**The Family That Wasn’t**
The morning silence in the small flat on the outskirts of Crawley shattered when Elizabeth’s phone rang. Rubbing her eyes, she picked up.
“But Maisie’s a doctor!” Her mother’s voice trembled with insistence.
“And?” Elizabeth replied coldly.
“A doctor isn’t just a job—it’s a calling!” her mother declared, as if revealing some great truth.
“Calling or not,” Liz shot back, “why do you suddenly care about Maisie when you ignored her for twenty-five years?”
“She’s a doctor—she has to help!” the woman persisted.
“Who owes whom? Everyone gets a free pass,” Liz thought bitterly, though there was no humour in it. Jokes don’t land when family’s involved—especially family that never was. Elizabeth and her daughter Maisie had been on their own for years. Until now. Until Maisie, once called “that stray” by relatives, graduated from medical school in London.
Then, like shadows at dusk, the family reappeared.
“How wonderful—we’ve got our own doctor now!” Aunt Jean gushed, conveniently forgetting how she’d turned her back on her pregnant niece.
“My kidneys have been playing up—best get them checked,” Uncle Nigel chimed in, the same man who’d once snapped, “Should’ve kept your legs shut!” when Liz begged for help.
Even Liz’s mother, who’d disowned her long ago, suddenly acted sweetly concerned.
Twenty-three years ago, Liz had been left with nothing. Her boyfriend, Robert, walked out the second she told him she was pregnant. On TV, men celebrate at the sight of a pregnancy test—real life isn’t so kind. Liz had met him at the café where she worked as a waitress after moving to London with a business degree and big dreams. Back in her hometown near Exeter, no one needed managers—just farmhands. The local vet, a man named Higgins, had already been eyeing her, but Liz wanted more. She fled to the city, counting on Uncle David—her mother’s brother—for help.
“I came straight from the station!” she’d said cheerfully, handing him a jar of homemade jam and a bottle of milk.
He took the gifts but cut her off.
“This isn’t the countryside—we’ve no space. Try a hostel; they’re cheap enough.”
Stunned, Liz left without even a cup of tea. Desperate, she walked into the nearest café and saw a sign: *Dishwasher wanted.* The owner, seeing her distress, offered a storage room to sleep in if she worked part-time as a cleaner. Liz agreed. Humiliating, but what choice did she have? She saved every penny.
Then she met Robert. A courier who often ate at the café, he was handsome, with strong arms and what seemed like a dependable nature. Liz, plain-faced but bright-eyed, felt wanted for the first time. When he suggested moving in together, she forgot her mother’s warnings and said yes. Love blinded her. Five months of happiness—she spent her savings on gifts, dreaming of a wedding—until she told him she was pregnant.
Robert exploded. “I’m not ready for this!” he shouted before slamming the door. Liz called her mother in tears.
“Mum, I’m pregnant. I need help.”
“Got yourself in trouble, did you?” Her mother’s voice was ice. “We don’t do that in this family. Sort it out yourself.”
Uncle David refused too. “You’re having a laugh, aren’t you? We’ve got our own kids to raise!”
Abandoned, Liz was alone with her growing belly. She couldn’t return to the café—her spot was taken. But the kind owner offered another lifeline: her elderly grandmother needed a live-in carer.
“Look after her, and I’ll only charge you utilities,” she said.
Liz wept with gratitude. That’s how her new life began. Granny helped with baby Maisie, cooked when Liz was exhausted. It was hard. Twice, Liz begged relatives for money—Maisie had severe allergies, needed medicine. No one helped. Only the café owner lent her the cash.
Years passed. Granny died. Liz worked days at the café, then took evening courses, climbing to a managerial job. She scrimped to buy a tiny flat on London’s outskirts. Men were out of the question—love was a lie. Maisie grew up, graduated top of her class, and landed a job at a private clinic.
Then the family remembered they existed.
Naïve, Maisie wanted to meet her grandmother, who’d moved to London. Liz warned her: “Don’t poke the bear!” But Maisie went anyway. She returned changed—Granny had called her brilliant, claimed they were never abandoned, just “unlucky in love.” Now, everything would be fine.
Liz knew better. She was right. The phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
“I need a cardiologist!” Uncle David demanded.
“Get me in with an endocrinologist!” Aunt Jean chirped.
“Get us free treatment—you’re family!” Granny insisted.
Maisie floundered. “It’s a private clinic—I can’t just—”
“You *must*!” Granny snapped, hanging up.
Maisie regretted going. They’d lived fine without family! But the calls kept coming, so Liz took over. When she stopped answering, the relatives stormed the clinic. Uncle David, his wife, and Granny arrived with sample jars, demanding free tests.
The receptionist called Maisie. “Dr. Taylor, your family’s causing a scene!”
“Have security remove them,” Maisie said firmly. “They won’t listen.”
The trio was escorted out, still shouting insults via text. Maisie breathed deep—these weren’t family. Just strangers.
She braced for fallout, but to her surprise, her bosses praised her. “You’ve got spine, not bending for family. You’ll go far.”
The relatives vanished. Liz and Maisie carried on as they always had—alone. Being a doctor is a state of heart, but hearts should only open to those who won’t break them. To family who only remember you when they need something? Wish them good health. And enough money for private care—it doesn’t come cheap.
