My name is Patricia Riley, Im 58, and the tale Im about to tell you is something I never imagined would
I Can’t Be Your Mum and I Can’t Love You the Way You Want, But I’ll Take Care of You—Please Don’t Be Upset. Life with Us Will Be Better Than in a Children’s Home
It Was a Difficult Day Today. John Was Burying His Sister—Wayward as She Was, She Was Still Family. They Hadn’t Seen Each Other for Five Years, and Now This Tragedy.
Victoria Did Her Best to Support Her Husband, Taking On Most of the Responsibilities.
Yet After the Funeral, Another Important Matter Awaited Them. Irene—John’s Sister—Had Left Behind a Young Son. All the Relatives Who Had Come to Say Goodbye to Irene Immediately Placed the Responsibility on Her Younger Brother.
Who Else but His Uncle Should Take Care of the Boy? It Wasn’t Discussed—Everyone Just Assumed This Was the Only Right Solution.
Victoria Understood, and She Wasn’t Really Against It, But There Was One Thing—She Had Never Wanted Children of Her Own, Let Alone Someone Else’s.
She’d Made That Decision Long Ago, and Had Told John Honestly Before Their Wedding. He’d Brushed It Off, Not Worrying—Who Thinks Seriously About Kids in Their Early Twenties Anyway? “No Kids—We’ll Just Live for Ourselves,” They Had Agreed Ten Years Ago.
And Now She Had to Take In a Child Who Wasn’t Her Own. There Was No Choice. John Would Never Let His Nephew End Up in a Children’s Home, and Victoria Couldn’t Bring Herself to Suggest It.
She Knew She’d Never Love This Boy, or Be Able to Replace His Mum. The Boy Was Wise Beyond His Years, Clever and Perceptive, So Victoria Decided to Be Completely Honest with Him.
“Will, where would you rather live—with us or in the children’s home?”
“I want to live at home—by myself.”
“But you can’t stay alone—you’re only seven. You have to choose.”
“Then with Uncle John.”
“Alright, you’ll come with us, but I must tell you something. I can’t be your mum, and I can’t love you the way you want, but I’ll take care of you—and you mustn’t be upset. Life with us will be better than in the children’s home.”
Some of the formalities sorted, at last they could return home.
Victoria figured, after that talk, she wouldn’t have to pretend to be a doting aunt—she could just be herself. Cooking, washing, helping with homework was fine, but pouring out her feelings was not.
And little Will never forgot that he wasn’t loved—and that, if he behaved, he wouldn’t be sent away.
At home, Will was given the smallest room, and Victoria immediately threw herself into transforming it for him—choosing wallpaper, furniture, décor—her favourite things. She let Will choose the wallpaper, but handled everything else herself. She spared no expense; she wasn’t stingy, just not fond of children. The room turned out beautifully.
Will was happy! If only his mum could see it. If only Victoria could love him. She’s kind and good—she just doesn’t love children.
Will often lay thinking about that before he fell asleep.
He found joy in everything—a circus outing, the zoo, fun at the park—his delight was so sincere that Victoria began to enjoy these trips herself. She enjoyed surprising him, then basking in his reactions.
That August, Victoria and John were supposed to go to the seaside, with a close relative taking Will for ten days.
But at the last minute, Victoria changed her mind. She suddenly wanted Will to see the ocean. John was surprised, but deep down he was glad—he’d grown attached to the boy.
And Will was almost happy! If only someone loved him. Never mind—he’d see the ocean!
The trip was wonderful—the sea was warm, the fruit was sweet, everyone’s spirits were high. But all good things must end, and so did the holiday.
Ordinary life resumed: work, home, school. But something in their little world had shifted—a hint of new joy, of hope, of something magical beginning.
And then the miracle happened—Victoria came back from the seaside expecting a baby. How had it happened, after all these years of careful planning?
She didn’t know what to do. Should she tell John, or decide everything herself? After Will’s arrival, she wasn’t sure John was truly committed to a child-free life. He loved spending time with Will, taking him to football matches, helping him with school.
Victoria had faced one challenge; she wasn’t ready for another. She’d made her decision.
Victoria was sitting at the clinic when she got a call from school—Will had been rushed to hospital with suspected appendicitis. Everything would have to wait.
She rushed to the hospital—Will lay pale and shivering. Seeing Victoria, he burst into tears.
“Victoria, please don’t go—I’m scared. Just for today, can you be my mum? Please—only for one day, I’ll never ever ask again.”
He clutched her hand, sobbing as if his heart would break. Victoria had never seen him cry, except the day of the funeral.
Now, he was inconsolable.
Victoria pressed his hand to her cheek.
“My boy, hang in there—a doctor will be here soon. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
How she loved him in that moment! This boy with the shining eyes—he was her world.
Child-free? What nonsense. Tonight she would tell John about their coming baby. She made her decision then, as Will squeezed her hand in pain.
Ten years passed.
Today is almost a milestone for Victoria—it’s her 45th birthday. There’ll be guests and celebration, but for now, she sits with her coffee, swept away by memories.
How quickly time has flown. Youth, young adulthood—gone. Now she’s a woman—a happy wife and mother of two beautiful children. Will is nearly eighteen; Sophie is ten. And she regrets nothing.
Well—except one thing, deeply. Those words about not loving Will. How she wished he’d forget them, that they’d never hurt him.
Ever since that day at the hospital, she’d tried to tell him as often as possible that she loved him, but she never dared ask if he remembered her first confession. I could never become your mother, nor could I love you, but I promise Ill care for you, and you mustnt
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