**A Gift with a Hint of Sorrow**
Natalie and her husband, Gregory, were having dinner in the kitchen. The evening was quiet, the kettle cooling on the stove, and an early autumn breeze drifted through the window. Then, suddenly, the phone rang. Gregory glanced at the screen—an unknown number.
“Wonder who’d call at this hour?” he muttered.
“Answer it and find out,” Natalie smiled, brushing it off.
Gregory stepped into the hallway. When he returned minutes later, his face was pale, his eyes empty, as if he’d seen something beyond comprehension.
“What’s wrong, Greg?” Natalie stood up, alarmed. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
“Natalie… I have a daughter. And I need to bring her home.”
Once, he had another family. Emily, his first wife, had given birth to their little girl, Lily. But within two years, their marriage was crumbling. Emily snapped at him constantly—blaming him for not earning enough, for never being home, for “never helping.”
He tried. For Lily. For their family. Friends suggested Emily might have postnatal depression, that she should see a doctor. But Gregory knew the truth—Emily had always been like this. Only now, it was worse.
She never smiled. Not once. And when she played with Lily, it wasn’t out of love—it was obligation. Every time Gregory saw it, his heart twisted.
When he desperately suggested therapy, Emily exploded.
“What, you think I’m mental?!”
That was the final straw. He filed for divorce. And Emily, out of spite, took Lily away—no forwarding address, no demands for child support. Just gone.
He searched at first. But the memories of their arguments were so painful that eventually, he gave up. He convinced himself Lily was better off with her mother. He had no idea how wrong he was…
Emily never forgave him. Or life. The bitterness inside her poisoned everything—including Lily.
Lily grew up in a house without celebrations, without hugs, without joy. She only learned about birthdays in nursery.
“Mum, it’s Tommy’s birthday today! He got a toy car! Will I get a present?”
“No,” Emily cut in. “I’m the one who gave birth to you. I should be celebrated. Don’t ask stupid questions again.”
They didn’t do Christmas. Laughter was forbidden. Sweets were a luxury. Even cartoons were discouraged. Life was grey, tense, and little Lily secretly dreamed of one thing—buying herself a whole bag of chocolates when she grew up.
Neighbours avoided Emily. No one liked her; they were afraid of her. “There’s something off about her,” they whispered. And they were right.
One day, Emily fell ill. She didn’t trust doctors, so by the time she called an ambulance, it was too late. They took her away, making no promises. Before leaving, she gave a neighbour Gregory’s name and where he lived.
Lily stayed with that woman. Quiet, withdrawn, she didn’t understand her mother wasn’t coming back.
Social services found Gregory quickly. He’d been married to Natalie for six months. When he heard he could bring his daughter home, he didn’t hesitate.
“I’m going. I have to get her,” he told Natalie.
“Of course. I’ll come with you—or stay, if it’s better. But you need to be with her.”
Lily didn’t remember her father. She was afraid—what if he was worse than her mum? But when Gregory walked in, carrying a giant stuffed cat and a bag of chocolates, her eyes lit up.
Sweets. Warmth. Kindness. Her tiny heart decided—no bad person would bring chocolates.
While she played with the toy, the neighbour told Gregory about Emily’s death. His fists clenched. Guilt crushed his chest. *God, why did I give up? Why didn’t I fight harder?*
Within days, the paperwork was done. Lily came home. The next morning at breakfast, Gregory asked,
“Your birthday’s soon. What would you like as a present?”
Lily hesitated.
“I don’t know. I never had presents. We never celebrated…”
His spoon clattered.
“What? Why not?”
“Mum said I didn’t deserve it. That being born wasn’t my achievement.”
Gregory stood abruptly, walking out. Natalie followed. He leaned against the kitchen counter, face in his hands.
“She asked for *chocolates*, Natalie. Just chocolates! Something every kid should have. God, how did I let this happen?”
“Don’t blame yourself. She’s home now. With us,” Natalie whispered, hugging him. “We’ll give her everything she missed.”
A week later, the house was magic. Balloons, fairy lights, the smell of cake. Lily turned seven. She woke up, certain she was dreaming—decorations, candles, people hugging her, laughing. And she laughed back.
For the first time.
At the park, she rode the carousel, ate candyfloss, opened presents. Seven—one for every year without happiness.
In the car, Gregory cried while Natalie rocked Lily to sleep against her shoulder.
“I’ll never let her go,” he said. “She’s my chance to make things right.”
A month later, Lily was running through the house with Natalie, laughing, calling her “Auntie Nat,” helping bake.
Then, one morning at breakfast, she asked,
“Can I call you Mum?”
Natalie nearly dropped her teacup.
“Of course, sweetheart,” she whispered, holding Lily tight.
And in that moment, Gregory knew—his family was whole again. And the house was finally full of light.
