In a quiet corner of London many years ago, Margaret prepared for her day. She swiftly made sandwiches for her husband, wrapped them in foil, and set them on the table. Michael worked at a garage, where there was no time for proper breaks, so he always took food with him. Margaret herself worked as a cook in a canteen a fair distance from home, forcing her to rise an hour earlier than her husband.
Rain drizzled outside as Margaret grabbed the umbrella from the hallway. It slipped from her fingers and clattered loudly to the floor. She froze, peeking into the bedroomMichael hadnt stirred.
“How careless of me,” she murmured with a quiet smile before slipping out the door.
The bus arrived unusually quickly. Margaret took a seat by the window, gazing at the city as it passed. Her thoughts drifted to her lifeapproaching thirty, happily married, though not wealthy, she considered them content. Yet one sorrow weighed on her: she and Michael had no children. Three long years of marriage, countless doctors visits, but no answers.
The bus stopped. Margaret paid her fare and stepped out, crossing through the park toward her workplace. A few steps along the wet pavement, she halteda little girl sat shivering on a bench, her thin coat offering no warmth. Tears streaked her cheeks, mingling with the rain.
Margaret approached gently. “Hello, love. Why are you out here alone?”
“Mum put me out,” the girl sniffled.
Margaret frowned. “What do you mean?”
“She was asleep. I was hungry and woke her. She shouted… and now Im here.”
“Whats your name?”
“Emily.”
Margaret sighed. “What am I to do with you, Emily? Come, lets take you home. Is it far?”
The girl shook her head, pointing vaguely. They walked a short way before stopping at a flat. Margaret rang the bell, but no one answered for a long while.
Finally, the door creaked open, revealing a disheveled woman in a stained dressing gown, her unwashed hair framing a tired face. She blinked at Margaret, then at Emily, before stepping aside wordlessly.
The flat stank of neglectdust coated the furniture, old rags littered the floor. As Margaret glanced around, a photograph on the sideboard caught her eye. Her breath hitched.
Shed seen it beforein Michaels album. But there, it had been cropped, showing only him. Here, he stood beside a younger, pretty womanthe very woman now glaring at her.
“Well?” the woman snapped.
Margaret steadied herself. “Your daughter was crying in the park! Dont you care?”
“Mind your own business! Got kids of your own to raise?” The woman turned sharply to Emily. “Whereve you been?”
The girl scurried away. Margaret left, her mind racing with thoughts of the child, the photograph, and the womans possible tie to Michael.
That evening, she handed him the photo. “Whos this with you?”
Michael sighed. “Thats Helen. We were together long agoalmost married. But she left me for someone else.”
“Why did you cut the photo?”
He hesitated. “She was expecting my child when we split. She told me she… didnt keep it. I couldnt bear looking at her after that. I left town, met you. But why do you ask?”
Margaret told him about Emily and her mother.
Michael listened intently. “How old is the girl?”
“About five.”
His face darkened. “Where do they live?”
Margaret told him before retiring, exhausted. Sometime past midnight, she awoke to find the kitchen light on. Through the cracked door, she saw Michael deep in thought.
The next day, he knocked on Helens door. Emily answered, staring up at the stranger.
“Hello. Are you Emily? Wheres your mum?”
The girl dashed inside. “Mum! Someones here!”
Helen appeared, more disheveled than before.
“You?” Her brows rose. “What dyou want?”
Michael stepped in without invitation, the flats stale air thick in his lungs. “Helen, I need the truth. Emilyshe could be mine. Is she?”
The woman slumped into a chair. “Lend us a tenner, eh? You never paid child support. Ive kept her fed all these yearsleast you could do.”
“You lied. You said you didnt keep the baby.”
She scoffed. “Her dadValentinesaid hed raise her. Then he left when she was three months old. I thought of coming back to you, but youd already gone.”
Michaels jaw tightened. “Ill have a test done. If shes mine, Im taking her.”
“Take her now! Shes a nuisancealways hungry, always needing something. Lifes hard enough.”
Emily crept forward. “Are you my dad?”
Michael knelt. “Yes, love. I want you to come live with me. Would you like that?”
The girl glanced fearfully at her mother before whispering, “You wont be cross with me?”
His voice cracked. “Never.”
She nodded. “Then yes.”
He stroked her hair before leaving. On the stairs, Helen called after him. “About that money”
Michael handed her a few notes. Her grin made his stomach turn.
He couldnt leave her there. Turning back, he found Emily still standing in the hall, eyes downcast.
“Get your coat. Were going.”
Within the hour, Emily crossed the threshold of his home. Margaret gaspedthis was the girl from the park.
Later, bathed and fed, Emily played with the cat while Margaret turned to Michael. “Are you sure about this? You dont even know her.”
“Ill learn. Shes my bloodhow else should I act?”
Margaret fled to the kitchen, weeping. Why was this happening? Shed longed for a child, yet now this girlhow was she to love her? Resentment toward Michael, Helen, life itself swirled inside her.
Then, a small hand touched her head.
“Are you poorly? I cry sometimes too. Want me to tell you a story?”
Margaret hugged her tightly.
A year passed. Michael took the test, though it hardly matteredEmily was theirs. Margaret grew to love her deeply, the child filling a void she hadnt known how to mend.
Then, one morning, Margaret collapsed at work. Rushed to hospital, the doctor delivered astonishing news.
“Didnt you know you were pregnant?”
She sat bolt upright. “What?”
It was true. Her dream had come truea healthy boy, named Edward, was born. Emily doted on him.
Later, a little girl, Charlotte, completed their family. Margaret often reflectedperhaps happiness had entered her home that rainy day, carried in by a small girl with a heart too big for her tiny frame.
