.
“Well, I’m not staying here. After school, I’m off to London. More opportunities there. Oh, and Mum—I need a new dress. Shoes too. And this gorgeous coat I saw. I can’t turn up looking like a pauper.” Lottie pointed to the dress Emma had been saving months to buy.
So Emma took on extra shifts. She came home exhausted, collapsing into bed the second she crossed the threshold. She denied herself everything so Lottie could have the best. Neighbours praised Emma for raising such a clever, pretty girl alone. She swelled with pride, never mentioning the cost. But the distance between them grew. They lived under the same roof yet no longer understood each other.
After A-levels, Lottie left for London, taking the last of Emma’s savings. She got into university, called home rarely, and when Emma rang, she’d snap that she was busy with studies—could she send more money? In all her years away, Lottie barely spent two weeks at home. Then, in her final term, she turned up unannounced.
“Mum, I’m getting married. Lucas’s dad owns businesses. They live in a massive house. I’ve got my driving licence—he’s buying me a car after the wedding…” Lottie gushed.
Emma glowed, seeing her daughter happy at last.
“Love, I’m so pleased. When do I meet the groom? I’ve got nothing to wear, mind—I’ll ask Bev from upstairs to run me up a dress, she’s got a sewing machine. When’s the big day? We’ll manage somehow.”
Lottie hesitated, eyes downcast.
“Mum… I told his parents you live abroad—that you can’t come.” Her voice hardened when she saw Emma’s shock. “I couldn’t exactly say you’re a cleaner, could I? That we’re broke. They’d never understand. There’d be no wedding—why can’t you see that?”
“So—no invitation? Ashamed of me? Is that it?” Emma’s voice trembled. “That’s not right. What do I tell people?”
“I don’t care what people think. Did anyone help when Dad left you with a baby? If you don’t want me stuck in poverty like you—working three jobs—you’ll stay away. Look at you! No teeth, dressed like some country bumpkin—”
The words cut deep.
“I never expected this from you. I gave up everything—and this is my thanks? One day Lucas will find out you lied. Then what?”
“He won’t—unless you tell him.”
Emma wept, but gave in. The words hurt, but she wouldn’t ruin Lottie’s chance at happiness. They barely spoke before Lottie left two days later. Mother and daughter, once inseparable, now strangers.
Alone, Emma crumbled under the heartbreak. Stress sent her blood pressure soaring; chest pains landed her in an ambulance. On the way to hospital, she fretted over forgotten essentials. The driver, Mark, offered to fetch them after his shift. Grateful, she handed over her keys—not like she had anything worth stealing.
“You live modestly. Place could do with a refurb. Alone, are you? No husband? Kids?” Mark asked when he brought her things.
“My daughter’s in London. Getting married…” Then, uncharacteristically, Emma poured her life out to this stranger.
Mark visited her in hospital. When she was discharged, he even drove her home in the ambulance.
“You’re kind. Unassuming. My ex-wife always wanted more—fur coats, diamond rings. Found herself a richer bloke in the end. Miss my boy, though. Fancy me doing up your flat? I’m handy. You won’t recognise the place.”
Emma resisted at first. But Mark brought flowers, paid attention—something no man had done since James. At forty, she wondered—how much longer alone?
So she relented. Mark rolled up his sleeves. The flat brightened, felt bigger. Even Emma changed—smiling more, rushing home after work instead of extra shifts.
Mark proposed. Emma hesitated, fearing Lottie’s reaction. She dreaded calling—Lottie had made it clear: no contact.
Then one evening, the doorbell rang. There stood Lottie, suitcase in hand.
“Sweetheart! What a surprise! Staying awhile?”
Lottie took in her mother’s glow, the refurbished flat, the man’s jacket on the peg.
“You’re not alone?”
“No, love. You said not to call… Mark’s decent. Did you see what he’s done here? He’ll be back soon—you’ll see.”
“So you’re married? Or is he just squatting here for the flat?”
“Why say that? He’s got his own place,” Emma said, wounded.
“Seriously, Mum? And we’re all meant to live here together now?”
“You’re back for good, then? Didn’t fit in with the rich lot? Thought you had it all?”
Lottie scowled. Then, haltingly, she admitted: at a café, she’d bumped into Mia, an old classmate. Mia spilled everything. Lucas, furious, humiliated her. Now he’d filed for divorce…
“It’s alright, love. We’ll manage. You’re only twenty-two. Plenty of time—you’ll meet someone…” Emma hugged her.
“Mum, stop! I won’t scrape by—not with some random bloke in the house!”
Just then, Mark walked in. He took one look, turned on his heel.
“Wait!” Emma caught him at the door. “I’ve lived for you, Lottie—denied myself everything. Finally, I’ve met someone good. He’s spent his own money here. And you’d have me throw him out? I’m not dead yet! I’ve put up with your nonsense too long. Stay if you like—I’m leaving with him.”
For the first time, Emma refused her daughter. She packed a bag and left with Mark.
Lottie sulked, but eventually apologised. Emma, overjoyed, wept as they embraced. Lottie confessed she’d met someone—properly in love this time. She didn’tAnd as they stood there, mother and daughter, both with love in their lives at last, Emma finally understood that happiness wasn’t about sacrifice—it was about knowing when to let go.
