WE ALL JUDGED HER Mila stood in the church and wept. For fifteen minutes or more. I was honestly surprised. “What’s that posh woman doing here?” I thought. Of all people, I never expected to see her in a place like this. I didn’t actually know Mila, but I saw her often enough—after all, we lived in the same block and took our walks in the same local park. Me with my four children, her with her three dogs. We all judged her—me, other mums with their children, old ladies on park benches, neighbours, and I suspect even the passers-by. Mila was stunning—a true head turner, always dressed smartly, always seeming a little frivolous, a bit arrogant. “There she goes again, another man on her arm,” grumbled Old Nina from her post near the front door. “That’s the third one already.” “Well, she can afford it—all that money she’s got,” chipped in her mate Old Maureen, eyeing Mila climbing into her latest fancy car with another new boyfriend. Old Maureen’s son Dave, 45, hasn’t even managed to buy a used car. “She’d be better off having kids—her biological clock must be ticking,” chimed in their usual frenemy, Old Tom. But if there’s one thing they can agree on, it’s judging Mila. After each breakup, the bench would gloat: “Surprised? Slapper! Her flat probably stinks of dog as well!” But nobody disliked Mila as much as we—the mums of the playground—did. While we dashed around after our kids—on the hills, the swings, through bushes and bins, wherever their little hearts led, she would stroll by, unfazed, with her “mongrels,” even smirking at us, as if to say, “You chose this chaos; I live for myself.” While we worried if we could afford new shoes for our little ones, she just breezed through life, her latest hairstyle always perfect. “Typical childfree,” commented my friend Sarah, mum of three lively boys. “The rich have their quirks—dogs, cats, hamsters,” nodded Lucy, currently pregnant with twins, as she fetched her tearaway eldest from a tree. “She’s just selfish, doesn’t want the bother—would rather swan off to Spain or Greece. I haven’t seen the sea in seven years,” sighed Marina, mother of five. And I always agreed—with everyone, even the grumpy bench ladies. Then I’d be off to rescue Tonya, who’d fallen yet again and was howling her heart out in the park. “She should have had a child, not all those dogs,” some grandma once said loudly. “Mind your own business!” Mila snapped. She almost said more, but stopped and walked on with her, honestly, rather nasty dogs. “Rude cow,” called the grandma after her. …I stared at Mila as she sobbed in that church, and then I left. “Excuse me—! Wait up,” I suddenly heard behind me. Mila hurried after me across the church courtyard. “You’re the lady always out with four little girls, aren’t you?” “I am. And you’re the one with three dogs.” She nodded. “Could I…could I talk to you?” she faltered. “You know, I always watch you and your girls, the other mums too—I think you’re all amazing.” She blushed, and I almost said, “But you’re childfree, selfish, a posh cow!” Remembering her “smirks” my heart twisted. So, we sat down on a bench, and Mila began… to talk, tears streaming down her face, desperate to get it all out. Mila grew up in a loving home, always dreaming of a big family. She married for love, but after two miscarriages the doctors announced she’d never have children. Her beloved husband left her. The next man did, too—after endless treatments and nearly dying from an ectopic pregnancy. The third fled just upon hearing children mentioned; what he liked was Mila’s car and salary, not the “burden” of children. “I’d have given anything for a baby!” Mila wept. “I thought you just loved dogs,” I answered…rather stupidly. She smiled through the tears. “I do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love children.” To keep loneliness at bay, she got Teppo, then adopted Mike when friends moved away, and found Fenya as a puppy abandoned in winter. Couldn’t say no. “Should’ve had a baby, not a bunch of dogs,” that bench granny’s words echoed in my head. “And her clock’s ticking…” I remembered Old Tom. It was—to everyone’s shock, Mila was already forty-one, though she looked thirty. She decided to adopt. Little, big, it didn’t matter—she just wanted a child. She met six-year-old Charlie and instantly clicked. He ran up and asked: “Will you be my mummy?” “Yes,” she replied, heart in mouth. But they didn’t give her Charlie; his mother, though severely mentally ill, still had parental rights. “It crushed me,” Mila said. “Why does this child have to suffer? Why can’t I help?” Then along came four-year-old Ellie, who’d been taken home and returned—twice—because of her wild temper. When the second “mum” dragged her back, Ellie crawled after her, clutching at her skirt, begging, “Don’t give me back, Mummy! Please! I’ll be good!” Mila met her, and Ellie asked, “Will you send me back too?” “Never!” Mila promised, barely able to speak for tears. There were hiccups with the adoption, which Mila didn’t explain—but said, “She’s my daughter, I’ll fight for her.” That was Mila’s first ever visit to church. “I just had nowhere else left to go.” The vicar came; they spoke for ages, Mila scribbling notes. “It’ll all turn out right—God bless,” I heard him say. Mila smiled at last. We walked home together. “You probably think I’m proud and arrogant,” Mila admitted. “Truth is, I’m just too tired to explain any more. And I’ve heard it all before anyway…” I kept silent. She invited me and the girls over—to play with her dogs. I agreed, and I will—just not yet. For now, I just feel deeply ashamed. I can’t help thinking: “Why are we so quick to judge? Why do I have so much spite in me?” And all I truly want now is for Mila—the incredible woman we all judged—to finally be happy. That one day, Ellie hugs her, pressing close, calling her “Mum,” knowing she’s safe and loved forever, the three dear dogs dancing and barking all around. And maybe, just maybe, by some miracle, Mila will find a kind husband, and Ellie will have a little brother or sister. It can happen, can’t it? And may no one ever speak a harsh word to them again…

We All Judged Her

Amelia was standing in St. Marks, crying her eyes out. She mustve been there for at least fifteen minutes. It really threw me, to be honestI kept thinking, What on earth is SHE doing here? Of all people, she was the last one Id have expected in a church.

I didnt know Amelia personally, but I saw her around all the time. We live in the same block and go to the same park. MeIm usually there with my four kids. Shealways with her three dogs.

Everyone always had something to say about Amelia. And when I say everyone, I mean myself, the other mums with their broods, the pensioners sitting on the benches, the neighbours, and probably even the random dog walkers passing by.

Amelia looked incredibleshe was always dressed in the latest styles, with this air that was, well, a bit frivolous and far too confident.

There she goes, swapped blokes again, grumbled old Mrs. Norris from her favourite bench by the doorway.

Thats her third!

Must be nice, not short of a pound or two, her friend Mrs. Green would mutter, glaring at Amelia as she got into her pricey German car with whichever man she was dating these days.

Mrs. Greens own son, Steveforty-five years old and still couldnt manage to afford a second-hand Ford.

Shed be better off having a baby or two, her clocks ticking away! Old Mr. Howard, the usual contrarian, would pipe up from his spot. But in the matter of criticising Amelia, the old guard spoke as one.

Soon enough the whole bench would be gloating when yet another of Amelias fellas disappeared, each time concluding, Well, what do you expect from someone like her? Bet her place stinks of wet dog too.

But, truth be told, it was us mums who disliked her most.

While we tore around after our kidstrying to stop them from rolling down hills, launching themselves off swings, leaping into bushes or rooting through the binsAmelia just strolled along with her mutts as calm as you please, not a care in the world. And sometimes, I swear, she looked over almost smuglyas if she pitied us, stuck in our exhausting mum-life routines. Like she was thinking, You lot chose this and now youre knackered, while I do as I please. Meanwhile, wed be juggling whether we could afford new school shoes this term for Emma, or if wellies would have to do for another month.

A typical child-free type. Theyre all the same, muttered my mate Sophie, who has three lads of her own.

The rich have their pets instead of childrendogs, cats, hamsters, nodded Lisa, who was trying to fish her oldest out of a tree, eight months pregnant with twins.

Shes just selfish, cant be bothered with the hard workjust swans off abroad whenever she feels like it. Seven years since Ive even seen the seaside, sighed Karen, whos got five little ones.

Id always join in, of courseagreeing with everyone, even those grumpy old dears on the benches. Then Id run off to scoop up my sobbing Lucy, whod scraped her knee at the bottom of the slide.

Shes got a right kennel going on, wouldve been better off having a child, a grandma with her grandson once commented, making it loud enough for Amelia to hear.

Mind your own business! snapped Amelia, spinning round. She wanted to say more, but she held back and walked on with her dogs.

Rude cow, the old lady spat after her.

I watched Amelia in the church for another moment or two, then quietly slipped outside.

Hold on a moment, I suddenly heard behind me. Wait up.”

Amelia was coming after me across the churchyard.

Youre the one in the park with four girls, arent you? she asked.

Thats me and youre always with the three dogs.

Yeah. Um could I have a word? She tucked her hair behind her ear, sounding oddly shy. I watch you with your girls, and all the other mumsand honestly, I admire you lot so much, she saidand went all red.

You?!? I blurted out, nearly saying, But youre supposed to be some heartless, selfish diva! And I thought back to all those times Id seen her glancing our way, thinking she was mocking us.

So thats how we actually met. We sat down together on the nearest bench, and Amelia just opened uptalking and crying, like shed been waiting forever for someone to listen.

Turns out Amelia grew up in a loving, close-knit family, always dreaming of having a houseful of children. She married her first love. But after two pregnancies ended in heartbreak, and doctors delivered the final blowinfertileher devoted husband left without a backward glance.

The second one soon disappeared for the same reason. Before he left, Amelia spent ages seeing specialists, spending every spare pennybut ended up in hospital with a life-threatening ectopic pregnancy.

And then bloke number three showed up. Once again, it ended with a medical emergencybut that time, he legged it the moment he heard baby mentioned. Hed only ever been interested in Amelias new car, her well-paid jobthe thought of actual children wasnt part of his plan.

All I ever wanted was my own little one, she whispered, wiping her eyes.

I always thought you just loved dogs, I said, feeling foolish.

Oh, I do love my dogs, Amelia smiled, but that doesnt mean I dont love kids too.

Her first dog, Willow, joined her when she started feeling too alone. Then a neighbour asked Amelia to take in Max while they did up their kitchen he never left. And Penny, her third dog, Amelia rescued from the side of the road, shivering and hungry one snowy night.

Shes got a kennel, shouldve had a baby instead, I remembered that grandmas dig.

Her clocks ticking Mr. Howard had muttered, watching Amelias back as she walked away.

Ticking it wasAmelia was forty-one, though she barely looked thirty.

So, she decided: if she couldnt have a child herself, shed adopt. She wasnt picky about age or background, just wanted to give someone a loving home. She met six-year-old Charlie at a childrens homeactually, Charlie found her first, ran straight up and asked, Will you be my mum? She said yes without a seconds hesitation.

Shes just selfish, cant be bothered, Karens words echoed in my head.

But authorities wouldnt let Amelia adopt Charlie; his mother, who suffered from schizophrenia, hadnt lost her parental rights. Nothing could be done.

That crushed me, Amelia recalled. He needed a family so badly, but the system wouldnt let me help.

Then she met four-year-old Lily, a whirlwind of a little girl whod been adopted and returned twice alreadysupposedly too much of a handful. Staff whispered about how, the last time, Lily crawled after her second mum, clutching her skirt, begging her not to leave.

When Amelia met her, Lily asked, Are you going to send me back too?” Amelia choked out, Never, sweetheart. Never.

There were complications with Lilys adoption, but Amelia was determined: Shes my daughter. Ill keep fighting.

That day in St. Marks was Amelias first time ever in a church. I just didnt have anywhere else to go, she told me.

The vicar came over, spoke with her for ages, and even scribbled down some numbers for her to call.

Everythings going to be all right. God bless you, he said, and I saw a real smile break across her face as she turned away.

We walked home together after that.

You all probably think Im stuck up, proud, Amelia admitted. Truth is, Ive just got tired of explaining myself. Heard enough nastiness from enough people.

I kept quiet, feeling a bit sheepish.

Amelia invited me and the girls round some timeto meet the dogs and let the kids play. I said Id love tomaybe in a week or so.

Right now Im just honestly ashamed of myself.

I keep thinking: Where does all this nastiness come from? Where did all my judging come from? Why are we so quick to think the worst of someone?

And more than anything, I really hopetruly hopethat things turn out beautifully for Amelia, this incredible woman we all misjudged. I hope Lily throws her arms round her and says, Mummy!knowing shell never be sent away again. And I hope I see Willow, Max, and Penny bouncing around them, tails wagging.

And who knows? Maybe a miracle will happen, and Amelia will meet someone who treats her right, and Lily will get a little brother or sister. That happens sometimes, doesnt it?

And most of all, I really hope no one ever whispers a single nasty word about either of them again.