HOW GRANNY TONI FOUND HER DAUGHTER
A quiet evening settled over the village as Antonia Simmons, known to everyone simply as Granny Toni, stepped out of her little cottage and tapped three times on the neighbours window with her knuckles. The glass responded with a familiar, muffled knock. Moments later, the wrinkled face of her neighbour, Mary Stephens, appeared in the frame, surprised. She flung open the creaky old door and stepped onto the porch, tucking a stray grey lock behind her ear.
“Toni, love, what are you doing standing there like a stranger? Come in, dont be shyIve just put the kettle on!” she called across the yard, though her voice already carried a note of concern.
“No, no, Mary, thank you, I wont stay,” Antonias voice trembled, and she was startled by her own sudden weakness. “Ive come about something important, very important. Listen, I need to go to the city, to the big hospitalurgently. Theres trouble with my eyes. They wont stop watering, everythings gone blurry, like Im peering through fog. At night, the pains so bad I cant bear it. The doctoryoung lad, he istook one look and said I need an operation, and soon, or else or else Ill go blind. But how will I get there? Ive no one to help me. Still, I suppose the world isnt without kindness. Someone will point me in the right direction.”
“Toni, my dear, of course you must go, dont delay!” Mary replied at once, shifting from foot to foot in her worn slippers. “Ill look after your placeyour goat Betsy, the chickens, everything! Dont you fret. Youre rightwhat grief to stay alone in the dark? Go, and God keep you safe!”
Antonia Simmons was well past seventy. Life had been long and cruel, tossing her about, testing her, beating her down until it seemed impossible to rise. But rise she did. And at last, like a wounded bird, she had found shelter in this quiet village, in a cottage left by long-gone relatives. The journey to the city felt endless and terrifying. Clutching her worn handbag on the bumpy bus, she couldnt shake the same anxious thought.
“A knife will they really touch my eyes with a knife? How can that be? The doctor tried to reassure me’Dont worry, Granny, its a simple procedure’but my heart aches, heavy with dread. Im frightened. Oh, how frightened I am, all alone.”
The hospital ward was clean, smelling of antiseptic and quiet. By the window lay a younger woman, and opposite her, another elderly patient like herself. The company eased Antonias nerves a little. She sank onto the offered bed and thought, *What a curse this is, striking young and old alike.*
After lunchor “quiet time,” as they called itvisitors flooded in. The younger womans husband arrived with their schoolboy son, arms laden with fruit and juice. The other patient was visited by her daughter, son-in-law, and a curly-haired granddaughter who chattered and laughed without pause. They surrounded their mother and grandmother with warmth and care. The ward grew loud, cheerful and unbearably lonely. Antonia turned to the wall and wiped away a traitorous tear. No one had come for her. No one brought her so much as an apple or a kind word. She was aloneforgotten, unwanted, an old woman with no one. Her heart clenched with bitter envy and despair.
The next morning, the doctors made their rounds. A woman in a crisp white coat enteredyoung, beautiful, radiating calm and confidence. Granny Toni felt lighter just looking at her.
“How are we feeling today, Antonia? Keeping your spirits up?” The doctors voice was warm, velvety, full of kindness.
“Mustnt grumble, dear. We manage, what else can we do?” Antonia fussed. “Forgive me, lovewhat should I call you?”
“Dr. Veronica Peters. Im your consultant. Now, Antonia, is there anyone we should contact for you? Family? Children?”
Antonias heart lurched. She lowered her eyes and whispered the first lie that came to mind, bitter and far from the truth: “No, dear. No one. God never gave me children.”
The doctor gave her hand a gentle squeeze, made a note, and left. But Antonia sat frozen, burning with shame. *Why? Why did I lie to that kind woman? Why deny the most sacred part of my life? It isnt trueit isnt!*
She hadnt wanted to reopen the old wound, the pain shed carried for decades. But she had had a daughter. A beloved, cherished girlher Vicky.
Long ago, in her youth, shed met Peter, a war veteran whod lost an arm. In those post-war years, when men were scarce, she hadnt hesitated to marry him. At first, they were happy. Then their daughter was born, and Peter fell ill. No treatment could save him. She buried him and was left alone with tiny Vicky.
Antonia had been beautiful in her daystately, rosy-cheeked, with thick braids. She worked on a farm, straining every muscle to survive. Then one day, a city man named Nicholas passed through the village on businesshandsome, quick with words. He noticed the pretty widow and courted her. Lonely and starved for affection, she lost her head. When it was time for him to leave, he begged her to come with him.
“But Vickys so young, Nicholaswhere would I take her?” she protested.
“Leave her with your mother, just for a little while!” he urged. “Well get settled, make a lifethen fetch her straight away. I promise! Id give you the moon!”
Young and foolish, she believed him. She left five-year-old Vicky with her ageing mother and followed Nicholas to the far north. They travelled for days on a packed train.
They found work. At first, she wrote often, but Nicholas was restlessthey moved constantly. Whenever she mentioned Vicky, he brushed her off: “Once were properly settled, once weve a home of our ownthen well fetch her!” Letters from her mother grew scarce, then stopped. At first, she wept for her daughter nightly, but with time, the pain dulled. Nicholas only joked, “Well have our own, then fetch yours!” But God gave her no more childrenas if punishing her for that terrible choice. Then Nicholas took to drink, then to his fists. Twenty-five years passed in misery. It only ended when he was killed in a drunken brawl.
After burying him, Antonia sold their meagre belongings and took the last of her money back to her village, to her mother and daughter. She travelled with hope and terror, wondering how shed face the woman her little girl had become.
But no one waited for her. Her mother had died years before. Of her daughter, neighbours knew little*She came for the funeral, then left.* The family home stood boarded up, crumbling. She stayed three days, asking, searchingin vain. At the graveside, she laid wildflowers and left, sobbing with regret. She moved to another county, another village, living alone, begging Vickys forgiveness in her heart. *If I could turn back time, Id never trade my child for any promise of gold. But the past cant be undone.*
The night before surgery, Antonia couldnt sleep. Despite Dr. Peters reassurances, fear gnawed at her. Suddenly, a wild thought struck: *Lord, my daughter was Vicky too and her middle name was Peters, after her grandfather. Can it be a coincidence? And the doctors eyesso familiar, so kind I must ask her surname tomorrow. What if?*
But morning came too soon. A nurse arrived early, wheeling her to theatre. There was no time to ask.
After the operation, she woke to darkness, her eyes tightly bandaged. Fear gripped her. *What if Im trapped like this forever?* She heard the ward around herchatter, footstepsbut lay helpless. Then she sensed someone nearby. Gentle hands unwrapped the bandages.
“Can you see? Ill fetch the doctor,” a nurse smiled.
The surgeon, a brisk man, shone a light in her eyes. “Excellent, perfect. Just rest nowno crying, no straining.”
He left. The nurse set a bag on her bedside table. “From Dr. Peters. Apples, lemon for tea, sweets. She said youd need the vitamins. Shes off today.”
“Oh, bless her a doctor, bringing gifts to an old woman like me. Like sunshine walking in.”
She waited for Veronica Peters with a mix of eagerness and unease. The doctor arrived two days later, during evening rounds. When she entered, the room seemed to brighten. In her hands was an official envelope. Antonias heart poundedsomething important was coming.
“Good evening
