“Listen, Lizzy, don’t go chattering away. The most important thing is to marry well. No matter how things turn out, you’ll come out on top,” her aunt advised.
Lizzy grew up as the only beloved daughter, doted on by her parents. By the time she finished school, she kept mentioning that she wanted to continue her studies in London.
“Darling, we have a good university here. Why go all the way to London?” her father would ask.
“Dad, I want to be a journalist. If I stay here, I’ll just end up a teacher.”
Her parents were reluctant to let her leave. They’d seen plenty of films about provincial girls whose lives were ruined chasing dreams in the capital. But in the end, they relented. Her father contacted a distant relative in London who agreed to take Lizzy in during her studies. Lizzy was overjoyed and promised her parents she’d make them proud.
Her father drove her to London himself, made sure she was settled, left her some money, and returned home.
Lizzy didn’t stay with the aunt for free—she cleaned, shopped, and cooked. Neighbours whispered that the woman had turned family into a servant. The aunt lived alone, her husband long gone, leaving her the flat. She considered herself successful—living in London, the capital, after all. And she had advice for Lizzy:
“Stop daydreaming, Lizzy. Studying’s fine, but it’s not what matters for a woman. What matters is marrying well—a Londoner. You’ll win no matter what. Look at me.”
Lizzy listened, smiling to herself. She wasn’t thinking about marriage yet. She dreamed of being noticed, of her talents recognised, of working for a prestigious paper—or even television, if luck favoured her.
But dreams are one thing, and life often rewrites ambitious plans. In her third year, Lizzy fell for Mark. They met by chance, celebrating the end of summer exams with her friends. Mark was there with a mate. He spotted her, asked her to dance, then walked her home.
Her friends urged her not to let a catch like him slip away—eight years older, a Londoner, owned a flat, handsome. Mark didn’t hide that he was divorced with a daughter. But who doesn’t make mistakes when young? The girl lived with her mother, so she wouldn’t be in the way. And it showed he cared about kids.
Lizzy wasn’t making plans, but she liked him. He sensed she was inexperienced and didn’t rush things. They went to exhibitions, theatres, concerts. In all her years in London, she’d never known the city like this.
He spoke more of love, of future plans, of children—their children. Lizzy’s head spun. When he finally proposed, she said yes immediately. Only one year of studies left, and then an exciting grown-up life awaited.
Mark took her to meet his parents. His father smiled politely behind a newspaper. His mother made it clear that Mark wasn’t short of female attention, that she wouldn’t let him make another mistake, and that Lizzy probably just wanted a London postcode and a flat…
“Couldn’t you fall for someone on your level? Making the same mistake again,” his mother finished.
“What mistake? Lisa was a Londoner. Didn’t stop us divorcing,” Mark snapped, leading Lizzy away.
She didn’t see his parents again before the wedding. But Mark often brought his daughter, Ruby—named after her grandmother, who was either a famous actress or married to one… Lizzy never quite followed.
Ruby was a big, plain, quiet girl. Mark was glad she and Lizzy got along. At the wedding, his mother hinted they shouldn’t rush into kids. Lizzy assured her she wanted to finish her degree and work first.
When Ruby first stayed over, Mark’s mother insisted a father shouldn’t neglect his child. He doted on her all day. Lizzy didn’t complain—she’d known about Ruby when she married him.
After graduating, Lizzy got a job at a modest London paper. Her dream had come true—she lived and worked in London with the man she loved. They visited her parents a few times, but the best gift was seeing their daughter happy.
Three years passed. Just before New Year’s, Lizzy told Mark she was pregnant.
“I wanted to wait, but I couldn’t keep it in!” she beamed.
“You said you didn’t want kids yet. Weren’t you on the pill?” he asked sharply.
“I stopped. Thought it’d take time, but it happened straight away. Isn’t that wonderful?” She faltered at his expression. “You’re not happy?”
“I am, but… Why didn’t you discuss it with me?”
“If a man leaves contraception to a woman, he’s giving her the choice, isn’t he? I want a child. Should I wait till I’m forty?” She blinked back tears. She’d thought he’d be thrilled.
“Don’t shout. Fine. Hope it’s a boy. You’ll have to handle childcare. What about work?” He hugged her, and peace was restored.
At New Year’s, Mark told his parents. His father clapped him on the back. His mother was furious.
“I knew this country girl would anchor herself with a baby. First the postcode, now this. Are you even sure it’s yours? She’ll take your flat next. We can’t buy her one like we did for your ex.”
“Mum, we love each other. Lizzy wouldn’t—”
“That’s what you think. Who knows what she’s plotting?”
Mark slammed the door and didn’t visit again. Lizzy’s pregnancy went smoothly, and she had a healthy baby boy.
His parents came to the hospital. His mother’s frown vanished when she saw the blue bundle—the spitting image of Mark.
“Now we’re three, we should move somewhere bigger,” Mark mused after a drink.
“He’s tiny. No rush. Once I’m back at work, we’ll save,” Lizzy said. He kissed her, pleased.
He started seeing his parents again. Lizzy let him go alone—little Freddie was too small, and his mother didn’t seem keen on him anyway. She only ever talked about Ruby, how she shouldn’t feel replaced.
Mark brought Ruby over, took her out, while Lizzy stayed home with Freddie. The first time Ruby saw him sleeping, she stared silently.
“He’s sweet, isn’t he?” Lizzy asked.
Ruby didn’t answer, retreating to the sofa with her stuffed rabbit. She only ever played with toys her father gave her, proudly announcing, “Daddy bought this!” Never mind that Lizzy had picked most of them, knowing a little girl’s tastes better.
Ruby often stayed the night, insisting on sleeping with her father. Lizzy took the sofa.
One day, Mark went shopping while Lizzy cooked. The silence in the nursery unnerved her. She peeked in—Ruby sat on the sofa, clutching a toy. Something felt off. Lizzy checked the cot. Freddie was buried under the blanket.
She yanked it back. He wasn’t breathing. She shook him—he blinked and wailed. Clutching him, she rounded on Ruby.
“Why did you cover his face? He could’ve suffocated!”
Mark walked in just then. Ruby burst into tears.
“How could you accuse her? Maybe Freddie kicked the blanket off himself!” he snapped. “Making a scene over nothing.” He took Ruby to his parents’.
Freddie was fine, but Lizzy felt guilty. When Mark returned, she apologised, and peace was restored.
She hoped his mother would keep Ruby away now. But whether Mark said nothing or his mother wanted to break her, Ruby kept visiting. Lizzy never left them alone again.
Time passed. Freddie grew, toddling after Ruby, who seemed to enjoy it.
One winter, they went sledging. Lizzy nervously sat Freddie in front of Ruby—but she held him tight, leading him up the slope. Mark was delighted. Lizzy relaxed. Ruby was in year three now.
On their way back, Lizzy and Mark walked ahead, chatting. Ruby pushed the sledge with Freddie, who giggled for more speed. They were almost home when Mark’s phone rang.
Lizzy turned—Ruby had shoved the sledge onto the road. Time slowed. The sledge hit a kerb, flipping. Freddie tumbled into traffic.
Her scream merged with screeching brakes. She snatched him up—he was unharmed, just startled.
“Should watch your kids better… Social services ought to know…” bystanders muttered.
Lizzy carried Freddie home, refusing to let Mark take him. Ruby trailed behind, dragging the sledge.
At home, Lizzy told Mark Ruby had done it on purpose—she was jealous, wanted Freddie gone. When she asked him not to bring Ruby back, he called her crazy. Ruby was just a child. Lizzy should’ve been watching.
Ruby clung to him, crying, shooting Lizzy frightened looks.
The next day, his mother stormed in, accusing Lizzy of keeping father and daughter apart. Lizzy tried to explain—no one listened. Exhausted, she askedLizzy packed her bags, took Freddie by the hand, and walked away, knowing some dreams weren’t worth the price.
