There is a mother and there is a daughter, and the daughter turned out to be my friend Lindas child.
A sunny holiday on the Spanish coast ended with a pregnancy, and a few months later little Katie was born darkhaired, with bright black eyes.
Linda kept her job, while her daughter watched the baby, but in the evenings she would slip away to unwind from the daily grind. Sometimes she brought someone home. The grandmother knew, but she never meddled in Lindas affairs.
When Katie turned five, Linda announced she was moving in with a man. Her future was being decided; the man didnt yet know about the child. She begged her mother to let Katie stay with her.
The grandmother had to quit her work and live on a modest state pension. Linda sent a few pounds now and then.
Katie missed her mum terribly. She stared out of the window, flinching at every creak in the hallway.
Lindas visits grew rarer, and she transferred money to her mothers bank card.
One evening she finally came to see her daughter. She bought a few presents and sweets, arriving just as Katie, fresh from a bath, sat in her nightgown watching her favourite programme, Goodnight, Little Ones.
Hearing her mothers voice, Katie leapt from the sofa, ran to Linda, and wrapped her arms tightly around her neck. Mum, Ive missed you so much! I love you, she shouted.
Im hurting, love, let go a little, Linda said, I love you too. But Katie held on so tightly that Linda could barely free her small hands.
Then Katie clutched her mothers legs. Are you staying? Wont you leave me again? Are we together forever?
Hold on, Katie, Linda whispered, Soon Ill take you home. But I have to go now, she answered, stepping toward the door.
I sat in the kitchen, tears streaming down my cheeks. Linda rummaged in the medicine cabinet for some ibuprofen.
She said goodbye, slammed the door. Katie sat on the floor, hands on her knees, not crying but staring at a spot on the wall.
Mommy doesnt love me, she left. I have no father. Everyone else has one, I dont, she whispered.
My dear, I said, lifting her up, Im here for you. I cradled her, and she rested her head on my shoulder.
Grandma, will you tell me the story about the rooster and the fox? she asked.
Of course, love. Ill tuck you in and well begin, I replied.
I waved to Linda as she left; she met my eyes with a silent goodbye.
May God keep you healthy, Grandma, so you can raise this child. Perhaps Linda will change her mind life is full of surprises.
I once heard a similar tale from older days when a woman had a child with a man and never mentioned it. A year later, during a medical emergency, the truth emerged. The man, learning how she had treated his child, threw her out, saying he didnt want a mother like that for his future children.
We must hold onto hope and remember that love, even when hidden, can find its way back. The true measure of a family is the responsibility and affection we give to those who depend on us.
