**A Mother for Annie**
“Paulie, come eat,” Nanny Tanya said softly.
“No,” he answered, staring out the window. “No.”
“Paul, come on now.”
“Nooo!” he shrieked, stomping his thin legs in brown tights. “Nooo, Mummy’s there!”
“She’ll be back later, let’s go eat.”
“What’s going on here? Tatiana, what’s this fuss? March to the dining hall, now!”
The stern-faced woman grabbed Paul by the collar and dragged him to the table, shoving cold, grey pasta into his mouth as he wailed and twisted.
“Eat, you little brat, eat!” she spat.
The other children clattered spoons against their metal bowls in nervous silence.
“Why must you be so cruel, Elena? They’re just children,” Nanny Tanya whispered, tears in her eyes.
“Children?” the woman sneered. “Future criminals, more like—just like their thieving, murdering mothers!”
Paul screamed, collapsing to the floor, his face red and twisted. “Want Mummyeeeee! Mummyeeeee!”
“Shut your mouth, you little rat.”
“What’s all this noise?” Another angry woman stomped in, and even Paul went quiet. “What’s happening?”
“That one’s kicking off again—won’t eat.”
“Whose is he?”
“Dubtsov’s girl.”
“Oh, that mad one. Take him out—his mother’s here.”
Paul shrieked and bolted ahead of the matron, throwing himself against his mother’s thin, sharp knees.
“Mummy, Mummy…”
She sank to the floor right there, kissing his bony little body, clutching him with her thin, twig-like arms, whispering words only they understood.
“Lord, I can’t take this,” muttered old Nanny Shura, who’d seen enough hardship to fill ten novels. “Am I going soft? Look how he loves her—and her? Wild as she is, other mums could learn a thing or two from this girl. Barely out of the ground herself, but she loves him so hard it hurts.”
“Pfft. Love? She loves a lighter sentence. They’ll take this one soon enough, and she’ll just bring another—I know their sort.”
“You’re a hard woman, Lena.”
“Am I wrong, Auntie Shura? She’ll find some sucker to sweet-talk, get herself another break.”
“She’s still a woman, Lena. Have some heart.”
“She’s got no kids of her own—she doesn’t understand,” muttered another staff member.
“So? She’s not lost her soul over it, bless her.”
“Saints, the lot of you. They don’t care who they birth or how many—spare me the sob stories.”
She loves him now, but once he turns three? No relatives stepping up, straight to the orphanage. If she really cared, she’d have sorted it.
Tatiana walked home after her shift, turning Elena’s words over. Was she right? Harsh, but truth? She’d grown fond of Paul—and his mother, sharp-eyed Annie, locked up on serious charges.
Oof.
Tatiana had worked her years. Good pension, her little cottage waiting. No family left—no sisters, brothers, or mother. But she hadn’t hardened.
Decades raising inmates’ kids, never letting one get under her skin—until Paul.
Paul stood at the window, waiting. His little heart just knew—she’d come.
“Mummy…”
“Paulie.”
They clung together, weeping. What could anyone do?
“Annie,” Tatiana called. The girl turned, wary smile fading. “We need to talk.”
Trust didn’t come easy to girls like her.
“Why help me?” Annie asked, head tilted.
“It’s not for you. I’m alone, Annie. Paul—he feels like a grandson. And you… could’ve been my daughter. Not forcing it—just offering. It’ll be hard for him later. He’s so little—he’ll forget.”
“I’ll think about it,” Annie said shortly, walking off.
Two days and nights she thought.
“What, Dubtsov? Changed your mind?” a cellmate sneered. “Your boy’s off to the home soon.”
Annie said nothing.
“Were you serious?” she asked Tatiana later. “How? You’re nobody to me.”
“We’ll find a way. If it fails, I’ll follow Paul—work at that home, stay close as long as it takes.”
“Why?”
“I told you, Annie… Paul pays me… in love.”
“Fine. Let’s try.”
No smile, no thanks.
Tatiana pulled every string, but somehow… it worked. Paul stayed.
“Thanks,” Annie rasped.
“Mummy, I go with Grandma now. Train! Then come back for you.”
Annie wiped tears, forcing a smile.
The days dragged greyer than ever. Is this the life she’d dreamed?
Then—a long visit.
“Dubtsov, you’ve got a visitor.”
Her first in three years. Him?
“Mother? No—tell her I’m sick. Dead!”
“Move it, you lunatic.” The guard shoved her into the room—
“Paulie! My boy!”
“Mummy, Mummy!”
Of course—Nanny Tanya.
Three days together. By the third evening, Annie spoke haltingly.
“Lived with Gran. Mum was… busy. When Gran died, Mum sold our house—mine by will, but I was thirteen. Took me in. At first, it was fun—no rules. Skip school? Fine. Smoke? Go ahead. Then… she found a man. Seemed nice—gifts, holidays. Then… the beatings started. Her and me. Met Iggy at sixteen. He was eighteen. A year together, then… that man attacked me. Iggy came in time. Nearly killed him. Mum ran off. After that, the man left us alone… for a while.”
“Lord above.”
“You took the blame? You were pregnant, underage—he talked you into it?” Tatiana whispered. “Poor girl. I won’t tell.”
Annie wiped tears, silent.
In bed, Paul slept curled into her—first time in his short life.
“Mum pressed charges. Said she hated me. Said he was good. You were right.”
They never spoke of it again.
Tatiana visited with Paul when she could. Annie thawed slowly. Tatiana knew—once free, she’d take Paul and vanish. What then?
Best not to think.
On one visit, she met old coworkers.
“You look well, Tatiana—sea air suits you!”
“That, and my happiness—Paulie.”
“You’re a fool, Tanya.”
“How’s that, Lena?”
“That convict’ll rob you blind, kill you, and dump the boy in a home anyway.”
“You’re cruel.”
“Not stupid.”
Each visit, Annie warmed. Letters flew—bold on paper, shy in person.
Then—school finished. Training. “Congrats, daughter,” Tatiana wrote, weeping. She never saw Annie press that word to her heart, hiding her own tears.
Paul was starting school now. Waiting for Mum’s letter—when to fetch her.
A dread settled in Tatiana’s chest. She called the prison.
“Released a week ago.”
Tatiana wept, holding Paul.
“Gran… Mum’s not coming, is she?”
Oh, this tiny soul—so much sorrow.
“No, Paulie, she’ll write soon—”
“Gran… look.”
Tatiana turned. Annie stood there, smiling. Beautiful.
“Mummy!”
“Paulie!”
They clung, sobbing. Then Annie stood tall.
“Hello… Mum.”
“Daughter… my Annie.”
***
“Just started school, and now—married!”
“Mum, I’m nervous!”
“Don’t say that!”
“Gran, Mum—relax! It’s perfect.”
“Annie, you sure you won’t marry too? You always said Paul was too young—”
“No, Mum. I’m happy with you. Grandkids next.”
Tatiana knew there was a man—Annie came home with flowers sometimes, but never introduced him. Fine. Don’t pry.
After all these years, they were mother and daughter.
They’d survived. Tatiana’s love had dragged Annie from despair.
Now Annie had her fabric shop—good stock, everyone said—and a little workshop. They got by. More than got by.
Tatiana thanked heaven for her daughter and grandson. Annie thanked her mum.
“Mum… if you’d never found us… I can’t bear to think what might’ve been.”
“Don’t, love. Don’t think of it.”
