“‘Anna is still young—she’ll have another!’ she promised. In the end, nobody wanted the child.” Anna and Robert grew up together in a quiet English town, attended the same school, and later moved to London in search of jobs and a new life. When Anna became pregnant, Robert left, unprepared for fatherhood. Alone, Anna returned home to raise her baby girl, while Robert’s mother—a well-known figure in the community—spread rumours that the child was not her grandchild, claiming the baby’s features didn’t match the family and insisting Anna was lying. Exhausted by the gossip, Anna agreed to a paternity test, which proved Robert was indeed the father. Instantly, his mother welcomed Anna and the baby, showering them with expensive gifts. But soon, she demanded visitation, threatening legal action when Anna refused to part with her young daughter. Claiming her influence would win her custody, she pressured Anna to give up the child, arguing Anna was young and could become a mother again. The custody battle lasted years. Eventually, when Robert started a new family, his mother lost interest in Anna’s daughter. Anna built a new life in London, leaving her daughter in her mother’s care, but neither Robert’s family nor Anna’s new husband wanted the responsibility. As Anna’s mother grew ill, the once fiercely sought-after child seemed to matter to no one. Meeting Anna’s mother, Robert’s mother would now say: “If you’d just let me raise the girl, she would be speaking French by now! Her mother abandoned her—what will become of her?” Meanwhile, Robert never showed any interest. The girl, for whom everyone once fought, ended up with no one truly wanting her. No one knows what her future will hold.

Author Walton MerrittReading 5 min

Emma is still young, shell have more children! she insisted. In the end, nobody seemed to want the child at all.

Emma and Thomas grew up together in a quiet, provincial English town and attended the same school. After finishing, they went off to university, and, like many, sought their fortune in London. They rented a modest flat, both found work, and lived together, unmarried. When Emma discovered she was expecting, Thomas left her. He had never planned on being a father.

Emma, distraught, decided to return home to raise her child. Thomass mother, a prominent figure in their town, quickly spread word that the baby was not Thomass that the child had nothing to do with their family. Both families lived nearby, making the situation far more complicated.

Plenty of friends were aware of everything that had happened. Emma gave birth to a beautiful little girl. She wasnt bitter toward Thomass family; instead, Emma just wanted peace and the chance to raise her daughter in quiet. Still, Thomass mother persisted, telling everyone that the child could not possibly be her sons.

Look at them! shed say. That childs got blonde hair were all dark-haired. And look at that nose! Nothing like any of us. Were a good-looking family, and shes plain. Clearly, someone elses. They just want to muscle their way into our family. Nasty people, the lot of them!

Fed up with the constant whispers and sideways glances, Emma suggested a paternity test just to placate Thomass mother. Almost at once, everything changed: with the results in, Thomass mother invited Emma over to get to know her granddaughter. She showered the baby with lovely and expensive gifts. For Emma, living off her own mothers small pension, it was an unexpected relief.

A while later, the new grandmother asked if her granddaughter could come stay. Emma refused, explaining the girl was still only a year old much too young to be away from her mum for several days. Thomass mother took offence.

She warned Emma that shed take the matter to court to secure contact with her granddaughter. Moreover, she argued the little girl would be far better off living with her: she had the resources and the means for a proper upbringing. The court, she said, would certainly note that Thomas had a flat and contributed financially (with proof) while Emma was unemployed and single. Besides, Emma was still young surely, she could have more children. The woman advised Emma to give up her daughter willingly, reminding her that all the towns judges knew who held influence. But Emma vowed to fight for her right to be a mother, and so began a drawn-out legal struggle that lasted years.

The child shunned by this influential family soon became their dearest treasure loved, desired, and needed. The relatives pulled out witnesses, followed Emma around, complained, took photographs. Emma was forced to leave and hide for a while; so much went on behind the scenes. But eventually, the situation calmed down. Thomas remarried and had a son. The former grandmothers affections shifted to the new baby. Emmas daughter, now of school age, moved with Emma to London. Yet Emma had to frequently return to her mother and daughter in their hometown. During this time, Emma met a young man. Her mother urged her to try for happiness, promising to take care of the granddaughter for a while. When things settled, Emma would return for her daughter.

Emma married. She and her new husband rented a flat and soon discovered they were expecting a baby. Everything seemed stable except Emma hesitated to bring her daughter back. There was simply no space, and her husband wasnt keen on raising another mans child. Emma convinced herself her daughter would be happier with her granny: she had friends, school, familiarity there. When the baby arrived, thered be no one to look after the girl. This way, her mother had company, and her daughter was cared for.

But the old womans health faltered. Paramedics were called out several times, hospital stays followed. Emmas daughter was left with elderly neighbours. Now, the once-obsessed grandmother showed no interest at all in the girls welfare. Upon seeing Emmas mother, she only smiled icily:

You shouldve listened! If youd handed over the girl, Id have taken good care of her. Shed be learning languages, playing piano, attending the finest schools. And look, her own mother abandoned her. Who will she become? As for me, I have my grandson Ill make sure hes given everything: the top schools, the best opportunities.

Thomas never took an interest in his daughter. In the end, after all the battles and drama, it seemed the girl nobody wanted was left with no one to want her. Who knows what kind of future awaits her?

As I reflect on all this, I realise people often fight hard for things just to later cast them aside. You cant force love or responsibility they have to grow from within. Its made me determined not to leave people behind, and to shape a life where my commitments are truly worth something.

I’m 41 and the house I live in once belonged to my grandparents. After they passed, my mum stayed here, and when she was gone, the home was left in my name. It’s always been a quiet, tidy, and peaceful place. I work all day and come home alone. Never did I imagine that all of this could be turned upside down by a decision I made “just to help someone.” Two years ago, a distant cousin rang me in tears. She was splitting up, had a little boy, and nowhere else to go. She asked if she could stay with me “just for a few months” until she got on her feet. I agreed—she was family, and I thought it wouldn’t really affect me. At first, it was fine—she took one room, chipped in a bit towards bills, headed out early for work. Her son stayed with a neighbour during the day. Everything was OK. After three months she quit her job, saying it was temporary and that she was looking for something better. She started staying home all day. The little boy didn’t go to the neighbour anymore—he was always here. The house began to change: toys everywhere, noise, unexpected guests. I’d come home exhausted only to find strangers sitting in my living room. When I asked her to give me a heads-up, she said I was overreacting and that “this is her home too, now.” Soon she stopped contributing to bills—first, she said, she couldn’t manage, then she’d “catch up later.” I paid for everything: bills, food, repairs. One day I came back to find she’d rearranged all the furniture to make it “cosier”—without asking. When I protested, she was offended and said I was cold and didn’t know what it meant to live as a family. It got even more tense when she started inviting her ex round—the very man she claimed she was escaping. He’d come by in the evening, stay the night, use the bathroom, eat our food. One day I caught him coming out of my room, having “just grabbed his jacket” without asking. That’s when I said things couldn’t go on like this—there had to be boundaries. She started crying, shouting, reminding me I took her in when she had nowhere to go. Six months ago, I tried to set a deadline for her to move out. She said she couldn’t—she had no money, her son was at school nearby, and how could I throw her out? Now I feel trapped. My home isn’t mine any more. I sneak in quietly so I don’t wake the child, eat dinner in my room to avoid arguments, and spend more time outside than in. I still live here, but it no longer feels like home. She acts like she owns the place—I pay for everything, yet I’m called selfish if I ask for some order. I really need advice.

I’m 46, and from the outside, anyone looking at my life would say everything is just fine. I got married young—at 24—to a hardworking, reliable man. Had two children in quick succession—at 26 and 28. I left university because schedules didn’t match, the kids were small, and “there would be time later.” There were never any big arguments or drama. Everything went the way it “should.” For years, my daily routine stayed the same. I’d get up before everyone, make breakfast, leave the house tidy, then head to work. I came home on time, finished chores, cooked, washed, tidied up. Weekends were for family gatherings, birthday parties, obligations. I was always there, always responsible. If something needed doing, I sorted it out. If someone needed something, I provided it. I never asked myself if I wanted anything different. My husband was never a bad man. We had dinner, watched TV, went to bed. He wasn’t particularly affectionate, nor was he cold. He didn’t want much, but didn’t complain either. Our conversations revolved around bills, kids, and chores. Then, on an ordinary Tuesday, I sat in the living room in silence and realised I had nothing to do—not because everything was fine, but because at that moment, no one needed me. I looked around and understood that, for years, I’d held this home together, yet now had no idea what to do with myself in it. That day, I opened a drawer of old papers and found unused diplomas, unfinished courses, notebook ideas, projects left “for later.” I looked through photos from when I was young—before I was a wife, before I was a mum, before I became the fixer of everything. I didn’t feel nostalgic. I felt something worse: the sense that I’d achieved everything without asking myself if it’s what I wanted. I began to notice things I always accepted as normal. No one asked how I was. Even when I came home exhausted, I was the one to solve things. If my husband didn’t want to go to a family gathering, that was fine, but if I didn’t want to go, it was still expected that I would. My opinion existed, but didn’t hold much weight. There were no rows or drama, but there was also no space for me. One night at dinner, I mentioned wanting to resume my studies or try something different. My husband looked puzzled and said, “Why now?” It wasn’t said unkindly. He just couldn’t understand why something that had always worked needed to change. The children said nothing. Nobody argued. No one forbade me. Yet I saw that my role was so clearly set that stepping outside it was uncomfortable. I’m still married. I haven’t left, packed my bags, or made drastic decisions. But I’m no longer fooling myself. I know now that for over twenty years, I’ve lived to keep a structure going where I was needed, but never the main character. How do you rebuild yourself after something like that?

I’m 41 and the house I live in belonged to my grandparents. After they passed away, my mum stayed here, and when she was gone, the house was left to me. It’s always been a quiet, tidy, and peaceful place. I work all day and come home to an empty house. I never imagined that would change because of a choice I made “to help someone out”. Two years ago, a distant cousin called me in tears. She’d split up with her partner, had a young son, and nowhere to go. She asked if she could stay for “a few months” until she got back on her feet. I agreed — she was family, and I thought it wouldn’t affect me much. At first, everything was fine: she took one room, helped with the bills, and was out early each morning for work. Her son stayed with a neighbour. No problems. After three months, she quit her job. She said it was temporary, that she was looking for something better. She started spending all day in the house. Her son stopped going to the neighbour and stayed here instead. The place began to change — toys everywhere, noise, and unexpected visitors. I’d come home exhausted to find strangers sitting in my living room. When I asked her to give me a heads-up, she said I was overreacting and that “this is her home now too”. Eventually, she stopped contributing financially. First it was “just for now”, then she promised to pay me back. I ended up paying for everything: bills, groceries, repairs. One day I came home to find she’d rearranged the furniture “to make it cosier” — she hadn’t asked. When I expressed my annoyance, she got offended and told me I was cold, that I didn’t understand what it meant to live like a family. Things became even more tense when she started having her ex over — the man she claimed she’d left. He would come around in the evenings, stay the night, use the shower, eat the food. One day I found him coming out of my bedroom — he’d borrowed “a jacket”, apparently without asking. That’s when I told her enough was enough — there had to be boundaries. She started crying and shouting, reminding me I’d taken her in when she had nothing. Six months ago, I tried to set a deadline for her to move out. She said she couldn’t — no money, her son’s school nearby, how could I throw her out? I feel trapped. My home doesn’t feel like mine anymore. I come in quietly so I don’t wake the child, eat dinner in my room to avoid rows, and spend more time out than in. I still live here, but it no longer feels like home. She acts as if the house is hers. I pay for everything, yet I’m called selfish whenever I ask for order. I desperately need advice.