“He’s not our child!” cried Ellen. But fate had other plans.
Ellen stood by the stove, stirring the pasta with a sharp, impatient motion. Her eyes flashed with anger, her voice trembled with barely suppressed frustration.
“Alex, this can’t go on forever!” she burst out. “He’s not ours! Just think—how absurd is this?”
Alexander sank onto the stool and sighed heavily, resigned.
“I know, love… but what can we do? Throw him out on the street? You know how Mum is…”
“And your mother—forgive me—is the root of all this!” Ellen cut in sharply. “Because of her, we’re stuck in this mess!”
Alexander simply shook his head. He was at a loss. It had all begun when his sister, Alice, divorced her wandering husband. Their mother, Margaret, had been the first to insist—such a son-in-law was a disgrace, she said. Alice, already pregnant, was left alone. She gave birth to a boy, Thomas, but the father never showed—not at the hospital, not after.
At first, Alice managed. Then, suddenly, she “grew tired.” She wanted to rebuild her life, she said. She began seeing men, and little Thomas became an inconvenience. So Margaret “parked” the boy with Alex and Ellen—”just for a fortnight,” she insisted. After all, he was family, and they had no children of their own yet—what harm could it do?
But two weeks stretched into three months. Ellen was horrified. She worked from home, freelancing, and was left alone with the boy. Alice visited less and less, rushing in, kissing Thomas on the head, then disappearing. There was a new beau now, a businessman from another city, too busy for someone else’s child.
Ellen bit her tongue at first. Thomas, though not hers, was sweet and affectionate. She pitied him. He waited by the window for his mother, who never came.
One evening, exhausted, Ellen sat at the kitchen table and whispered,
“Alex, he’s becoming rude… Today he said I wasn’t his mother and had no right to tell him what to do. And I… I’m pregnant.”
“What?” Alex gaped.
“Yes, Alex. We’ve waited so long… but I can’t bear this anymore. We’ll have our own child. I can’t do this alone.”
Two weeks later, when the test showed a single line, Ellen wept. It had all been for nothing. Meanwhile, Alex took Thomas back to Alice, who had just retired. Margaret swore she could handle it.
But Thomas was old enough now to understand no one truly wanted him. Margaret struggled—the boy fought at school, his grades slipped. Soon, she came pleading to Ellen again.
“Ellen, love, he adores you… You’re the only one he listens to. Please, let him stay with you—just for a little while?”
“And Alice?”
“Alice? She’s a mother on paper. She told me she regrets having Thomas. Her new husband wants nothing to do with him—their marriage is crumbling anyway…”
Ellen clenched her teeth and agreed. Thomas returned. He began smiling again, his grades improved. They chatted on the way to school, shared jokes and secrets. One day, he hugged her tight and whispered,
“You’re my real mum. I love you. I want to stay with you and Uncle Alex forever.”
Ellen sobbed. She realised then how dearly she loved him—as if he had been hers from the very start.
Years passed. Alice divorced. Thomas stayed with Alex and Ellen for good. They filed for guardianship, then adoption.
One day, as Ellen stood by the window, Thomas rushed over and pressed his ear to her stomach.
“Mum, promise me I’ll have a brother! I’ll protect him!”
Ellen held her breath and smiled. This time—two lines. And happiness. True and lasting.
