Mum kept bringing new “men” homeEmily remembered three of them. None stuck around for long. Theyd leave, Mum would cry, hug her tight, and say, “Dont worry, love. Our luckll turn.” Then shed head off to work.
The last one lasted two weeks. But when Mum stopped buying him whisky, he sulked, then walked outtaking her pearl earrings from her jewellery box. She never reported him. Said it was her fault for trusting him.
After that, things were quiet for five years. Emily thought maybe theyd finally have peace. But no such luck. When she turned fifteen, Mum fell hard for someone. Went on and on about how wonderful he was, how much he adored her.
Emily was happy for her. For once, Mum seemed genuinely loved. When she brought Simon home, Emily liked him too. Clean-cut, well-dressed, mid-forties. He drank just one whisky at dinner, cracked sharp jokes. She went to bed early, leaving them chatting in the kitchen. Assumed shed see him at breakfast. Instead, an hour later, the front door slammed shut.
Next morning, Mum was still gushing. Said he worked at the council, *so* respectable, cared about appearances. Talked about moving in together after they married, but theyd wait a yearlet Emily finish school first. Meanwhile, theyd renovate his flat.
Emily watched Mum, almost glowing. At thirty-six, shed stopped bothering with makeup, resigned to being alone. Now? Different woman.
They married just before term started. Emily buried herself in schoolwork. Simon offered helpalways polite, knocking before entering her room. They grew comfortable. Shed vent about exams over dinner; hed listen, ask questions.
Mum blossomed. Simon spoiled her. Soon, new earrings glinted in her lobes, then a gold necklace.
The year flew by. She was eighteen now, ready for college. Simon suggested she move with themplenty of space. But Emily craved independence. Money was tight, but Simon waved it off. “Well sort it.”
Before they left, he squeezed her shoulder. “Visit whenever. Well pop in toome or your mum. Need anything? Just ask.”
For her graduation, they gave her a locket. She adored it, kept checking her reflection.
Mum hesitated. “Isnt this a bit much?”
Simon winked. “Who else will spoil her?”
Mum beamed. Shed landed the best of men.
—
After they left, Emily adjusted to solitude. At first, she visited often. Then less. Sometimes Mum dropped by with groceries or cash. Occasionally, theyd bump into each other in town. Busy lives, busy jobs.
College suited her. Weekends, shed visit, filling them in on uni gossip.
Then came the news: Simon had a year-long work assignment abroad. Mum was going too. “Dont worrywell send money.”
Emily waved them off at the station. Mum teared up. Emily laughed. “Mum, Im nearly seventeen! Ill be fine.”
They hugged, laughing, and boarded the train.
—
They lived far away. Visited for two days at Christmas, showered her with gifts. Then vanished again.
Months later, Mum called. The assignment stretched to two years. Simon would stop by to fetch spare things, rent out the flat. Shed come too, but work wouldnt allow it.
Emily came home from lectures to rustling in her room. Peeked in.
“Hello! Youre early.”
Simon turned. “Ah, Emily! Just clearing space.”
He didnt recognize her. In a year, shed changed. Slim waist, soft curves, makeup highlighting her eyes. Womanly now.
She tossed her bag down. “Let me change, then Ill cook.”
In the hallway mirror, he caught her pulling off her jumper. Smooth shoulders, the dip of her collarbone. He shook his head. *Dont.*
Dinner was warm, chatty. She made up the spare room, hearing him shower, pad to the kitchen. She drifted off.
Simon paced. Couldnt shake the mirrors image.
She turned a pagehe stood in her doorway. Just a towel around his waist. Strange, hungry look.
“Did you need something?”
—
Three days later, he left. She buried the memory.
Three months on, he was back. It happened again. Worse this time.
After he left, shame coated her skin. Thenthe test. Positive.
She called repeatedly. He finally answered.
“Miss me that much?”
“Im pregnant.”
“*Christ.* How?”
Promotion loomedthis could wreck everything.
“Emily, Ill send money. Sort it. *No one* can know.”
Her stomach twisted. Scandal. Expulsion. And if Mum found out who the father was
A week later, he arrived with cash and an address. A cottage, miles away. No clinic would touch her without parental consent.
“Stay there. Or find some backstreet woman to fix it.”
She sobbed, terrified. He hugged her.
“You *know* silence is best.”
Next day, he vanishedMum none the wiser. A week later, Emily left too.
—
The village was bleak. She found the cottage, fumbled with the key. Once settled, she hunted for the “woman” Simon mentioned. A toothless crone pointed her to a house by the woods.
The old woman scowled. “What dyou want, sinner?”
Emily burst into tears. The woman grudgingly handed her water.
“Please, can you”
“Spit it out. You want me to murder your babe?”
Emily recoiled. “No”
“Liar.”
She fled, the hags laughter chasing her.
*What now?* Alone in this godforsaken place
—
Andrew returned after serving time for manslaughter. Hed been walking home from boxing when he heard stifled screams in an alley. Two lads had a girl pinnedsixteen, maybe. Rage took over. One punch, then another. The second lad fell, cracked his skull on the kerb. Turned out to be some bigwigs son. They threw the book at Andrew.
The village was his grans old home. After prison, he craved quiet. He fixed up her cottage, grew veg, sold organic produce to posh city types. Saved up. Wanted a proper Land Rover.
Fishing at dawn, he checked his nets (poaching, but who cared?). City folk paid extra for live fish*freshness*, they said. Ridiculous.
That morning, sunlight gilded the river. Thena shadow. Someone blocked the light. A girl, clutching a bundle, edging toward the cliff.
*No.*
He plunged in, swam hard. Saw the tiny shape vanish underwater. Dove, grabbed it.
Onshore, the girl uncurled her fingers. Stepped back. *Free.*
Thena whimper. *Her babys cry.*
“*God, what have I done?*” She ripped off her jacket, kicked off boots, leapt.
Andrew swaddled the infant in his coat when*splash.* The girl dove, surfaced, dove again. Panic would drown her. He waited. Let her tire.
When she didnt resurface, he went after her. Dragged her ashore. She fought, scratched. He had no choiceknocked her out.
Carrying both, he staggered home.
—
In the cottage, he tended the babyumbilical stump still raw. Boiled milk, found an old lambs bottle. Sacrificed a bedsheet for swaddling.
Then the girl. Still out. He stripped her wet clothes, tucked her in. Pulse racinghe hadnt seen a naked woman in years.
Ammonia under her nose. She groaned, blinked.
“Who?”
“Andrew.”
Silence. Then remembrance.
“I need”
She lurched up, collapsed. He caught her. Laid her down, brought the baby.
Her tears came fast. “Give her *back*.”
Confused, then furious*as if Id steal her!*
He placed the baby beside her, walked out.
—
Later, over stew, they talked.
“You cant stay hidden forever,” Andrew said. “Baby needs registering. Well figure it out.”
She wept. “I cant go back. My stepdadhe *hurt* me. And Mum”
Andrew knew a blokecouncil bigwig, owed him after a drunken fishing rescue. Called him.
Next morning, guests arrived. The official brought a registrar.
“Ah,” the woman said, checking Emilys ID. “Shes underage.”
Andrew grimaced. “Forgot that bit.”
The official pulled him aside. “Only way is marriage. Register the kid as yours, divorce later.”
Andrew smirked at Emily. “Well, love? Fancy a quick wedding?”
Blushing, she nodded. “Youve done so much”
—
They stood hand in hand at the train station years later, watching their daughter chase butterflies, the shadows of the past finally lifting like morning mist.
