“Did you leave your daughter with me?” The terrible thought sent a wave of heat through Valerie. “No, it can’t be. She’ll come back—she has to.”
Valerie came home from work and found a short note from her daughter on the kitchen table. She and Stacey had always had a rocky relationship, but she never imagined her girl would just up and leave like this. She read the note over and over, memorised every word, but still felt like she’d missed something—misunderstood somehow.
Sleep wouldn’t come that night. The pillow felt too stiff, the duvet too heavy, the air too stifling. One moment she was crying, the next she was arguing with Stacey in her head, replaying every fight, every rare happy moment…
Finally, exhausted, she got up, sat at the table, and turned on the desk lamp. The crumpled note lay on top of her work papers, worn from being handled so much.
She read it again—for the hundredth time. No, she’d understood right. She could almost hear Stacey’s sharp, accusatory tone.
*”I’m tired of you controlling me… You’re too strict… I want to live my own life. I’m an adult. You’d never let me go, so I’m leaving while you’re out. I’m fine. I’m not alone. Don’t look for me. I’m not coming back…”*
No greeting, no signature. “What about me?” Valerie whispered, as if Stacey could hear. “What if something happens to me? You’ve left me no way to reach you. Do you even care?”
Maybe Stacey had her reasons. But as a mother, Valerie just wanted her to finish uni, get a proper job, not let some whirlwind romance or unplanned pregnancy derail everything. What mother wouldn’t?
She’d married young herself, as a student, and remembered how love and passion faded fast under the weight of student debt, that tiny dorm room, the endless exhaustion.
When Stacey was born, things got even harder. She and her husband—just as young, just as overwhelmed—stopped understanding each other, fought constantly. Maybe her own mother had been right. Maybe she should’ve ended it back then. But she’d believed love would conquer everything. Silly girl.
Three months later, they split. Valerie took a year off uni and moved back in with her parents. Oddly, her mum loved Stacey instantly, despite having pushed for the abortion. She even looked after the baby so Valerie could finish her degree—though she spoiled Stacey rotten.
With her parents around, life had been easier. Mum helped, kept an eye on Stacey. After graduating, Valerie taught English for two years before landing a translator job.
But her love life never took off. Mum said she should aim for someone stable, mature—yet the men she met were either married (and only offering an affair) or divorced (and looking for someone to take them in). She didn’t dare get involved.
After her parents passed, it was just her and Stacey. Valerie poured everything into her daughter. And now? Turns out Stacey didn’t want any of it. Spoilt by her gran, she saw Valerie as too harsh. She didn’t care about school or a career—just freedom. And now she was gone.
“I’ll wait. What else can I do? You’ll come back eventually. I’m your mum—I’ll always love you, always forgive. Just… stay safe.” Valerie sighed, turned off the lamp, and crawled into bed. She tossed and turned for half an hour before finally sinking into a restless sleep.
She never got used to Stacey being gone. Jumped at every phone call, every knock at the door. She took on extra translation jobs, worked late into the night, barely slept. At least the exhaustion kept her from wallowing. She told herself Stacey was fine.
Eighteen months later, the doorbell interrupted her work. She rubbed her tired eyes—she’d been on a roll, hated stopping. The bell rang again, and she pushed back from the desk.
She opened the door. There stood Stacey—thinner, tired, barely recognisable. Valerie gasped, rushed to hug her.
“Stacey! You’re back—I’ve waited so long!”
But Stacey’s cold stare stopped her mid-step. Only then did Valerie notice the baby in her arms.
“Is this yours? Let me—” She took the child. “A girl?” She smiled, cradling her. “I’ll put her down. You get settled.”
She carried the sleeping baby to the sofa, marvelling at her little lashes, her rosebud lips. Then—a door slammed.
It took a second to click: Stacey had left.
Silence from the hallway. Valerie rushed back—only a stuffed bag by the door, wet footprints on the floor.
She flung the door open. “Stacey!” No answer, no fading footsteps. She ran to the window—no car, no Stacey outside.
“Stacey…” she whispered.
Back in the living room, the baby stirred, wrinkled her nose, and started crying. Valerie changed her nappy, murmuring reassurances—more to herself than the child. “Mum will be back soon…”
She rummaged through the bag—just baby things. Then, in a side pocket, she found documents. Reality crashed over her: Stacey had left the child with her.
The girl’s name was Emily, Emily Louise Thompson. So Stacey never married—gave her her own surname. The father’s middle name? Or just a random pick?
A note, no greeting: *”She’ll only stay with you a little while.”* That was it.
Valerie shook the bag—a bottle, half-used formula. “Small mercies,” she thought, rushing to the kitchen to prepare it. Her forgotten translations lay abandoned on the desk.
A new life began. Valerie switched to full-time remote work to care for Emily. Exhausting, but it gave her purpose.
By one, Emily was walking. At three and a half, Valerie enrolled her in nursery, explaining to the head that Emily’s mum (also a translator) travelled a lot for work.
Years passed. Valerie adored the bright, quiet girl. But Emily refused to call her “Gran”—only “Mum.”
“You have another mum, sweetheart. That makes me your grandma,” Valerie explained.
Emily still slipped up.
“Just call me Val, then,” Valerie offered one day.
Emily agreed—just “Val,” no titles.
Stacey never came back, never called. When Emily started school, Valerie worried—what if the headmistress questioned their living arrangement? What if social services got involved? She waited till late August, then visited her old school. The deputy head was new—sharp-eyed, unreadable.
But the headmaster was still there. Valerie took the risk, told him everything. He smoothed things over—Emily started school without a hitch.
Valerie loved her so much she now dreaded Stacey’s return. She wasn’t the spoiling type, but she gave Emily everything she could. At parents’ evenings, she glowed with pride at the praise.
Emily was thoughtful beyond her years. Valerie often wondered—had Stacey been like this? But no. Stacey had hated reading, quit piano lessons after a year, cared more about parties than school.
That spring was warm and early. On the way back from school, Valerie stopped at the shops. They walked home slowly, enjoying the sun. Emily chattered about her day while Valerie carried her heavy backpack, shoes, and groceries. At the door, she fumbled for the keys.
“Mum.”
Valerie spun around, dropping the keys. She barely recognised Stacey—stylish, blonde, dressed in expensive clothes, the faintest hint of luxury perfume in the air. She was glad to see her, but the dread was instant: she’s here for Emily.
Emily picked up the keys, handed them to Valerie—who noticed Stacey staring hard at the girl. Emily eyed the stranger curiously but stayed close to Val.
“You came back. And I know why,” Valerie said flatly, opening the door and gently nudging Emily inside.
The last thing she needed was Stacey dropping bombshells on the doorstep. They went up to the flat in silence. Once inside, Valerie asked, “How long are you staying?”
“Not happy to see me?” Stacey challenged.
“I waited years. Now? You look well—life’s been good to you.”
“Yeah. I live in Spain. Married. You didn’t think I’d forget about—”
They both glanced at Emily.
“Go change, love,” Valerie said.
“Emily, I’m your mum,” Stacey cut in, stepping forward to hug her.
Emily ducked behind Valerie, then bolted to her room.
“Was that necessary? She needs time!” Valerie snapped.
“Still the expert, eh?” Stacey laughed, but her eyes stayed sad.
“You left her with me for a reason.”
“I’m here to take her back. Once the paperwork’s done, we’re leaving. You’ll have to tolerate me till then, Mum,” Stacey said coolly.
The reunion was stilted, awkward. Family, yet no warmth between themDespite the years of hurt, Valerie quietly made tea, hoping that somehow, this time, they could finally find their way back to each other.
