Eleanor stands frozen as Thomas walks out, abandoning her with baby Amelia asleep in her arms. An hour passes before she finally pulls away from the window overlooking the street, still unable to grasp it. Only hours ago, her husband Thomas came home from work. Busy in the kitchen, Eleanor waited for him, but he never joined her. Finding him packing a bag in the front room stopped her cold.
“Where are you going?” she asks, bewildered.
“I’m leaving. Leaving you for the woman I love.”
“Thomas, you’re joking? Something happened at work? A trip?”
“For heaven’s sake, listen! I’m sick of you. All you think about is Amelia, you don’t see me anymore, don’t take care of yourself.”
“Don’t shout, you’ll wake Amelia.”
“See! Again, it’s only Amelia! Your husband walks out, and you…”
“A real man wouldn’t abandon his wife and little girl,” Eleanor whispers, turning away to her daughter.
She knows his temper. Continuing this talk meant shouting, and tears already pricked her eyes. She scoops Amelia from her cot and retreats to the kitchen – Thomas won’t follow; nothing of his is there. She watches silently through the window as he climbs into his car and drives away. He doesn’t look back, yet Eleanor stays rooted to the spot. Hoping, perhaps, his car will reappear and he’ll call it a stupid joke. It doesn’t happen.
Sleep eludes Eleanor all night. She has no one to call about this crisis. Her mother wrote her off long ago, pleased only that she married and promptly forgot about her. Sophie always seemed to have only one child – Eleanor’s younger brother. She has mum-friends, likely asleep now. What could they do anyway? Eleanor drifts off near dawn. She tries phoning Thomas; he rejects the call and texts back: “Don’t bother me again.”
Amelia chooses that moment to fuss. Eleanor goes to her. She can’t crumble now. He’s gone. Fine. She has her daughter to care for. She must figure out how to live. Checking her purse and bank balance brings despair. Even if the landlady delays the rent for five days until her benefits come, she won’t have enough. Food is needed too. Remote work might help, but Thomas took his laptop. Eleanor has two weeks left in the flat to find a solution. Fast.
But after ringing all her contacts, she sees it’s futile. No job will take her with a baby. Even washing floors requires someone to watch Amelia for an hour or two. She has no one. Moving wouldn’t help; their flat is cheap. Her parents’ home is the only option, yet she married late while her brother married early. He lives with Mum, his wife, and their twin toddlers – five people crammed into a two-bed home. Adding Eleanor and Amelia? Impossible.
Eleanor tells her landlady she’ll vacate when the rent runs out. Restless, she considers hostel rooms she’s viewed, but the neighbours there are dreadful. She texts Thomas pleading financial help for Amelia; he doesn’t reply. Probably blocked her. With five days left, Eleanor starts packing boxes, needing something to do. The doorbell rings.
Opening the door stuns her. Standing there is Eleanor Beaumont – her mother-in-law. *Are things even worse now?* Eleanor thinks, stepping aside to let her in.
Her relationship with Eleanor Beaumont was always strained – polite smiles hiding mutual resentment. The future mother-in-law made her dislike clear at their first meeting, thinking Thomas could have done better. Eleanor instantly refused living together; it wouldn’t work. They rented instead. Visits were tense: “Eleanor, have you dusted *anywhere*?” The food Eleanor cooked? Beaumont declared it “fit for pigs.” The sniping eased slightly during Eleanor’s pregnancy. But after Amelia’s birth, Beaumont declared, “Not our stock,” demanding a paternity test.
Only when Amelia was six months old did Beaumont start seeing family features and occasionally hold her. Thomas tried soothing Eleanor, explaining his mother raised him alone, had a jealous streak, begged patience. Eleanor longed for help sometimes but never asked Beaumont. Now the woman stands in her hallway, right after Thomas left, likely to gloat. Eleanor is beyond caring.
Beaumont’s voice snaps her focus.
“Right, pack quickly. You and Amelia aren’t staying here.” Beaumont commands.
“Eleanor Beaumont? I’m sorry, I don’t follow?”
“Pack, I said. You’re coming to mine.”
“To yours?”
“And where were you planning to go? To your mum’s sardine tin?”
“You… you know everything?”
“‘Course I know. Wish I knew sooner. The great lump told me today. I’ve a three-bed house. Room enough.”
Eleanor has no choice. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Arriving at Beaumont’s house frightens her at first. Beaumont shows her a room for her and Amelia. Later, once unpacked and Amelia asleep, Eleanor hesitantly enters the kitchen.
“Eleanor,” Beaumont says, “I know our relationship was… difficult. Try to understand. Forgive me, if you can.”
“Eleanor Beaumont, you just wanted the best for your son.”
“Best!” Beaumont interrupts sharply. “I was selfish. He phoned me today, told me everything. Forgive me too for raising such a son. Where did I fail? His father walked out when Thomas was three months old. He *knows* how hard it is for mothers alone! Yet he copies his father’s mistake. Stay here as long as you need.”
Eleanor couldn’t have imagined this support. Words fail her; silent tears fall onto the table.
“And don’t cry,” Beaumont says briskly.
“I won’t. They’re grateful tears.”
“Don’t need those either. Consider it… settling debts. No fear; we’ll manage. Roof over our heads. When you get work, I’ll watch Amelia.”
After that day, they become inseparable. Beaumont’s sharp edges still show sometimes, but she catches herself, offering gentle advice now instead of barks and orders.
Today is Amelia’s first birthday. Mum and Nana deck the front room with balloons. An apple cake sits fragrant on the table. Spotting the balloons, Amelia toddles towards them.
“Ellie, look! Her first steps!” Beaumont exclaims, beaming.
They scoop up the birthday girl after she plops down, deciding steps are enough for one day. As they settle at the table, the doorbell rings. Beaumont answers. The last person she expects sees Thomas.
“Hi Mum,” Thomas says casually, stepping inside with a young woman.
“And hello, son. What brings you?”
“Can’t I just visit?”
“You’ve been silent five months. Something’s up?”
“Mum, understand… rents are sky-high. Me and Angela thought we’d stay here.”
“With Angela? Who’s this?”
“Well, Mum…”
“Know what? No room. I’m not alone anymore.”
“Found yourself a toyboy?”
“Even if I had, it’s none of your business. Mind your mouth.”
Thomas pushes further inside and sees his ex-wife and daughter at the birthday table amid the balloons.
“Son, you’re not welcome,” Beaumont states firmly. “We have plans.”
“And *she’s* here?”
“That ‘she,’ as you put it, is still your lawful wife. Final divorce hearing’s tomorrow – which you’ll skip, no doubt. Today? Your daughter’s first birthday. Clearly forgot.”
“Thought we were divorced already? Birthday… Is she even mine?”
“Wouldn’t be happening if you bothered visiting,” Beaumont retorts coldly. “Irrelevant. Eleanor and my granddaughter live here. Traitors don’t. Doubt paternity? Skip
Valentina smiled as little Katya and baby Daniel played at her feet, knowing her heart had plenty of room for whatever blessings their future held.
