Borrowed Happiness Anna was tending to her garden plot—a rare, early spring in England this year, with March not yet out but all the snow already melted. She knew the cold would return, but for now the sun was warm enough to coax her outside, propping up the sagging fence and patching the wood shed. She made plans—she’d get some chickens, maybe a piglet, a dog and a cat. Enough, she laughed to herself. She’d done her wandering, her playing. It was time to dig over the garden, to feel the earth like when she was a girl—shoes off, running barefoot across freshly turned, warm, soft soil. “We’ll go on living yet,” Anna said aloud, to no one in particular. “Excuse me?” Anna started. By the gate, a slight girl stood—mid-teens at most. She wore a plain grey coat, the sort Anna knew was given out at the local vocational colleges, flimsy shoes, tights too thin for the weather. “Far too early for those,” Anna thought, “She’ll catch her death. Those shoes barely have soles—rubbish.” The girl picked at the ground with her toes. “Hello,” Anna called, curtly. “Sorry, could I use your loo?” “Ah—go on, then. Straight ahead and round the corner.” Anna watched her scurry off. “Thank you! You’ve saved me. I’m looking for a room to rent—you don’t happen to have one, do you?” Anna blinked. “I wasn’t planning on it. Why do you need one?” “I wanted somewhere quiet, not a hostel. It’s wild there—boys everywhere, drinking and smoking.” “And what could you pay?” “Five quid a week. That’s all I’ve got.” “Come in, then. Go on.” “Can I use the toilet again, just quickly?” “Go ahead…” “What’s your name?” Anna asked, ushering her in. “Ollie,” squeaked the girl. “Well then, Ollie. What brings you here, really?” Anna said, fixing her in place with her gaze. “I… I just want a room…” “Don’t fib to me. Who sent you?” “No one. I came myself. You—are you Anna Samuels?” “That’s me, yes…” “You don’t recognise me, do you, Mum? It’s me, Ollie. Your daughter.” Anna sat ramrod-straight, her weathered face unmoving. “Ollie… my girl… Ollie…” “Yes, Mum! It’s me. Back at the care home, they never let me have your address—said it wasn’t allowed. But my teacher, Miss Stevens, helped. We found your name, and then your address—and here I am.” Anna sat in silence, tears streaking her cheeks. “Ollie, my girl… my little one…” “Mum, oh Mum,” Ollie sobbed, flinging her arms around Anna’s neck, “I searched for you so long, Mum. I wrote letters—they laughed, said you’d just abandoned me, gave me away. But I believed in you, Mum. I always believed.” Anna embraced her, rough hands holding tight to Ollie’s chunky-knit jumper—her girl, her daughter, her Ollie. For a long time, they just sat, neither wanting to break the spell. Later, Anna, recalling her Nan’s wisdom and her own hard years, bustled around—boiling water, steeping fennel, fussing over her foundling beauty. Ollie. Daughter. Life’s new purpose. She had a reason to live, a reason after all. God had pitied her. She wasn’t lost… The garden, a piglet, a new coat. There was money put aside. She’d thought she was ready for the end, but here was her daughter—her Ollie. *** “Mum?” “Mmm?” “Mum… I’m in love.” “Well now!” “He’s called Jack—he’s wonderful. He wants to meet you…” “I… I don’t know…” Anna thought—so soon, the happy days are over. What’s given is taken, too. “Mum, what’s wrong?” “Nothing, my love. You’ve grown up so fast… I didn’t get enough time. Forgive me, Ollie.” “Mum! You mustn’t… You’re my mum, you know how much I love you, how long I searched… We’ll give you grandkids, Mum. You’re my mum, always.” Jack was sturdy, kind, dependable—a country lad. Anna approved. Times were hard—some went hungry while others’ dogs ate better than people. But Anna, Ollie, and Jack managed. Anna sewed well; when the factory closed, she joined a co-op, got on fine, dressed her girl and son-in-law as though they were royal. Jack was indefatigable—raised a fence, fixed the house, mended the shed. The little cottage thrummed with life, singing even more than when Ollie returned. Anna’s heart melted, thawed. At last, she wanted to live for real, to make up for lost and shameful years. Some nights, the old pain still caught her unawares… “Mum, are you alright? Does it hurt?” “No, sweetheart. Go to sleep, my darling.” “Mum, can I stay here with you?” “Of course,” Anna moved, making space so her daughter could nestle in beside her. Her little girl. Her heart near burst with love. So this was maternal love. Thank you, God, she thought. They had a wedding. The young couple stayed on. Anna blossomed, cheeks apple-pink, so even her workmates said she was all smiles now—Anna Samuels, of all people. “A grandchild, I reckon!” she whispered at lunch, anxious. “A lucky girl, that Ollie—Mum adores her.” A grandson was born—Anthony, named for Anna’s own mum. “A strict woman, but fair,” Anna would say, laughing, “What a little darling—I can hardly stand it!” She’d never held a newborn since Ollie, not in all those years. Holding Anthony, her heart drummed in her head—this was it: happiness. Life revolved around Anthony. The best and brightest. He wouldn’t budge from his granny. Jack built on, made the house big, gave Anna her own place in it—how could they do without her? He and his brothers started up a building firm. They even opened a hardware shop. Then—a new joy—a girl, Mary. Anna made her dresses, kitted her out pretty as a princess. Children’s laughter rang through the house. Things were good. Except the burning in Anna’s chest grew more frequent. “Mum, my darling, why didn’t you say anything? Where does it hurt?” “All’s fine, sweetheart, all’s well…” *** “…I’m sorry. We did everything we could.” “Doctor… That was my mother…” “I know. I’m very sorry.” *** “Ollie, love… It’s time. Forgive me. I lasted longer than you all expected. But you saved me, all those years ago. “Mum, please…” “Listen, darling… It’s heavy to say, but—I’m not really your mother. Sorry…” “Mum! Never say that, to anyone. You’re my mum. My only mum. Do you hear me?” “Yes, sweetheart. I hear you. There’s a diary, on my shelf. Forgive me, Ollie. I love you.” “I love you, too, Mum… Mum…” *** “Have something to eat, Ollie…” “Yes, Jack… In a minute… Go on without me.” Ollie sat in her mum’s room, reading her—her mother’s—notebook. There was her life, Anna’s: tough, ugly and, sometimes, happy. Her mum had been strict—Tony, a war widow, strict but fair. Anna, Annie, Annie-flower. She’d loved a wrong-un—life wild and reckless. Ended up with nothing in the end. No child, nothing but the old cottage. Doctors said to wait—it could go either way. She found faith, went to church, hoped. Then, a miracle. She’d thought: at least let me try, let me feel what it is to be a mum. She became Ollie’s mum, moved heaven and earth to make it true. Didn’t believe she deserved it, not until the end. Forgive me, dear God, for my theft—let me live to see my grandchildren, help my girl… She’d worried at first—that Ollie would discover the truth: a bureaucratic mix-up, not her birth mother. But fear faded. She just lived—a plain, English life. Believed at last: I’m worthy. Forgive me, my darling, for stealing you from your real mother. This is my stolen happiness… *** “Mum,” Ollie wept at the beautiful grave, “my dearest Mum. I hope you can hear me. I knew, I nearly always knew. They told me—my real Mum, Anne, Ivanova, I found her out of curiosity. She wanted nothing to do with me after all. You’re my real mum, and I thank God for that each day.” *** “Granny, was Granny Anna kind?” “The kindest, darling.” “And beautiful?” “The most beautiful. That’s why you’re called Anna too.” “Really? Was that your dad’s or your mum’s idea?” “Maybe both, darling. Your dad loved his Granny.” “Can she see me?” “Of course—she’s always watching, always helping.” “I love you, Great-Granny Anna,” says the little girl, laying a dandelion wreath on Anna’s grave. “And I love you, my dear,” whispers the birch tree, and the wind carries it far.

Stolen Happiness

March, and despite it still being early in the year, the last remnants of frost had vanished from my little garden in the outskirts of Shrewsbury. Spring came early this year. I knew wed get cold snaps again, but as the sun warmed the soft earth, I couldnt keep indoors. I found myself fixing the battered fence, seeing what repairs the woodshed needed just little jobs to keep myself occupied.

The thought struck me, as it often did: perhaps I should keep a few hens again, maybe even a piglet, and get a little dog and a cat for company. Silly, reallyId spent enough years collecting things. That was enough now, I told myself, with a wry smile. No more strays, no matter how lonely this cottage sometimes felt.

Part of me longed to have the veg patch tilled, to breathe in the scent of fresh-turned soil, run barefoot (just as I did as a girl), feeling the cool dirt squishing between my toes. Childhood memories can be sweet but heavy.

Well live a little longer yet, I said, almost laughing to myself, out loud to the empty air.

Hello! came a voice behind me.

I jumped, twisting to see a slender girl at the gatebarely more than a child, by the look of her. She wore a thin, regulation-type coat (the kind they hand out at tech colleges), with shoes too delicate for the lingering chill, and pale nylon tights.

March is hardly the time for summer shoes, I thought to myself, Poor girl will catch her death in those. And those shoesuseless, wont last the month!

The girl shifted from foot to foot, anxious.

Hello, I replied, voice dry, not wanting to invite conversation.

Excuse me, could I possibly use your loo? she blurted.

Oh. Right. Yes, of course. Straight ahead, and then around the side, I directed, curious despite myself as she hurried off.

When she returned, she smiled gratefully. Thank you, you saved me. Im looking for a place to live You wouldnt be renting out a room, would you?

Hadnt really thought about it. Why do you ask? I asked, sizing her up.

I dont want to stay in the hostel. Everyone smokes and drinks, and the boys are always wandering in and out

And what were you thinking you could pay? I pressed.

Five quid a weekI havent more than that.

Well, come inside then. Dont stand around in the cold.

Oh, could I use the loo again? she asked, shifting nervously.

Go on, then.

As I led her into the house, I tried to soften. Whats your name?

Ellie, she replied, voice like a mouse.

So, Elliewhat brings you here, really? I asked, prim and straight as a rod, meeting her gaze.

I I really do need a room

Dont lie to me. Tell me the truth now. Who sent you?

No one. I came on my own. Are you Mrs. Anna Stafford?

Thats me, I answered, confused.

She stared at me, trembling. You dont recognise me, Mum? Its me. Its Ellie. Your daughter.

My heart nearly stopped, but my face didnt budge, the years and tears making me harder than I ought to be.

Ellie, I breathed, barely a whisper. My Ellie

Yes, Mum, its me. They never gave me your address at the childrens home. Said it was against the rules. But my tutorMrs. Stevensonshe was wonderful, she sent off for the recordsand we found your name, your address And so, Im here.

The tears that never came easily now tumbled down my face. Ellie Ellie My girl

Mum, Ive searched for you for so long. I wrote letters, but they just laughed at me, told me Id been abandoned, given up like an old coat. But I never believed them, Mum. I knew there had to be more.

I reached out, awkwardly, feeling my work-roughened hands begin to shake as I clung to her. My daughter, Ellie. My light, come home. For a moment, we clung to each other, wordless; nothing needed saying, not yet.

Only laterI remember boiling water, dashing about like my gran did, brewing up fennel tea and fussing over Ellie as though she were a princess. Ellie, my purpose, my reason. Suddenly, life had meaning again. The veg plot, the piglet, all of it didnt matter as much as her. God wasnt done with me yet.

*

Mum!

Mmm?

Mum Im in love.

I glanced up, folding a smile into my voice. Go on then, whats his name?

Hes Will, Mum He wants to meet you.

I hesitated, heart heavy. Was this the beginning of the end of these happy days? Was God about to ask too much of me again?

Mum, dont look so sad! You know I love you. Will and Iwe want to stay close. And one day, I hope youll have grandchildren to fuss over.

Oh, the relief in my heart. Will turned out to be a good, steady lad: practical, reliablethe kind youd trust your heart with. Even at the worst of times, when people barely managed, some dogs in this town ate better than their masters. But we did all right, what with me working as a seamstress (the factory shut, but the local co-op paid well), and I dressed Ellie smart as a penny, Will too.

Will was always busyfixed the new fence, replaced the bottom beams on the old cottage, even built a fresh pen for our little pig. With Ellie home, the house came alive, brighter and warmer than ever.

For the first time in years, my heart thawed. I wanted to live, really live, as though to make up for lost time. And only sometimes, deep into the night when memories flooded back, did the old shame threaten to drown mememories I couldnt voice, not even to Ellie.

Are you all right, Mum? Are you in pain?

No, darling, go to sleep

Can I lie with you tonight?

Of course, I whispered, shifting to make space.

My little girl, my heart. Mothers lovethats the real thing, I thanked God. What a gift.

We had a lovely wedding at the village church, and the young ones stayed on in my cottage. I never glowed so muchthe change even the sternest ladies at the sewing circle couldn’t help but notice.

Im going to be a granny! I whispered to my neighbour, trembling with excitement.

What a joy to welcome little Alfienamed for my own mother, so proud and strict but always fair. Id never really held a baby since Ellie as a girl, and as I cradled him, it struck me: this is what happiness truly is.

The world melted down to just Alfie, and everything else faded: he was the best, the brightest, and his little heart belonged to his granny.

Will built us a bigger house, with plenty of space for everyonewe couldnt imagine life without one another. Will and his brothers became quite successful as builders, even opened a shop for supplies. We lived modestly, but content.

Happy news multipliedthere would soon be a granddaughter, a little girl to sew endless dresses for. Annie, my sweet Annie, after all our family. Her laughter filled the house.

But more and more often, pain burned in my chest. I kept it to myself, as mothers sometimes do.

Mum, tell me where it hurts?

Alls well, my love

*

Im sorry. Theres nothing more we can do.

Doctor, pleaseshes my mother!

I know. Im so sorry.

*

Ellie my darling, its time, Im afraid. Ive overstayed my welcome, but you saved me once, by coming to find me. Thank you, my own

Mum, dont say thatdont you dare.

No, darling, let me finish Theres something you must know. Im not your real mother, Ellie. Forgive me.

Mum! Never say that. Never to anyoneI wont hear it. You are my mum, always and forever. I only want you.

Yes, little love In the drawer youll find a diary Forgive me. I love you, Ellie.

I love you too, Mum

*

Ellie, you should eat

I will, Will. Go on, loveIll be down soon.

I sat in Mums old room, reading her diaryher story, in her own crooked hand. Strict mother, father killed in the war. Anna, Annie-flower, fool enough to fall for a charming rogue. Life, wild and dangerous, left her with nothing. Her man vanished to prison, her babythe first I now realise she never kept. Illness took her chance at more children. Only the family home was left. Doctors told her to wait for death, and yet, she found a little hope in mea chance, just for a while, to be a mother.

She wrote it all, this humble, broken life. She was afraid Id find out I wasnt hers, that somehow records had muddled things, but she stopped being afraid. Started livingtruly livingas though she deserved it.

I forgive her. I loved her from the very first, and always will. If she stole her happiness, then let it beI hope it gave her peace.

Mum, Mum, if you can hear meknow that I always knew. When I came to live with you, others said your details were wrong, that Annas name wasnt the sameso I looked for the other Anna, my so-called real mother. She had no use for me. Shed moved on, married, wanted to hide me away, pressed cash into my hands to make me disappear.

But you, my dearest Mum, stayed. When I fell ill, you nursed me, never left my side. Thank you, thank you, God, for putting us together.

What a blessing that the records were wrongperhaps it wasnt a mistake at all, but fate. How can I live again without you, Mum?

*

Granny, was Granny Anna a kind person?

Oh yes, darling. The kindest.

And pretty?

The prettiest there ever was, Annie.

Who named her?

I dont know, love. Her mum, maybe, or her dad.

Like you named me after her?

Yes, and your daddy loved her very much, too.

Can she see me, Granny?

Of course she can. Shes watching you, helping you always.

I love you, Granny Anna, my little Annie says, placing a garland of daisies on Grannys resting place.

And I love you, Ellie, the silver birch seems to rustle. And the wind softly echoes, And so do we allThe wind danced through the churchyard, lifting the scent of new grass and warm earth, as Annie skipped in circles among the daffodils, her laughter echoing between the stones. Ellie stood quietly, hand tucked into her pocket, feeling the weight of her mothers old broocha memento pressed into her palm on that last, bright morning. She closed her eyes and listened, not just to the sounds of her own children but to something deeperthe hush and the heartbeat of shared years.

Mum, she whispered, voice soft as a prayer, I wish you could see us now. The cottage is lively again. Wills building a swing for Annie, Alfies learned to whistleyour roses have taken over the fence. She touched the trunk of the silver birch, rough and alive. You gave us everything you had.

A cloud drifted from the sun, and golden light poured over the graves, the cottage rooftop, the tiny heads bowed in play. Annie glanced up, twirling, and Ellie saw herself reflecteda girl and woman and mother all at once, roots winding between them, tangled and sure.

Were all right here, Mum, she said, voice trembling with pride. Thank you for choosing me.

Her children ran to her, arms outstretched, and she pulled them close, breathing in their heat, their hope. Somewhere unseen and eternal, the promise lingered: joy could be lost, broken, found again in new forms. Nothing was wasted. Every stolen scrap of happiness, every risked kindness, every mistakethey stitched a patchwork softer than regret, stronger than sorrow.

As they left, Annie stopped to blow a kissdaisies tumbling from her hair. Overhead, the birch leaves trembled in the wind, bright as silver coins. Ellie glanced back once, felt her heart lift.

And the cottage in the distance glowed with welcome, a haven remade. In the hush of early spring, happiness bloomed, unlooked for, but never truly gone.