A Stranger Yet Family
“Mum Fay, how are you? Anton and I were just passing by—we’ve been shopping and thought we’d drop in. Brought something for you too,” Julie said, wrapping her arms around the woman who wasn’t her birth mother but had become one in every way that mattered.
They had made that decision years ago—Fay and Julie would call each other mother and daughter. Fay was pushing seventy, sixty-six to be exact. Life hadn’t been kind to her. She’d weathered storms no one should face alone. But thirteen years ago, fortune finally smiled. Julie had stumbled into her life.
It began with a knock. Fay had opened her door to a young woman, bruised and shivering, dirt streaked across her face. Without hesitation, Fay ushered her inside.
“Come in, love, come in,” she murmured, scanning the street. “Don’t be afraid—just me here. Always has been.” She helped peel off the tattered coat, tutting at the wounds beneath. “What’s happened to you, dear?”
Autumn had settled early that year, damp and bitter even for September.
“What’s your name?” Fay asked softly. “I’m Fay Stephens. You can call me Aunt Fay. Or just Fay, if you like.”
“Julie,” the girl whispered before crumbling into sobs.
“Cry it out, love. Tears mend the soul,” Fay murmured, stroking her tangled hair.
She fetched the first-aid box, cleaned the raw scrape on Julie’s cheek, then tucked her under a blanket with a steaming cup of tea. Questions could wait. The truth would come when Julie was ready.
Eventually, warmth returned to Julie’s bones.
“Thank you, Aunt Fay,” she breathed. “I was freezing. Walked all day—don’t even know how far. Didn’t see the village name in the dark. Just… couldn’t take another step.”
“This is Oak Hollow,” Fay said. “Big enough, as villages go. Where’ve you come from?”
“Lived with my husband in Market Chipping. Married two years.” Julie’s voice cracked. “At first, he seemed decent. Then we moved in together. Turned cruel. Quick with his fists. I wanted a baby—he said he’d never have one. Didn’t like children.” A shuddering breath. “Then I fell pregnant. Told him. He hit me. Again. His eyes—” Her fingers clutched the blanket. “I grabbed my coat, ran. Nowhere to go. I grew up in care. I just… walked. Through fields, woods—terrified he’d follow. Saw a dirt track, ended up here.”
“Oh, love,” Fay sighed. “You’ve borne too much. But no one’ll hurt you under my roof. Stay as long as you need. Stay forever, if you like. It’s just me here. Always has been.”
And so Julie stayed. When her son Anton was born, Fay became his grandmother in every way that counted. Villagers murmured approval.
“Fay, that Julie’s a good ’un. Respectful. And that lad’s turning out right proper,” they’d say at the village shop. “Lost your own girl, but Heaven sent you Julie. Reckon you’ve lived right.”
Fay would nod. “Blessed, that’s what I am. Two moths in the night, we were, drawn to the same light. No loneliness now.”
Then came Max. Oak Hollow’s blacksmith, steady and kind. He’d watched Julie for months—her quiet grace, the way she doted on Anton. The boy wasn’t a burden to him; Max adored children. His own marriage had crumbled when his wife refused a family. But Julie? She was different.
He proposed. Julie hesitated, but Fay urged her on.
“Marry him, love. Good man. And Anton’ll have a father.”
“Mum Fay, but you’ll be alone.”
“Nonsense! He lives two doors down. We’ll be neighbours.”
So Julie became Mrs. Carter. Max treated Anton as his own, and soon a daughter joined them. Fay’s cottage stayed quiet, but laughter rang next door. Not bad for a woman who’d once believed joy had passed her by.
Fay’s first marriage had been young love—Archie from Meadowbrook. They’d had a daughter, Vera. At first, life was sweet. Then Archie took to the pub, coming home late, reeking of ale and other women’s perfume.
Tammy Bishop—that was the name that broke them. The whole village knew her. When Fay confronted him, Archie swore it’d stop. Promises were cheap.
Fay’s mother-in-law begged her to stay. “Give it time, love. Vera’s young. He might change.”
He didn’t.
Fay left for her mother’s cottage in Oak Hollow. Widowed young, her mother was ill, barely able to tend the house. Fay worked, skimped, struggled. Then her mother died, leaving just her and Vera.
Years crawled by. At eighteen, Vera married a local lad. It lasted three childless years.
During Vera’s marriage, Zachary courted Fay. Thirty-eight, still pretty, she’d taken advice from Vera and remarried. Zach was sober, dependable. Until Vera returned, divorced.
Then the betrayal.
Hospitalised with heart trouble for ten days, Fay came home to frost. Zach scowled. “Back already? Mustn’t be that poorly.”
Vera sneered, picking fights. The truth struck like lightning—her daughter and husband, entwined on the porch.
Fay gave them one night. “Go.”
“Where?” Vera smirked. “This is my home.”
“Find somewhere. Not my concern.”
Zach slunk back a year later, begging forgiveness. “Sent Vera packing. She brought men home—”
Fay shut the door in his face.
Vera never returned. A neighbour spotted her in Market Chipping.
“Vera! Your mum’s all alone.”
“Why would I care?” Vera laughed. “Men keep me fed and clothed. What’s she got? Nothing. Tell her I’ve no mother.”
Fay wept, then whispered, “God judge her.”
Then came Julie. Light returned. Now Fay had a daughter, grandchildren, and Max—a son-in-law who treated her as family. Strangers once. Now hers. Hers alone.
