**An Outsider, Yet Family**
Mum Faye, how are you? Anton and I were just passing by—coming from the shops—and thought we’d drop in. Brought you something,” Julie hugged the woman who wasn’t her birth mother but had become her family.
Thirteen years ago, fate had brought them together. Faye, now sixty-six, had lived a hard life, burdened with sorrow. But then, one autumn evening, there was a knock at her cottage door. Standing on the step was Julie—dirty, bruised, and shivering. Faye ushered her inside without hesitation.
“Come in, love. Don’t be afraid—it’s just me here,” Faye murmured, helping her out of her tattered coat. The damp chill of early autumn clung to the girl’s skin.
“What’s your name?” Faye asked gently. “I’m Faye Stephens. Call me Auntie Faye, if you like.”
“Julie,” the young woman whispered before dissolving into tears.
“Let it out, love,” Faye soothed, stroking her hair. She fetched her first-aid box, cleaned the graze on Julie’s cheek, and made her tea. Questions could wait.
Later, warmed and calmer, Julie spoke. “Thank you, Auntie Faye. I walked for hours—didn’t even know where I was going. Just knew I had to get away.”
“This is Welford,” Faye said. “Where have you come from?”
Julie hesitated. “My husband… He wasn’t always like this. But after we married, he changed. When I told him I was pregnant, he hit me. So I ran. Nowhere to go—no family. I just kept walking.”
Faye’s heart ached. “Stay as long as you need, love. You and your little one—you’re safe here.”
And she did. Julie stayed, gave birth to Anton, and slowly built a life. To the village, she was a blessing—respectful, hardworking. “Lucky you, Faye,” the women at the market would say. “Your own daughter turned her back, but God sent you Julie.”
Faye would smile. “Aye, like two lost moths drawn together in the dark. Now, with Anton, there’s no room for loneliness.”
Then came Maxwell. A decent man, fond of children, though his first marriage had soured—his wife refused to start a family. He’d noticed Julie’s quiet kindness and, despite her past, asked for her hand.
“Marry him,” Faye urged. “He’ll be good to Anton—and to you.”
“But you’ll be alone again,” Julie fretted.
“Nonsense. He lives two doors down! We’ll be neighbours.”
So Julie married Maxwell. He treated Anton as his own, and soon, a daughter followed. Faye’s cottage wasn’t empty for long—they visited daily, Maxwell calling her “Mum” without hesitation.
But it hadn’t always been so.
Years ago, Faye had married Archie, believing it was love. They had a daughter, Vera. But Archie’s drinking grew worse, and whispers of his infidelity reached her ears. When she confronted him, he swore he’d change. He didn’t.
Faye left, returning to her sick mother’s cottage. Life was a struggle. Then Vera married young—but the union failed, and she came home bitter.
When Faye wed Zachary later, it seemed a fresh start. But during a hospital stay, Vera “looked after” Zachary too well. Faye returned to find them entangled.
“Today you sleep here,” Faye said coldly. “Tomorrow, you leave.”
Vera sneered. “And where would we go? This is my home too.”
“Figure it out. You’ve made your choice.”
Zachary begged forgiveness a year later—Vera had thrown him out—but Faye shut the door on him. Vera never returned. A neighbour once saw her in town.
“Your mother’s alone,” the neighbour chided.
Vera laughed. “What’s she to me? Men keep me fed and clothed—she’s got nothing I want.”
Faye wiped her tears. “God judge her,” was all she said.
Then came Julie. And with her, happiness. Now, Faye had a daughter, grandchildren, and a son-in-law who cherished her. Not by blood—but family all the same.
*Sometimes, the bonds we choose are the ones that hold us tightest.*
