“Oh, Lottie, don’t get ahead of yourself. The most important thing in life is to marry well. No matter how you slice it, you’ll come out on top,” tutted the distant relative.
Lottie grew up as the cherished only child of doting parents who adored her. By the time she finished school, she kept mentioning her dream of studying in London.
“Darling, we have a perfectly good university here. Why on earth would you need to go to London?” her father asked, bewildered.
“Dad, I want to be a journalist. If I stay here, I’ll just end up a teacher,” she countered.
For ages, her parents resisted letting her go. They’d watched too many films about naive provincial girls ruined by the big city. But eventually, they caved. Her father reached out to a distant cousin in London who agreed to take Lottie in during her studies. Lottie was over the moon. She promised her parents she’d make them proud—no embarrassing scandals, only success.
Her father personally drove her down, made sure she was settled, left her some cash, and headed back home.
Living with the cousin wasn’t free. Lottie cleaned, shopped, and cooked. Neighbours whispered that Cousin Dorothy had turned poor Lottie into an unpaid maid. Dorothy, long divorced and left with a flat in the capital, considered herself quite the success. She’d made it in London, after all. And she never missed a chance to advise Lottie:
“Listen, girl, don’t waste time dreaming. Education’s fine, but what really matters is finding a proper London husband. That’s the real jackpot. Just look at me.”
Lottie smiled politely but privately rolled her eyes. Marriage wasn’t on her agenda yet. She wanted recognition, a prestigious job at a magazine—maybe even telly, if luck smiled on her.
But life has a way of derailing plans. In her third year, Lottie fell for Daniel. They met by chance at a pub celebrating exams. He spotted her, asked for a dance, then walked her home.
Her friends insisted she latch onto him—older by eight years, a Londoner, with his own flat, and handsome. Daniel didn’t hide that he was divorced and had a daughter. “But who doesn’t make mistakes in their twenties?” they reasoned. The girl lived with her mum, so no bother. And hey, at least he loved kids.
Lottie wasn’t scheming, but she liked him. He was patient, never rushed things. They went on proper dates—museums, theatre, concerts. She’d lived in London for years but only truly saw it through his eyes.
Soon he was talking love, future, their own children. Her head spun. When he proposed, she said yes instantly. Only one year left in uni, and then—real life.
Daniel took her to meet his parents. His father hid behind a newspaper; his mother made it clear she thought Lottie was after a London postcode.
“Couldn’t you pick someone from your own world? Making the same mistakes again,” she sniffed.
Daniel stormed out, dragging Lottie with him.
Until the wedding, she didn’t see them again. But Daniel often brought over his daughter, Bella—named after some supposedly glamorous ancestor. Bella was quiet, plain, and massive for her age. Daniel gloated when she and Lottie got along.
At the wedding, her mother-in-law smirked, “No rush with kids, dear.”
Lottie eagerly agreed—she wanted to graduate and work first.
After uni, she landed a modest gig at a local paper. Dream achieved—London career, loving husband. They visited her parents once or twice, but nothing made them prouder than seeing her happy.
Three years in, Lottie announced she was pregnant.
“I was going to wait for New Year’s but couldn’t hold it in!” she beamed.
Daniel frowned. “I thought we agreed—you’re on the pill!”
“I stopped. Thought it’d take time… but it didn’t. Isn’t it wonderful?” Her smile faded at his expression. “Aren’t you happy?”
“It’s just… why didn’t we discuss this?”
“If a man leaves contraception to a woman, he’s handing her the choice, isn’t he? I want this baby. Or should I wait till I’m forty?” she snapped, fighting tears.
Daniel hugged her stiffly. “Fine. Just… hope it’s a boy. And you’ll have to handle the childcare. What about work?”
Truce.
His parents took the news poorly. His father clapped him on the back; his mother exploded.
“Knew that little gold-digger would trap you with a baby. First the postcode, now this. And are you even sure it’s yours? Mark my words, she’ll take your flat next.”
“Mum, that’s insane! We love each other—”
“Love?” She scoffed. “You’ve no idea what she’s plotting.”
Daniel stormed out.
The pregnancy was smooth. When their son, Alfie, arrived, even her mother-in-law softened when she saw his carbon-copy face.
“Three of us now—time for a bigger place,” Daniel slurred one evening.
Lottie rolled her eyes. “He’s tiny. Let’s wait till I’m back at work.”
Daniel kissed her, conceding.
He started visiting his parents again. Lottie didn’t join—Alfie was too young, and his mother preferred doting on Bella anyway.
Bella visited often. One day, Lottie found Alfie smothered under a blanket while Bella watched. She yanked it off, screaming as the baby gasped.
Daniel burst in just as Bella wailed, “She’s accusing me!”
“Are you mad? He probably kicked it off himself!” Daniel roared, whisking Bella away.
Lottie apologised later. But she never left them alone again.
Time passed. Alfie adored Bella, trailing her like a puppy. One winter, they all went sledging. Lottie hesitated but let Alfie ride with Bella. To her shock, he was fine—Bella even held his hand.
Until the road home.
Daniel stopped to answer his phone.
A shove. A sled flying toward traffic.
Lottie’s scream tore through the air as Alfie tumbled onto the road. She snatched him up, shaking.
Bystanders tutted. “Should watch your kids better.”
At home, Lottie exploded. “She did it on purpose! She’s jealous!”
Daniel called her hysterical. Bella sobbed, clinging to him.
The next day, her mother-in-law swooped in, screeching about Lottie “keeping Daniel from his daughter.”
“Pack your things and crawl back to your backwater town,” she sneered.
Lottie did.
Daniel begged her back, but she refused. The love was gone. She quit her London job, worked locally. Alfie grew up tall and bright, even winning medals in judo.
Years later, Daniel returned—balding, worn out. His father was dead; his mother ill. Bella, now at uni, had moved into his flat after clashing with her stepdad.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I was blind.”
“Your mother called me a schemer. I took nothing but Alfie.”
“Did you remarry?” he asked.
“No. And I won’t nurse your mother after what she did.”
He left. His mother died two years later. He called Alfie often, urging him to study in London. Reluctantly, Lottie let him go.
She visited often. They were civil.
Eventually, she remarried, became editor of a regional paper. Happy. Not the life she’d dreamed of, but close enough. A good job, a loving husband, a clever son.
What more does a woman need?
London? Well, not everyone conquers it. But maybe that’s not the point.
