My Son Isn’t Ready to Be a Father… “You Shameless Girl! Ungrateful Pig!” Natalie’s mother shrieked at her, not caring who heard. Her daughter’s rounded belly did nothing to soften her fury—if anything, it only fueled it. “Get out of my house and never come back! I never want to see you again!” This time, she meant it. Although her mother had thrown her out before over less serious matters, this pregnancy was the last straw. Tear-stained and clutching a small suitcase with her few belongings, Natalie stumbled to her boyfriend—a bewildered teenager who hadn’t even told his parents she was expecting. Nazar’s mother, upon discovering the news, immediately asked whether it was too late to do anything. But it clearly was; Natalie’s pregnancy was undeniable. “You’re just not ready to be a father,” Nazar’s mother declared, her voice firm. “You’re too young, she’ll ruin your whole life. We’ll help, of course, but for now, I’ve organised a place for you at a rehabilitation centre—a shelter for pregnant girls with nowhere to go.” At the centre, Natalie finally found a little peace. She was given a small room, support from a psychologist, and the first opportunity to rest in a long time. When she finally held her baby daughter in her arms, panic struck. But slowly, as Christmas approached, love began to grow. Just as she recovered, the centre warned her that she’d have to move on—a new arrival needed her room. Alone with her month-old baby Eve, Natalie wondered what to do next. Her own mother refused to even look at her or her granddaughter, having wiped both from her life. “It’s so sad, little one—what a gloomy Christmas Eve this is for us,” Natalie whispered, remembering happier days. As a child, she’d loved carolling, darting from house to house, singing Christmas songs and earning pocket money. The thought struck her: maybe she could carol again. Wrapping Eve up warmly, she set off. Knocking on doors, Natalie found few people willing to open up to a lone woman with a baby—most expected groups of children or men. But when she did get inside, her heartfelt carols moved people. They gave her generous tips—and even food—often becoming teary at the sight of the tiny baby in her arms, recognising that she must be desperate to go carolling as a single mum. The streets were cold and the journey tough, but Natalie pressed on. “Just one more house,” she said, eyeing a grand villa that looked promising. She was let in, but the homeowner’s reaction stunned her. He stared at her face, looked at her baby, and suddenly sat down heavily on the sofa, pale as a sheet. “Hope?” he asked quietly. “I’m sorry? I’m Natalie… Perhaps you’ve confused me with someone else?” “You look so much like my late wife… and your baby, is she a girl?” “Yes.” “I had a daughter once… but I lost them both in a car crash. Just the other night, I dreamed they came home. And now—you—you’re here, just like in my dream.” Unsure what to say, Natalie hesitated, but the man gently invited her in and asked to hear her story. Soon, Natalie found herself sharing everything—her troubles, her fears, her daughter’s birth—with someone who truly listened. As the baby slept, occasionally smiling in her sleep, Natalie felt, perhaps for the first time, that they’d finally found somewhere they just might belong—a place that could become home.

The Son Was Not Ready to Be a Father

Harlot! Thankless swine! Margaret shrieked at her daughter, Emily, as loud as her lungs would allow. Emilys swollen belly did nothing to soften her mothers furyit only fanned its flames. Get out of this house, and dont you dare come back! I never want to see you again!

Indeed, Margaret had cast her daughter out more than once for various missteps. But for getting herself in trouble, as she spat, Margarets banishment felt finalEmily was not to return. Tears glossed her cheeks as she shuffled down the garden path, a battered suitcase with her few belongings in hand, heading toward her belovedEdward, a lost-looking young man. It turned out Edward hadn’t breathed a word to his parents about Emilys condition. When finally forced to confront it, his mother asked without hesitation if there was still something to be done. But it was far too lateEmilys belly was already plainly noticeable.

Emilys mind spun in turmoil; despair and dread for the future gnawed her heart. Just a month ago, she had adamantly refused her mothers suggestion, but now she was desperate for any help that might come her way.

My son is simply not ready for fatherhood, declared Edwards mother bluntly. Hes too young, youd ruin his entire life. Of course, well do what we can, but for now, Ive asked a friend to find you a place at a restorative home for girls in your predicamentunwanted, expectant fools.

They gave Emily a modest room at the centre. For the first time, she breathed out and felt peace slowly spread through her aching limbs. No one vexed her; she was gently preparedphysically and in spiritfor childbirth, supported by a kindly counsellor. Then, when the moment finally came and a small bundle was placed in her arms, panic fluttered at her chest. Only later, when she found her bearings, did she start observing the tiny miracleher own infant daughter.

Christmastide drew near, but instead of glad tidings, Emily was warned: she must find new lodgingthere was already a waiting list. With month-old Lily in her arms, she sat in her room with no notion of how she and her sweet babe would go onwhere to find money, where to sleep at night. Margarets heart remained frozen; she refused even to look at her granddaughter, striking both from her life entirely.

My darling, isnt this the saddest Christmas Eve? Emily murmured to Lily, cradling her gently. Shed always loved this time of year. As a girl, she would go carol singing round the neighbourhood, knowing all the verses by heart, making a tidy bit of pocket money as she raced with other children from house to house. That longing for joy welled upjust one more time she wished to feel the holiday spirit: to wander from door to door, singing her heart out, breathing in the Christmas cheer. And why not? she thought. My baby is calm and quietI can wrap her up warm, sling her to my chest, and off Ill go. And anyone who wont open their doorwell, let them be.

On Boxing Day, Emily chose a quiet lane of detached houses for her singing. Just as shed expected, the doors swung open grudginglymost households expected robust men at the doorstep, not a delicate girl with an infant. Still, a few welcomed her in, and her pure, heartfelt carols garnered gratitudenot only in coins and shillings but in baked biscuits and the odd mince pie. People were moved by the sight of her child; it was plain to see her carolling sprang not from good fortune.

Trekking from threshold to threshold was no easy task. Just one morethere, that grand house. The owners must be well off; perhaps therell be a nice gift, Emily thought, feeling hope stir. Cold coins clinked in her pocket, a small comfort at last.

May I offer a carol? she asked when the master of the house let her in. But the gentlemans reaction confused her. He fixed her with a piercing gaze, then glanced at the sleeping babe in her arms. His face went ashen; he sat down heavily on the sofa, his voice barely a whisper.

Elizabeth? he ventured.

I beg your pardon? No my name is Emily. You must be confusing me with someone else.

Emily Yet you are the image of my late wife. And that babyis it a girl?

Yes, Emily replied.

I once had a daughter, too. But my wife and child were taken from me a carriage accident. Lately I dreamt theyd come home again. And now youre herecan such things be?

I I dont know what to say

Please, come in, child, do sit down! Wont you tell me your story?

At first, Emily felt uneasy around the stranger; he seemed too emotional, too intense. But truth be told, she had nowhere else to go. She stepped into the roomy parlour, noticing the portrait on the wall of a woman with a little girlthe resemblance was astonishing.

So Emily began to tell him her tale, unable to stop the flood of wordsevery detail, every memory poured out. At last, someone listened in earnest, truly cared for her story. The gentleman sat quietly, attentive, drinking in each word. From time to time, his eyes drifted to the baby, contentedly sleeping, a soft smile playing on her lipsperhaps sensing that here, shed come home at last to the place that soon would be hers.