“He’s not our child!” said Ellen. But life had other plans.
Ellen stood by the stove, irritably stirring the pasta in the pot. Her eyes flashed with anger, her voice trembled with suppressed frustration.
“Alex, this can’t go on forever!” she burst out. “He’s not ours! Use your head—what kind of madness 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 remember what Mum said…”
“And your mother—forgive me—is the root of all this!” Ellen cut in sharply. “It’s because of her we’re in this mess!”
Alex shook his head. He was at a loss. It had all started when his sister, Alice, divorced her unfaithful husband. Their mother, Margaret, had been the first to insist on it—such a son-in-law was a disgrace, she’d said. Alice, already pregnant, was left alone. She gave birth to a boy—Nathan. His father never showed his face, not at the hospital nor after.
At first, Alice managed. Then, suddenly, she “grew tired.” Said she wanted to build a life of her own. She began seeing men, and little Nathan got in the way. So Margaret “parked” the boy with Alex and Ellen—”just for a fortnight,” she’d insisted. Just a nephew, and they had no children of their own yet. Surely it was no trouble.
But two weeks became three months. Ellen was stunned. She worked from home, freelancing, and was left alone with the boy. Alice visited less and less, darting in to kiss Nathan on the head before rushing off. She had a new beau now, some businessman from another town. He never even stepped inside the flat—other men’s children were no concern of his.
Ellen had bitten her tongue at first. Nathan, though not hers, was sweet and affectionate. She pitied him. He’d wait by the window for his mother, who never came.
One evening, exhausted, Ellen sat at the kitchen table and whispered,
“Alex… he’s starting to lash out. Today he told me I wasn’t his mother and had no right to tell him what to do. And I… I’m pregnant.”
“What?” Alex gaped at her.
“Yes, love. We’ve waited so long… But I can’t carry this alone. We’ll have our own child now. I can’t do this any longer.”
Two weeks later, when the test showed a single line, Ellen wept. It had all been for nothing. Meanwhile, Alex took Nathan back to his mother, who had just retired. Margaret swore she could handle it.
But Nathan was at that age when a boy understands when no one truly wants him. Margaret struggled. The boy fought at school, his marks slipped. Then Ellen’s in-law came to her, pleading.
“Ellen, dear… he loves you. Only with you is he settled. Please, let him stay with you, just for a while…”
“And Alice?”
“Alice? She’s a mother only on paper. Told me she regrets having Nathan. Her new husband won’t have him, and they’re on the brink of divorce as it is…”
Ellen clenched her teeth—and agreed. Nathan came back. He smiled again, his schoolwork improved. He and Ellen chattered on the walk 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 broke down in tears. She realised then how deeply she loved the boy—as if he had been her own from the very beginning.
Years passed. Alice divorced. Nathan stayed with Alex and Ellen for good. They arranged guardianship, then adoption.
And one day, as Ellen stood by the window, Nathan rushed over and pressed his ear to her stomach.
“Mum, promise me I’ll have a baby brother! I’ll protect him!”
Ellen held her breath—then smiled. This time, two clear lines. And happiness. Real, at last.
