The maternity ward at St.Marys Hospital in Manchester was a bright, cavernous hall, humming with a strange mix of joy and fluttering nerves. Relatives streamed in like a tide of smiles: men clutching enormous bouquets, newlyminted grandmothers and grandfathers, and a kaleidoscope of friends and acquaintances. Their chatter rose and fell, punctuated by contagious laughter, as everyone held their breath for the first glimpse of the newest family members.
Look, a baby boy! Our first! whispered a very young grandmother to the woman standing beside her, tears of happiness glinting in her eyes as she clutched a cluster of skyblue balloons.
And weve got two girls, can you believe it? replied her companion, swathed in pastelpink gift bags.
They already have an older daughterthree sisters now! Its like a fairytale! someone exclaimed.
Twins! How rare! My congratulations to you all! another shouted.
Amid the bustling crowd, a petite young woman struggled with the heavy doors of the delivery suite. Her hands were full of parcels, each one stuffed to the brim with baby supplies, making it impossible to free a single finger.
Is that a child? gasped Ian, a lanky fellow who had come to fetch his sisters baby with his nephew. He stared in disbelief at the woman whose right arm, pressed against her torso, seemed to cradle a tiny bundle wrapped in a blanket.
What on earth? Ian muttered, bewildered. Where are the relatives? Where are the friends? In a city as big as this, how could anyone have turned up for a young mother and her defenseless infant?
His family had been planning a siblings birth and discharge for months, treating the occasion as a grand, joyous milestone. Ian could not have imagined any other outcome.
He hurried to the stranger, flinging open the massive doors and holding them ajar while she slipped through, then darted after her.
May I at least carry your parcels to a cab? he offered.
Thank you, no need, she replied, a veil of sadness and confusion flickering behind her eyes, as if teetering on the brink of tears. She cradled the baby more securely, then shuffled toward the bus stop.
Is she really taking a minibus with a newborn? Ian thought, horrified. He was about to chase her down and drive her home, when his relatives calledtime to collect his sister and nephew. Forgetting everything else, Ian raced back to his own family.
Evelyn had always tried to be the perfect daughter. Her mother, Margaret, had given birth to her late in life; Evelyn had never seen her father, a fleeting romance from a seaside holiday. The two lived in a cramped cottage on the edge of a village, scraping by on Margarets modest wages from the local shop. When Margaret retired, their finances grew even tighter.
Evelyn dreamed of escaping, of gaining an education, of landing a wellpaid job that would banish hunger forever. She devoted herself to school, turning down the noisy invitations of her peers who fluttered about dating, cinema, and dance. Her mother urged, Come out for a walk, the weathers brilliant! Youve paled yourself away, buried in books!
But I have exams to ace, the only way in, Evelyn replied, eyes fixed on her textbooks.
Frederick, a shy neighbour who had been hopelessly in love with Evelyn since primary school, lingered at the edge of her life, his attempts at friendship always rebuffed. Evelyns relentless study paid off; she aced her exams and secured a place at the prestigious City College of Education. Her triumph seemed limitless, but Margaret fretted, How will we afford it? I cant help much with my tiny pension.
Dont worry, Evelyn soothed, Ive found a night job, a hallofresidence with a room waiting for me.
She moved into a dorm, sharing a small room with another village girl who, like her, received generous parcels from wellmeaning relatives. The two swapped recipes and helped each other with coursework.
A shortterm cleaning job turned into a waitressing position at the nearby tavern, where Evelyn met Max, a regular patron. Max was a handsome, quickwitted twentysomething whod just finished a degree in economics and now worked for a large bank. He visited the bar most weekends with his mates, laughing loudly, his cheek dimples deepening with each grin. One evening their eyes met; Evelyn blushed and looked away, but Max began to pay her special attention.
Their romance blossomed. Max proved attentive, caring, witty, and full of life. He offered Evelyn a spare room in his spacious twobed flat near his office when she received an invitation to move in.
When Evelyn announced she was pregnant, Max beamed. I was just about to propose! This news is perfect. Lets hurry so youll be a radiant bride, not a heavybodied mumthough I love you anyway.
Evelyn fretted about meeting Maxs parents. His father was a prominent businessman who owned a dairy plant, and his mother, Eleanor, helped run the affairs. She welcomed Evelyn with warmth, marveling at the tidy, homely apartment. When Evelyn cooked dinner, Maxs father declared, Its as good as a fivestar restaurant! and his mother added, You have golden hands!
Eleanor asked Evelyn to call her simply Ellen. Together they shopped for wedding outfits, sipping coffee in cosy cafés, laughing without any airs. Ellen assured Evelyn, Your mother is welcome at the wedding; she can stay with us if her house feels cramped.
The wedding was lavish, complete with a master of ceremonies, entertainers, and fireworks. When Ellen heard the mounting costs, she waved them off: Dont worry, we can afford it. Youre my sons wife; I want a real celebration for you.
Evelyn could not believe her luck. She had heard countless tales of strained daughterinlaw relationships, especially when the bride came from modest means, yet here everything fell into place. Her elderly mother, Margaret, arrived tearful yet radiant, feeling out of place among the splendor. Ellen made sure to ease her, joking and thanking her for raising such a daughter.
Soon after, an ultrasound announced a healthy baby girl. Max chuckled, Next time well have a boy, then, dreaming of an heir. Ellen, who had always longed for a daughter after two sons, swooned, buying a pile of pink dresses and tiny outfits.
Evelyn imagined dressing her child, enrolling her in ballet, art school, and earlydevelopment classes. She welcomed the plans with joy.
Then a routine scan revealed a complication: the pregnancy was at risk. Maxs father called in the best obstetricians. Evelyn grew weak, nauseated, losing weight, and the second trimester became a trial of pain. She spent days in hospital, while Ellen tended the homecooking, cleaning, chastising Max for his inactivity. Evelyn could only thank Ellen, for she could do nothing herself.
Max drifted further away, absorbed in work, friends, phone calls, and the occasional flirtation with a charming fellow student. He hid the affair from his parents, fearing their reaction. Ellen, ever the hopeful grandmother, never concealed her wish for a granddaughter.
Suddenly, Evelyns waters broke a month early. She was rushed to labour, the pain unbearable. Doctors did all they could, then called for prayers. Summoning every ounce of strength, Evelyn fought for her baby.
A daughter was born, but the nurses whisked her away, hushed conversations filling the corridor. Evelyn was left alone in a quiet ward, sleepless, fearing to call anyone. In the morning, the chief consultant delivered the grim news: the baby had Down syndrome, something the scans had missed. Youre still young; youll have a healthy child someday, they said, but perhaps this one is best placed in a care home.
Evelyn was stunned, yet she refused outright. She demanded her baby, naming her Althea, and held her with fierce love.
Ellen called, breathless, Well get through this together! Evelyn replied, Ive found a great therapist wholl help you forget this child, and well have another. The conversation spiralled, Ellen urging, Say shes gone. Evelyn slammed the phone down.
Max, too, balked at taking the child. Why should I bear this burden? Im too young! He refused, and Ellen issued an ultimatum: either accept the child or Evelyn would have no place in their family.
Realising she would have to raise Althea alone, Evelyn clung to the sliver of hope that Max might change upon seeing his daughter. Yet no one waited for her at discharge; she trudged to the bus stop with parcels in hand.
At home she found a coat belonging to a stranger. From the kitchen emerged a girl in Maxs old Tshirt. Who are you? Evelyn asked. Im the woman your lover left, the girl replied, and Evelyn gathered her things.
Althea lay in a cradle beneath a delicate canopy, surrounded by expensive gifts Ellen had bought, but now only Evelyn needed her.
Evelyn moved back with her mother, steadied herself, and raised Althea. The girl grew bright and artistic, defying expectations, speaking, reciting poetry by her teens.
Eventually, Evelyn married Frederick, the shy neighbour who had loved her since school. He embraced Althea as his own. Together they had two more sons. Evelyn, unashamed of Althea, started a blog sharing their life.
One day a director of a London theatre for performers with Down syndrome saw a video of Altheas poems and invited her to audition. She became an actress, and the family relocated to the capital, even bringing Margaret along.
When Althea was seventeen, Max appeared at her performance, bearing flowers, gifts, and a wistful smile, seeking forgiveness. Evelyn realised she had long since forgiven him.
All right, Max, she said gently. I hold no grudge. Live happily, and thank you for the wonderful daughter you gave us.
