Emily Taylor

So, it’s always just been me and my boy, Oliver. His dad walked out when Ollie was barely three—no note

**A Cold December Day at Wetherby High** The canteen hummed with the usual midday noise—trays clattering

It was a drizzly Tuesday morning, the kind that makes the world seem a little duller than usual.

It’s always just been us—me and my boy. His father vanished when Alfie was barely four. No note, no farewell

**Childhood Grudges** Emma spread the porridge onto the plates, drawing a silly face with jam in her son’s.

I was sitting across from my daughter at this lovely little café in London, watching her face glow in

Childhood Hurts Emily spread the porridge onto plates, drawing a funny face in jam on her son’s portion.

Once upon a time, in a tumbledown cottage at the edge of a sleepy Yorkshire village, a young woman appeared

So, I was sitting across from my daughter at this cute little café in London, watching her face glow

I can’t stand late-night phone calls. Decent people don’t ring at such an hour unless something truly