“Foreign, Yet Family”
“Mum Fay, how are you? Anton and I were passing by on our way back from the shops and thought we’d drop in. Bought something for you too,” Julia hugged her mother—not by blood, but by choice.
They’d agreed years ago that Fay and Julia would be mother and daughter. Fay was nearing seventy—sixty-six, to be exact. Her life hadn’t been easy, full of hardship and sorrow. She’d endured it all.
But thirteen years ago, fate smiled on her when Julia stumbled into her life. One evening, there was a knock at the door. Fay opened it to find a young woman, bruised and dirty, shivering on her doorstep. She ushered her inside without hesitation.
“Come in, love, come in,” Fay murmured, glancing past her into the cold night. “Don’t be scared, it’s just me here. What’s happened to you?” She helped the girl out of her tattered coat, fussing over her gently.
It was early autumn, but the damp chill had already settled in.
“What’s your name?” Fay asked. “I’m Fay Stephens—call me Auntie Fay, if you like.”
“Julia,” the girl whispered, then burst into tears.
“Cry, love, let it out,” Fay soothed, stroking her hair. She fetched her first-aid box, tended to the scrapes on Julia’s cheek, cleaned her up, and made her a hot cup of tea. Food could wait.
She didn’t press for answers. The story would come in time. When Julia had warmed up, she spoke.
“Thank you, Auntie Fay. I was frozen—don’t even know how long I walked. Couldn’t see where I was going in the dark—just kept moving till I couldn’t anymore. What village is this?”
“Easthope. A decent-sized place. Where’ve you come from?”
“Me and my husband lived in Market Harford. We’d only been married two years. When we were dating, he seemed alright, but once we started living together…” She shuddered. “He had a temper. Never wanted kids. Then I found out I was pregnant. When I told him, he—he hit me. More than once. His eyes… I was terrified. Grabbed my coat and ran. Nowhere to go—I grew up in care. Didn’t dare stop till I got here.”
Fay sighed. “Lord, what you’ve been through. But you’re safe now. Stay as long as you like—forever, if you want. Just the two of us. Well, three,” she added, patting Julia’s belly.
And so Julia stayed. In time, she had her son, Anton. Fay helped raise him, loving him as her own grandson—and Julia as her daughter. One day, Julia asked, “Auntie Fay… can I call you Mum? Anton calls you Nan.”
“Course you can, love. You *are* my daughter. Both of you.”
Julia smiled. “Yeah. Mum Fay. Foreign, but family.”
They made a life together. Julia took a job as a postal worker—no use for her qualifications in the village. Anton grew, watched over by Fay.
“Your Julie’s a good ‘un,” the women at the shop would say. “Polite, hardworking. And that boy of hers? Proper little gentleman. Lucky, you are. Your own daughter upped you, but the Lord sent Julie instead. Must’ve done *something* right.”
Fay would nod. “Blessed, I am. That night, two lonely moths found each other. Now there’s three of us—no room for loneliness.”
Then there was Max. A local man who’d taken a liking to Julia—her kindness, her quiet strength. The fact she had a son didn’t bother him; he loved kids. When his first wife left—no interest in children, ran off to live wildly in another town—he’d sworn off marriage. Till Julia came along.
He proposed. Julia hesitated, but Fay urged her: “Take him. Good man. He’ll treat Anton as his own.”
“Mum Fay, but you’ll be alone again.”
“Rubbish! He lives two doors down. We’ll be neighbours. Just say yes.”
So Julia married Max. He doted on Anton, and soon they had a daughter too. Fay stayed in her own cottage, but they were always close—Max treating her like family. A far cry from the past…
Years back, Fay had married for love—or so she thought. Arthur from the next village. They had a daughter, Vera. At first, life was sweet. Arthur’s mother welcomed her warmly. But then Arthur started coming home drunk. Staying out late.
“Where’ve you been?” his wife scolded. “Your daughter’s waiting up!”
“Work ran late,” he’d grunt. But soon enough, the village talk reached them—Arthur was carrying on with Tammy, a woman with a reputation. He swore it’d stop. Promises meant nothing.
Fay wanted to leave, take Vera with her. Arthur’s mother pleaded, “Wait. See if he changes.”
He didn’t. They left for her mother’s cottage. But her mum was ill—dying, though she’d never say it. Happy to have them, but the weight was heavy. Fay worked hard through it all. Then, just when Vera turned eighteen, she married a local lad. That didn’t last.
While Vera was still married, Zack proposed to Fay. Thirty-eight then, still pretty. Vera and her husband urged her to say yes. Zack was decent—didn’t drink. But then Vera’s marriage crumbled, and she came home.
Things turned sour. When Fay was hospitalised with heart trouble, Vera promised, “Don’t worry, Mum. I’ll look after Zack.”
She did. Too well. Fay returned to find her home unrecognisable. Zack barely glanced at her. “Back already? Mustn’t have been sick at all.” Vera was cold, picking fights. The truth hit when Fay caught them together.
“How *could* you?” she choked.
Vera just smirked. “You were gone. Someone had to do it.”
Zack didn’t even pretend regret.
“Pack your things,” Fay said. “Both of you.”
“My house too,” Vera sneered.
“Then figure it out. You’ve got your man.”
They left. A year later, Zack came crawling back. “Take me in. I kicked her out—she’s no good.”
Fay shut the door in his face.
Vera never visited. Once, a neighbour spotted her in town.
“Your mum’s alone,” she chided.
“And?” Vera laughed. “I’ve got men feeding me, dressing me. What’s she got? Nothing. Tell her I’m no daughter of hers.”
Fay just sighed. “God judge her.”
Then Julia arrived—and life began anew. Now her home brimmed with love. A daughter, a grandson, a son-in-law. Foreign, but family.
