“You’re careless, Mum. Go breed somewhere else.”
Emily was just seventeen when she married Daniel. Straight out of school, and within a month she was wearing a wedding ring and her belly swelled so quickly that neighbours whisperedmustve been a shotgun, oh, definitely a shotgun.
She gave birth to a daughter, named her Lily, and moved into Daniels mothers flat. Although her mother-in-law Margaret lived in another flat just two bus stops away, she still felt it her duty to oversee every aspect of the young couples life. Margarets flat was big, three bedrooms, high ceilings, old furniture shed bought decades ago, and Emily always felt like a visitor whod popped in for tea, only to stay for years.
Emily delighted in caring for Lily. Nappies, babygrows, sleepless nights, first tooth, first step, first wordMum. That one little word melted Emilys heart beyond words. But Lily was being raised not just by her mother but also by Grandma Margaret, who came over near daily, and Aunt Phillipa, Daniels sister, who lived in the small box room by the kitchen. Phillipa was five years older, always seemed prim and severe, her hair in a rigid bun, nose perpetually wrinkled as if she smelt something off. Both Margaret and Phillipa were rigidly proper, principledthe sort who knew how to live, raise children, make stew, launder whites, and lecture husbands.
“Emily, why do you let Dan go off with his mates to the pub?” Margaret would ask, lips pursed. “My late husband God rest him, always came straight home after work. I made it a strict rulefamily comes first.”
Emily would say nothing; there was no point arguing. Margaret could squash any disagreement with a single look. And then Phillipa would chip in:
“Just make sure Lily’s on track, Emily. I brought her some books, very age-appropriate. Kids these days get wild. All down to what mums let them get away with.”
So Emily tried, and Lily read those books, went with Grandma to museums, had English lessons with a tutor Margaret arranged. All in all, she was a model girlclever, solemn, the image of her grandmother at that age, neighbours would say.
Daniel was quiet, unremarkable, worked as an engineer at the factory. After work, he enjoyed a pint and a bit of football on the telly. Emily loved him in that well-worn way that comes after a decade togetherwhen all the fights have been fought, all the hurts hurled, and there’s no need to pretend anymore. Dan loved Emily, too, though his affection was clumsybringing her tea in bed, frying eggs before she even woke up.
Margaret treated her son with chilly protectiveness, as if he were a child whod never properly grown up, and often told Emily straight out:
“Daniel, you really ought to grow a bit of backbone. You go about like a ghost. Your wife looks at you and she cant tell if youre a man or a little boy.”
Daniel would only slump further, silent. But in the dark, Emily would stroke his hair and whisper, “Ignore them. Youre goodthe best there is.” Hed say nothing, only give a long, heavy sigh before drifting off. Emily lay awake, staring at the ceiling, chewing over how you can love a person without being able to protect himnot even from his own mother. Because youre afraid. Because the flat isnt yours. Because youre a guest that never quite belonged.
When Lily was thirteen, Margaret fell terribly ill. Pancreatic cancer. When she found out, Margaret didnt cry. She simply pressed her lips tighter and went to see the solicitor to write her will. Divided her things as she saw fit: the two-bed city centre flat she kept for herself would go to Phillipa, and the three-bed, where Emily and Daniel and Lily lived, would go to Daniel. Fair and square, she called iteveryone with a roof, no bad blood.
But then, the unimaginable. Three weeks after Margaret wrote her will, Daniel left the factory, made for the bus stop, and was hit by a car on the crossing. The driver, a young woman in a BMW, had been distractedthats what the report would say. Emily found out from Phillipa, who phoned in tears, voice trembling:
“Emily, Dans gone. Accident, the ambulance came, but it was too late. You need to come for the identification.”
Emily had no memory of how she reached the coroner, how she looked at her husbands face, how she signed the forms, how she went home and stared blankly out the window the entire journey. Lily was with her grandmother that night, and Emily entered an empty flat. She sat on the sofa, not sleeping a wink till dawn.
Margaret survived her son by two months. The doctors said the illness accelerated, the chemo failed, her body couldnt take it. Yet Emily believed it was heartbreakMargaret had lost what shed most loved, the only son shed shaped and criticised but never stopped mothering. After Daniels death, something broke in that ironclad woman. She faded, became a shrunken wraith, staring into space from her hospital bed.
One day, close to the end, Margaret summoned the solicitor again. This time, she left the three-bed flat to Lily.
“For Lily,” the stricken woman whispered to Phillipa at her bedside. “Youll get yours as agreed, Phillipa. Look after Lilydont let her go astray like her mother. Emilys a decent girl, but shes weak. Lily needs a firm hand.”
Phillipa nodded, her face unmovedher mothers daughter, rigid to the core.
Emily was left alone with Lily in that flat, which on paper belonged to Lily, though at fourteen Lily needed a legal guardianso fundamentally, nothing changed. At first, Emily couldnt think about it at all. Life battered herjobs, bills, parenting, all that she and Daniel used to carry together.
Five years drifted by: work, strain, a relentless scramble for money. Emily wanted Lily to have the same as other kidsnice clothes, a decent phone, extra tuition. She never complained, she didn’t know how; she simply got on with it. When Lily earned a place on a scholarship at a prestigious university, Emily wept with happinessit was worth it. All her efforts had paid off. Her daughter had become clever, accomplished, and now had a bright future. Lily was already earning on the side, doing translationsher English was flawless thanks to all those lessons grandma and aunt insisted on.
Then, just as things were finally settling, Emily met Peter. It happened by chance on the bus; he helped her with a heavy bag, they started chatting. He worked in the next building, was thirteen years her senior, and had two grown children. His wife had been in a wheelchair for five years after a stroke. Peter looked after her.
“Im not a hero,” he told Emily on their third meeting, as they sat in the park and he held her hand. “I just cant leave her. So many years, she gave me my children. But I stopped really living a long time agoforgot how to hope or be glad. Until you.”
Emily understood. She was thirty-eight, no longer believing in fairy tales or knights in shining armour. At this age you take whats given.
She didnt confess to Lily straight away, making up excuses for her absences, pretending she was working late or visiting a friend. But Lily was perceptive; she noticed the warmth in her mothers smile, the new dress bought especially for meeting Peter. One day, fixing Emily with a steady gaze, Lily asked outright:
“Mum, is there someone? Youre spending money on yourself, new dress, perfume. Tell me.”
Emily blushed furiously, just like a teenager. She told Lily everythingabout Peter, his disabled wife, and that she truly loved him.
Lily listened, her face becoming harder, colder by the minute. When Emily finished, Lily spoke levelly, voice chillingly matureEmily had only heard such tones from Margaret.
“Mum, do you realise what youre saying? Youre talking about another womans husband. The same woman who raised me to know right from wrong is lurking around with married men? Can you hear yourself?”
“You dont understand” Emily began, but Lily cut her off:
“I do understand. Youre lonely, you want affection. Im not clueless. But there are lines, Mum. Married men are off-limits. Youre not eighteen to get mixed up in such nonsense.”
Emily felt wounded, even cried, but wrote it off as youthful black-and-white thinking. Lily saw only right and wrong, no shades between.
She kept seeing Peter discreetlyin his friends cottage out in the countryside, or in a flat Peter rented by the day through a mate in lettings. Emily knew it wasnt some fairytale, but she was grateful for every moment.
“I sometimes feel,” Peter would murmur as they lay in the dim flat, “like I dont deserve any of this. You, happiness. I sit by my wifes bed, think about you, feel like a traitor. Is that vile?”
“It is,” Emily agreedshe wouldnt lie to him. “But I still wait for you. Who am I to judge?”
“Youre good,” hed say, kissing her shoulder. “The very best. Ill never leave you, I promise. Whatever happens.”
And Emily believed himbecause after five years of solitude, unending work, the dread that she was always dragging a heavy burden alone, she needed that hope, that faith that someone would actually stay and say “Youre wonderful, Im here.”
When Emily realised she was pregnant, it knocked the ground from under her feet. At first, disbeliefthree tests, all positive. She went to the surgery, gave blood. The GP told her with clinical indifference, “Pregnant, early term, six weeks, embryonic heartbeat fine.” Emily left, sat on a bench outside, and weptfrom hope, fear, joy, terror, all mixed up.
Telling Peter terrified her. For days she rehearsed what he might saysurprised, shocked, happy? Or frightened, evasive? He already had grown children, a sick wife, a life beset with responsibilities. She knew he wouldnt abandon her, but that didnt mean he would want the baby. Not because he was bad, but because he was scaredscared of change, of extra responsibility, of his children, his disabled wife, everyone elses lives being thrown into chaos.
But the conversation with Lily filled her with more dread. She put it off, waited for the right moment, but it never came. Eventually, she couldnt delay. One evening, when Lily returned from Aunt Phillipas, Emily sat her down at the kitchen table.
“Lily, I need to tell you something. Im pregnant.”
Lily froze, cup in hand.
“By someone elses husband?” she whispered.
“By Peter. Hes the father.”
“I knew it,” Lily gave a bitter, twisted half-smile. “Mum, are you mad? Youre thirty-eight, working two jobs, I only just got my scholarship and now youyou decide to have another child? With a man who cant leave his disabled wife and offers you nothing?”
“Please, Lily, dont” Emilys voice broke.
“Its your life, your baby. Im not giving you permission.”
“Im not asking,” Emily tried.
“Good. Because, in this flatmy flatI wont have you breeding and bringing more children here. Its my flat. Grandma left it to me, not you.”
Emily felt the blood drain from her face. She looked at Lilythe girl shed raised since she was eighteen, taken to school and ballet and English tutors, worked endless jobs for, denied herself everythingshe could not recognise her daughter. Before her stood a stranger, with Margarets face and Phillipas voice, always judging Emily an outsider in their proper family.
“Lily, what are you saying?” Emilys hands shook as she stood, bracing herself against the table. “This is our home, weve lived here so long, I raised you here, I”
“You lived here because Dad was alive,” Lily cut in, cold as ice. “If hed lived, if Grandma hadnt taken pitybecause I was small, because you had to raise meyoud be gone. But the flat always belonged to me, Mum. You get that, dont you? Mine. Im not cruel, I wont throw you out. Youre my mum. Youll always have a roof here. But not to give birth, not to move in your married menno more of that, not in my home. If you want a family, go to your childs father and get him to sort you out with a home.”
“How can you?” Emilys tears spilled over. “I had you so young…”
“You had me at eighteen because you didnt think of consequences,” Lily said flatly. “Now, again. With a man whose wife is bedridden. What are you going to do if he gets scared and runs? Youll be a single mum at nearly forty, not eighteen, already worn down. Dont expect my help. I have my own life now. My studies.”
“You dont want to help your own family?” Emilys pain was tangible, so raw that even Lily looked away for a second. “Youre my only child, Lily; I thought we were family, that youd be happy, that youd have a sibling”
“Happy?” Lily laughed sharply, but her laugh was cruel. “Youre mad. Whos going to raise him or her? You? Youre always working, youll put the baby into nursery at a year old, it’ll grow up wild and Ill be left picking up the pieces. Not happening. Im not responsible for your recklessness. I dont have the right to dictate your choices with your body. But dont tell me this is about family. This is about a man. Im not cleaning up your mess.”
“Youre just like your aunt and grandma now,” Emily choked. “Always so right, so principled. MeIm nothing. Just a hanger-on in your flat.”
“Dont,” Lily winced as if slapped. “Dont make me the villain. I love you, youre my mum, Ill never kick you out. But youll live herealone. No more men, no more babies. My home, my rules. Want a childhave one, but not in my home. I dont want other peoples children around.”
“Other peoples?” Emily grabbed her chest, thinking her heart might stop. “How is it other? This would be your sibling, your blood! Lily, please!”
“No,” Lilys voice quivered for the first time, tears in her eyes. Real or notEmily didnt know. “No, Mum. Thats your child, not mine. I dont want to be a babysitter, I dont want nappies, I dont want my flat to become a playroom. Ive just started my lifeIm at uni, I want to work.”
Emily sat down heavily. She looked at her daughterarms folded, lips tight, just like Margaret and Phillipa, those women so sure of themselves, always reminding Emily she was merely tolerated.
“If your dad had outlived Grandma by two months…” Emily whispered, bitterness thick in her voice. “Half this flat wouldve been mine by law. Im his wifehis first inheritor. If Grandma hadnt changed her will…”
“But she did,” Lily cut in, hard as flint. “She left it as she saw fit. She knew you were irresponsible, cant manage money, cant manage life. Pregnant at eighteen, pregnant at thirty-eight. If youd had this flat, youd have lost it, like everything else. Grandma trusted me. And I wont let her down.”
“You already have become her,” Emily murmured, feeling something inside snap. The last thread connecting her to Lilygone. “Youre Margaret now. And youre right. Im nobody under your roof. Here only as long as you allow.”
“Mum, please, drop the melodrama,” Lily sighed like a tired, middle-aged woman. “No one thinks youre a hanger-on. But you have to know, its my life, too. I wont adapt for your mistakes. I wont help, wont play nanny, wont split my flat. Youre an adult, you make your own path. Go to Peter, let him provide. Hes the dadhe should answer for you.”
“He cant,” the words slipped out before Emily could catch them.
“See,” Lilys smile was Margarets all over again, so much that Emily shut her eyes. “You know youve tied yourself to a man who has nothing to give. No home, no family, no future. And you want me to pick up the slack? No, Mum. No thanks.”
“Im not asking you to mind the baby,” Emily whispered. “Just to understand, supportnot throw us into the street.”
“You can always stay here,” Lily repeated. “Alone. If you have this baby, youll need to find somewhere else. Im giving you timefind options before the birth. But once the babys here, he or she isnt living with me. I wont let your choices destroy my studies, my plans.”
Emily got up, padded into her room, closed the door, curled up on the bed like a child herself.
Something broke inside her, the invisible cord thats never supposed to snap, not even when your child grows up and becomes an adult. It snapped, and in its place was a black void sucking down everythingmemories of Lilys first step, first tooth, first word, watching cartoons together, a little five-year-old girl whispering, “Mummy, I love you best of all.”
“Im not a mistake,” Emily murmured into her pillow, but her voice was so soft even she barely heard it. “Im not a mistake. Im your mother.”
But behind the wall the TV thunderedLily had cranked up the volume, ending the conversation. She had said all she needed, and now life went on, undisturbed.
In the darkness, Emily reached for her phone almost mechanically. She dialled Peter. He answered quick, not asleep, watching over his wife.
“Peter,” Emily said dully, “Im pregnant. I need somewhere to live. Can you provide? A flat, money, so I dont have to work for at least the first year. Be honest.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath. Then Peter spoke hurriedly, all apologies, like a schoolboy:
“Em, please You know my situation. My wife needs memeds, carers, I barely scrape by. The kids help, but lifes expensive. Id love to, but I cant leave her, you know that. Renting a flatthatll cost, and you wouldnt be able to work I cant swing it, Emily, truly I cant. I wont abandon you, Ill do what little I can, but littles all I can manage…”
“Little,” Emily echoed. “I see.”
“Emily, please, lets meet up, talk it out calmly, find a way”
She ended the call, didnt even say goodbye. Set the phone down, shut her eyes, and lay motionless till dawn, listening to the humming fridge, a distant bark of someones dog. When the world paled outside she got dressed quietly, took her passport and NHS card, and slipped out.
She waited in the surgery for nearly two hours on the hard plastic chair, staring into space, without a single tear. When at last the GPsame one whod told her about the pregnancy a week earlierasked, “Shall I register you for antenatal care?”
Emily answered, voice perfectly calm: “No. Id like an abortion.”
The GP only sighed, wrote down the referral. Emily stepped out, breathed in sharp chilled air, so cold it hurt her lungs. And standing on those stone steps, she finally weptface buried in her handswhile all around the city women trundled prams or walked with full bellies, and not one of them spared her a glance.
