There was a mother and there was a daughter, and the daughter turned out to be the child of my friend, Emma Clarke.
A sunny holiday in Spain ended with an unexpected pregnancy, and a year later a small, darkhaired baby girl was born. She was named Milly, with bright black eyes.
Emma worked fulltime while Milly stayed with her grandmother, Margaret, but the evenings were when Emma tried to unwind from the grind. Sometimes she brought friends around. Margaret was aware of it but never meddled in Emmas affairs.
When Milly turned five, Emma announced that she was moving in with a new partner, a man who still didnt know about Milly. She begged Margaret to let the little girl continue living with her. Margaret was forced to quit her job and live on a modest state pension, while Emma occasionally slipped a few pounds onto Margarets bank card.
Milly missed her mother terribly. She stared out the kitchen window, flinching at every creak in the hallway. Emmas visits became rarer, and the transfers grew smaller.
One afternoon Emma decided to surprise Milly. She bought a few sweets and a small present, and arrived just after Milly had finished her bath, still in her pyjamas, watching her favourite programme, Goodnight, Little Ones.
Hearing her mothers voice, Milly sprang from the sofa, ran to Emma, and clutched her neck with both hands. Mum, Ive missed you so much! I love you! she cried.
Sweetheart, please let go a bit, youre hurting me, Emma said, trying to ease the tight little grip. Milly held on so fiercely that Emma could barely loosen her tiny hands. In desperation Milly wrapped her arms around Emmas legs.
Are you staying? Are you not leaving me again? Are we together forever? she begged.
Hold on a little longer, love. Ill pick you up soon. I have to go now, Emma replied, before hurrying out.
I was in the kitchen, tears streaming down my face, while Emma fumbled for some paracetamol in the cupboard.
Emma shut the door with a soft click. Milly sat on the floor, hands folded on her knees, eyes fixed on a point in the distance, not crying but quiet.
Mom doesnt love me. Shes abandoned me. I have no father, while everyone else seems to have one, she whispered.
My dear, I am here for you, said Margaret, pulling Milly up. Milly clung to her, resting her head on Margarets shoulder.
Grandma, could you tell me the story about the rooster and the fox?
Of course, love. Ill tuck you in and read it tonight.
I gave Emma a wave as I left, and she answered with a look that said, Take care of her.
May God grant Margaret good health to raise this child, and perhaps Emma will come around again. Life has a way of throwing curveballs.
I recall a similar tale from the old days, when a woman fell in love with a man and kept a child a secret. A year later, a medical emergency revealed the truth. The man, feeling betrayed, cast her aside, claiming he didnt want a mother like that for his future children.
Even so, I try to keep faith that kindness will eventually win. The lesson is clear: love and responsibility matter far more than bloodlines, and a family is built on the commitment we keep to one another, not the promises we break.
