He ran off to Australia, leaving his daughter with me, and in that, I found something truly precious.
Life can often throw unexpected curves that first make your heart stop, only for you to later realize they were your salvation. It is in pain that a love stronger than blood can be born. This isn’t a story of betrayal, though it starts with it. It’s about building something whole from shattered pieces.
My name is Elizabeth, from Sheffield. I’m 53 now. When all this began, I was 33—a divorced woman with two daughters, deep in responsibilities, yet hopeful that life might still have something good to offer me.
That’s when I met Andrew. A widower. His wife had passed away, leaving him with a little girl named Emma. Emma was like an angel from a picture book: curly blonde hair, big blue eyes, sad yet attentive. Andrew was reserved, quiet, but he seemed like a decent man. I saw in him not just a man, but someone needing support.
We started living together. I opened the doors of my home and heart to him. My daughters welcomed Emma as one of their own. Andrew didn’t drink, didn’t shout, didn’t create scenes, nor did he distinguish between ‘his’ and ‘ours’ among the children. I believed everything would be alright. Perhaps not immediately, but in time, we would become a real family.
Things weren’t going well for Andrew at work. One month brought in a bit, another almost nothing. But we had a home, and my salary somehow covered our expenses, and we managed. I tried to believe in a better future.
Then he told me he planned to go to Australia. Supposedly, he had a friend there who promised him a job. Andrew wanted to go, earn some money, and then take us all there. I had my doubts, tried to dissuade him, but he was filled with enthusiasm. So, I relented.
He left. Emma stayed with me. In the first few weeks, he called twice—from different numbers, different cities. And then—silence. His phone became unreachable, and his so-called friend never got in touch.
And so, simply and cynically, Andrew left me with his daughter. Like a legacy. Like a supposedly temporary burden. He went off to build a new life, forgetting those he called a family.
But you know what? I’m not angry. Because it was through this experience that I gained Emma—the most wonderful girl who became more than just a part of my life, but its very heart.
Emma missed her father, especially in those initial months. But she saw that my children grew up without a dad too, and it seemed to help her accept what happened more quickly. We became a small women’s team. Four women living, laughing, crying, working, and dreaming—together.
I kept working as before. My oldest got a part-time job while still in school. The younger one followed suit. And Emma—our youngest, our little sunshine—helped me at home, studied, and was always there. We held onto each other.
Years passed. My oldest moved to Italy, got married, and had a baby. The younger one relocated to Brighton to be with her partner. But Emma stayed with me.
Now she’s 27. Beautiful, intelligent, determined. She knows what she wants and pursues it with perseverance and kindness. She doesn’t step over others, but she achieves her goals. I am proud of her.
The other day I joked: “You know, Emma, I don’t even resent your father.” She replied, “Maybe you should, Mum.”
I smiled, “No, I shouldn’t. Because he left me you. And that’s the best thing he could have done in his life.”
Emma often tells me I deserve love. That I should try again. She jokes, “Mum, find yourself a decent man, and I’ll love him too. Just as long as you’re happy.”
And I look at her and realize: I am already happy. Because despite the fact that the men in my life brought only pain, their daughters brought me light.
If someone asked if I would do it all over again, knowing how it would turn out—I would say yes. Yes, a thousand times yes. Because fate doesn’t always deliver happiness in a pretty package. Sometimes it comes as a girl with tear-stained eyes, left at the doorstep of your soul. And if you open your heart—she becomes your own.
Emma isn’t mine by blood. But she’s mine by love. And believe me, that means so much more.
