How Could I Burden You with Such a Responsibility? Even My Father and Tanya Refused to Take Him In – “Marina, daughter, come to your senses! Who have you chosen to marry?” wailed Mum, adjusting my veil. “Explain, at least—what’s wrong with Sergei?” I was completely lost amid her tears. “Well, his mother works as a shop assistant and snaps at everyone. His father’s vanished, and when he was young, all he did was party and drink.” “But Granddad was the same—and chased Grandma through the village. So what?” “Your granddad was a respected man, ran the parish.” “Didn’t make it any easier for Grandma. I was just a child but I remember how frightened she was of him. Mum, with Sergei things will be different—we shouldn’t judge people by their parents.” “Wait till you have children—you’ll understand!” Mum exclaimed, and I could only sigh. Life wouldn’t be easy if Mum didn’t change her mind about Sergei. But we had a cheerful wedding and settled into family life. Luckily, Sergei inherited a house in the village from his grandparents—his own father, the vanished party boy, nowhere to be found. Sergei gradually rebuilt that house, and soon it became a real modern home, as I call it, with all the comfort and happiness we could wish for. My husband turned out wonderful—why did Mum speak so ill of him then? A year after the wedding, our son John was born, and four years later, our daughter Mary. But every time the children got sick or caused some trouble, Mum would appear, saying: “See? I warned you! Small children, small problems—just wait, the big ones will come!” Of course, I tried not to let it get to me; Mum was just grumbling out of habit. After all, I’d gone against her wishes when I married Sergei without her approval. That’s just Mum—she likes things done her way. In her heart she’d accepted my choice, even admitted (deep inside, never out loud!) that Sergei was gold. But to say it aloud would mean admitting she’d been wrong—and that would never happen! She didn’t mean bad things about the grandchildren, just worried for them. In truth, she loved them fiercely—if anything happened she’d be the first to leap off a bridge, tearing her hair for those very words. Sometimes, though, those “big problems” did start to worry me, thinking of all the troubles that come with children growing up. Inevitably, the years passed, and soon our son finished college and was about to start adult life at a prestigious university in the nearest city—just 89 miles away. But for a mother’s heart, those miles felt like travelling from Earth to Mercury! Far away indeed. I spent the first four nights unable to sleep, worrying about my boy—what if someone hurt him? What if he didn’t eat properly? What if the city changed him, and he was such a good lad! At first John lived in the university dorm, allocated for country kids. But I couldn’t bear that, so convinced Sergei to rent him a flat in the city. John agreed to pay part of the rent himself, and started an internet job. He’s such a clever boy! I commuted every weekend to see him, help around, tidy, cook—even though his place was cleaner than his old bedroom ever was. And he managed his food too, cooking healthy meals—a smart cookie! Pretty soon, my constant trips began to annoy Sergei. “Marina! Stop keeping John at your apron strings! Let him breathe! You never have time for me—maybe I’ll go off with Lorraine the postie, she’s welcoming enough!” He was joking, but it scared me—what would I do without him? He was right though; time to let our son grow up. I fussed a while longer like a mother hen, then gradually learned to live with the idea that John had grown up. I gave him the freedom, stopped hovering—and, as I soon discovered, maybe I shouldn’t have. One day, the university rang: my son was skipping lectures and dangerously close to expulsion! I couldn’t believe it. Wasn’t this my John? Impossible! I dropped everything and rushed to the city. Even Sergei couldn’t stop me—I can be a bit of a tank sometimes. John didn’t expect me. Worse, he hadn’t even hidden the reason for his absence from uni. The reason was a girl—Anna. She seemed sweet as an angel. But alongside her in the flat was a toddler! A one-year-old boy. I immediately understood: this girl with a baby wanted to hook my son and marry him. I’m a modern mum, times have changed, but still! John wasn’t old enough for marriage—let alone raising someone else’s child. Though Anna looked at most eighteen—when did she become a mother?! I kept the storm inside, and greeted Anna politely, then shut myself and John in the kitchen for a serious talk. “So, you’re in love?” I asked, trying (and probably failing) to smile. “Very much, Mum,” John smiled too. “And what about your studies?” I tiptoed around the topic. “I know I let things slip, Mum, but it’s just a period. Don’t worry—I’ll fix it.” “What kind of period? Will you share with me?” “I can’t, Mum. It’s not my secret. Maybe later, once you get to know Anna better.” I didn’t want to push and risk him shutting me out, so I went home. “This is all YOUR fault!” I snapped at Sergei, “Freedom for our son? See what that’s done! What do we do now?!” “What’s really wrong?” asked Sergei. “What’s wrong with a ready-made child? If John already loves him, then he’s not a stranger.” “You’re ready to be a granddad?” “Why not? I knew once we had kids, I’d become a granddad one day.” “But not to a stranger’s child!” “Marina, I swear, I don’t know you. No child is ever a stranger—just think about it.” He went to sleep in the spare room while I wandered the empty bedroom half the night, angry at everyone. At life, Anna, my son, Sergei—for taking their side. Gradually I calmed down and saw Sergei was right. The child wasn’t to blame. Anna probably wasn’t either—circumstances happen. By morning, after plenty of tears, I snuck into bed with Sergei in the lounge. “Sergei, forgive me! I see things clearer now. I just love you all so much!” “Come here, you silly woman!” He lifted the duvet, and I curled up beside him. We fell asleep together, and I smiled in my dreams. So I’d be a granny now—why not? That little boy in John’s flat was adorable—his name’s Michael. But of course, things weren’t that simple. Soon John announced he was switching to evening classes, and he and Anna planned to marry. This time I took a breath before reacting, then Sergei and I visited the city that weekend. I knew Sergei would help us find the best solution—though I was tempted to “make firewood enough for a whole British winter,” as we say. Anna greeted us, teary-eyed: “I’m sorry—I don’t want John to do this, but he’s so stubborn. You know that, I guess!” “Stubborn, yes,” Sergei agreed, swapping shoes, “but he’s not dim. If he’s decided, then he means it. Cheer up, Anna, let’s just talk it through.” We headed to the kitchen. John wasn’t home. “He’s gone for milk, will be back soon,” Anna explained. “Why do you keep apologising?” Sergei asked. “You’ve done nothing wrong—we haven’t figured out anything yet. Will you make tired guests some tea? I’ve just driven nearly ninety miles.” “Oh—I’m sorry,” Anna fussed. Sergei rolled his eyes, and Anna grinned; I realised he’d already accepted her. When the tea was made and Sergei munched his third homemade cookie—rare among today’s young women—I knew John hadn’t baked those! John returned, serious-faced, loaded down with groceries. Yet I saw a new glint in his eyes—something grown-up, manly. Suddenly, I didn’t feel I could tell this man, my son, what to do anymore. “So, you’ve decided to get married?” Sergei started when we sat down. “Yes—and it’s not open for debate,” John replied stubbornly. “Okay. Just tell me—why the rush? Is Anna expecting another?” “No—never!” Anna shook her head fiercely and blushed. A wild thought crossed my mind—maybe nothing physical had happened yet between them! Couldn’t be, but… “Why the rush, then?” “Otherwise, Micky will be put in care,” Anna said quietly. “Why would that happen?” Sergei asked sternly. “Because his mum… passed away,” Anna’s lips trembled. “Anna, you don’t have to explain,” John stood up. “Mum, Dad, just accept what I told you. The rest is between us!” “Wait, John,” Anna hesitated. “If I’m with you now, then your family is my family. I can’t hide my life from you—it isn’t right.” She fell silent; Sergei and I exchanged glances. “Anna, isn’t Micky your son?” I ventured. “No—he’s my little brother. Same mum, different dads.” I could have hugged everyone—but I kept calm. Anna continued her story: “My mum passed away in prison—she had a heart defect. She lived longer than expected, they say. Her life was hard; she was… fiery.” Anna sipped her tea, sighing. She struggled, but kept going, though John and we tried to stop, seeing how hard it was. “Mum first went to prison after a fight with my dad—she hit an old lady at a crossing. It got in the papers. When they sent Mum to prison, Dad took me to live separately. Before Mum got out, Dad remarried. I don’t blame him; Mum was difficult. His new wife, Tanya, is gentle—we get along well. Perhaps my happy life is due to his decision. Tanya and Dad raised me, and they’re my real family.” Anna paused again. I saw her and John holding hands under the table. This was only the start, I realised. “Three years ago, Mum fell hard in love with Dennis—ten years younger. That’s when Micky was born. I was delighted, always visited. No rows when I was there, but neighbours claimed otherwise in court, hearing shouting and smashing dishes. One day, I later learned, Mum and Dennis fought badly—Mum got jealous. She shoved Dennis; he tripped on a blanket, fell, and hit his head on the table. Two days later, Dennis died in hospital, and Mum was arrested. She… passed away in remand, before any trial. Her heart just stopped. Please, don’t judge her harshly! She was like a hummingbird—bright, restless, uncontrollable. But I loved her, still do.” “Now you must forgive us, Anna,” said Sergei, once she finished. “We’re sorry you had to go through that. You’re right—we’re family now, so we support each other.” Truthfully, I wanted to shout: “What are you doing, son?! John, don’t! We don’t need such family ties! We’ve never had criminals in our family!” But I stopped myself, picturing my wedding day, Mum in tears begging me not to marry Sergei. I mentally slapped my own cheeks—“Don’t judge people by their parents, Marina! You should know better!” That self-scolding worked a miracle. A mad, but marvellous idea popped into my head. I saw Sergei’s smile—he’d had it too, and agreed! Sergei nodded and said: “How about this, friends? Mum and I become Micky’s guardians—then you two can wait before marrying and carry on with your studies.” “But how?” Anna asked. “Dad, stop!” John protested. “Micky would do well in the countryside—think of your own childhood, John. And if you want, you can always take him later.” “It’s gone quiet with just us here—Mary’s more into boys these days.” “Anna,” I gazed at her, “the decision is yours.” “But how can I ask that of you? My Dad and Tanya refused to take him in.” Just then, the little boy causing all the fuss awoke, shuffled into the kitchen, and raised his arms—not to anyone but Sergei. “Oof, what a burden!” Sergei joked, picking Micky up. “Sergei, you’re not bad—more like a dad than a granddad!” I laughed. “Wait and see!” he threatened playfully, whispering in my ear, “I’ll show you the granddad at bedtime.” The kids fussed, but agreed to let Micky come live with us. Oddly, formal guardianship was smooth—no red tape. The social worker said it’s common now for families our age to take in little ones; when your own children grow up, there’s still so much love and care to give. Sergei and I felt younger caring for Micky. When I got up in the night to him, I’d shed tears of joy at my unexpected happiness. Mum, as always, scolded us for our decision—but she grew to love Micky most of all, and he adored her. “Oh, Marina! What have you done?” she’d scold, and then coo to Micky, “Who’s tired and wants to sleep? Whose little eyes are closing?” Then again: “Whatever were you thinking, Marina? Whose tiny fingers have got grubby?! I don’t know how you’ll manage—but where’s my Micky gone? Where is he hiding?!”

“But how on earth could I burden you with such a thing? Even my own father and Sarah refused to take him in,” I said, my thoughts floating like dandelion seeds across the pale sky.

“Mary, darling, get a grip on yourself! Whom are you marrying, really?” wailed Mum, straightening my veil with trembling hands, as if the fabric were made of shimmering mist.

“At least explain what it is about Simon you dont like?” I faltered, utterly bewildered by her tears that dripped like rain onto my dress.

“How could you not see? His mother is a cashier at the Co-op, always yapping at everyone. His father vanished years ago, and in his youth did nothing but drink and gallivant about town.”

“But Grandpa drank too, and chased Grandma across the village. Didnt seem to matter in the end, did it?” I retorted, my words tumbling out in the haze of the moment.

“Your grandfather was respected. He sat at the top table in the community hall!”

“But that didn’t make things easier for Grandma, did it? I remember her trembling whenever he came home, even when I was hardly more than a sprig. With Simon, Mum, itll be different, honestly. You cant judge people by their parents.”

“Youll understand when the children come, just you wait!” Mum sighed as if she were sighing away the clouds themselves. I could only draw a breath, heavy as molasses.

Life would be difficult if Mum continued to frown upon Simon. Still, Simon and I had a merry wedding, full of laughter and roses that seemed to bloom out of thin air. We started our own odd family story. Luckily, Simon had inherited a little house in the village from his gran and granddadthe parents of his lost-at-sea father.

Simon began to rebuild it, brick by brick and beam by beam. Before long, our cottage transformed into a peculiar, modern manora place I called home, full of shadows and sunlight. All mod cons, everything strangely comfortable as in a dream. I often wondered, what was Mum so sour about?

A year after the wedding, our son John arrived, wailing into the world as though trying out his voice for the opera. Four years later, our daughter Alice appeared, with hair like summer hay. Whenever one of the children sniffled or broke something, Mum would swoop in with her, “I told you so!” And always added, “Little kids, little troubles! Wait til they grow up! Especially with this family background!”

No matterI tried not to notice her mutterings, which seemed part of her, like her pearls that clacked softly with every word. After all, Id done what she forbade: married without her blessing.

Mum was the sort of person who liked things her way, her reality tidy and neat. She had grown to accept Simon, and deep down, in the fusty recesses of her heart, she probably agreed Simon was a treasure. But shed never say so aloudadmitting she was wrong was harder than turning back time! And she talked about the grandkids only out of worry, never scolding in earnest. Secretly, shed have leapt into the Thames after them, after pulling out her own hair in characteristically tragic fashion.

Yet, sometimes I began to fear those “big troubles” Mum warned aboutechoes from ancient family legends, the inevitable trials when children grow.

Children dont wait. Before I knew it, John had finished his A-levels and was heading off into adulthood, which was to start at one of those fancy universities in Oxford, just ninety miles away.

But for a mothers heart, ninety miles felt like miles to the moon. Far, far and farther.

Night after night, I lay awake, picturing every possible troublewhat if someone hurt him? Did he eat enough? Was city life corrupting him, my gentle John?

At first, John lived in halls, in a boxy room set aside for village lads. But my anxious heart couldnt bear the thought, so I convinced Simon to rent John a flat in the city. John insisted on paying part of the rent and found work onlinehe was clever as clever!

Id take the train every weekend, bringing pots and pans, fluffing cushions, tidying up. Curiously, the flat was spotless, much cleaner than Johns bedroom at home, with perpetual chaos. The meals were ready and variedsteamed pies, roasts in clay pots. When did my son become a domestic genius?

Soon, these trips began to annoy Simon.

“Mary! Stop clinging to John! Let him breathe! Youre neglecting me! I might just run off with Liz the postwoman, she greets everyonethen youll regret it.”

He was joking, mostly, but it unsettled me. How could I bear to lose Simon to Liz? Still, he was rightit was time to let John fly free.

I fussed for a while, like an old hen, then slowly learned to embrace Johns independence. I let go, stopped hovering, only to find it was a mistake.

One morning, I got a call from the university office: John had been missing classes and was on the brink of expulsion! I squawked in disbeliefmy John? Surely not! I grabbed two days off work and sped to the city, unstoppable as a freight train.

John wasnt expecting me. Not only had he failed to tidy uphe hadnt managed to hide the reason for his absences.

That reason was a girl named Emma. She was lovely, almost unreal, with a face out of a Renaissance painting.

It wouldnt have matteredboys meet girls, sooner or later. But there was a child in the flata toddling boy, age one at most.

Suddenly, I understood. This Emma, with a baby, was ensnaring my son, hoping to marry him.

I prided myself on being a modern motherthis sort of thing happens. Still, John was too young for marriage, let alone co-parenting. Emma could not have been more than eighteen herselfwhen had she found time to have a baby?

Inside, a tempest roiled, but I forced myself to be polite. I greeted Emma, then pulled John into the kitchen for a serious talk.

“John, are you besotted?” I asked, stretching my mouth into something I hoped was a smile.

“Completely, Mum,” John smiled too.

“And what about your studies?” I tiptoed around the topic like a spy in a museum.

“Ive fallen behind, Mum, but Ill fix it. Dont worryits just a phase.”

“What phase?” I pressed, wary.

“I cant say, Mumits not my secret. Maybe later, when you know Emma properly.”

I didnt want to turn John against me, so I paused and returned home.

“This is all your fault!” I stormed at Simon. “You gave him too much freedomlook whats happened! What do we do now?”

“And whats happened, really?” Simon replied, ever the optimist. “Is the child so terrible? If John cares for him, that means hes family.”

“And youd be a grandfather?”

“Why not? I knew when the kids arrived, Id one day be a granddad.”

“Not to someone elses child!”

“Mary, I wonder if Im really speaking to you. No childs ever truly a strangerthink on that.”

Simon stormed off to sleep in the spare room, and I wandered the house, angry as a cat in a thunderstorm. First, I raged at everythinglife, Emma, John, and Simon, for taking their side. Then I calmed, realising Simonas everwas right.

The child was innocent. Emma, by all appearances, was caught by circumstance. By dawn, I had shed my anger and all my tears, crawling gratefully beside Simon on the settee.

“Simon, forgive me! I see now, I just love all of you so much!”

“Come here, you daft woman,” Simon lifted the blanket and I curled up beside him. I drifted off to sleep, lips curled in a smile. So Id be a grandmother nowwhat of it? The little boy, Michael, was a marvel, soft as lambswool.

But things arent as simple as dreams would let on. Later, John announced he was switching to evening classes, and he and Emma meant to marry.

This time, I took my time absorbing the news. Only afterwards did Simon and I visit the city flat. My husband would sort thingshelp us all steer through. I wanted, half-hoped, to make a proper muddle of itenough firewood to last a winter.

Emma met us in the hall, dabbing away tears.

“I’m sorrytruly! I don’t want John to rush, but hes stubborn. You know how he is.”

“Stubborn and smart,” Simon said, kicking off his boots. “If hes decided, it must be necessary. Let’s calm down and discuss things. How about tea for weary travellers? Ive just driven ninety miles, after all.”

“Oh! Sorry, of course,” Emma scurried off. Simon rolled his eyes but Emma caught it and smileda delicate, fluttering smile. I realised Simon already approved of her and sighed in secret defeat.

As the scent of tea wafted up, Simon helped himself to his third biscuithomemade, which impressed me. John couldnt bake to save his life. Just then, John returned from the shop.

He looked grim, unloading groceries. But I noticed something steel-like in his eyesa sort of glint, oddly grown-up. Did I still have the right to direct him?

So, you want to marry? Simon asked, settling at the table.

Yes, and thats final, John replied.

Fair enough. Whats the rush about? Expecting another child?

Oh, no! Emma blushed bright red, shaking her head.

A strange thought crept inmaybe John and Emma hadnt even crossed that threshold yet, that daft precondition for children. The idea was absurdly dreamlike.

Then whats pushing you?

If we dont, Michael will end up in care, Emma whispered, eyes downcast.

Why would they take him? Simon frowned.

His mother she passed away, Emma explained, voice trembling.

“Emma, you dont have to explain,” John leapt to her defence. “Mum, DadId ask you just to accept what I said. The rest is between Emma and me!”

“Hold on, John,” Emma interrupted gently. “If we’re together, your family is mine too. I wont hide my historyits not right.”

She paused, and Simon and I exchanged glances.

“Emma, isnt Michael your son?” I ventured.

“No! Hes my little brothersame mum, different dad.”

At that moment, I wanted to hug the sky with joy! But I held myself back. Emma continued:

“Mum died in prison. She had a heart defectsupposedly she lived longer than expected. Mums life was hard, her temperament explosive, I think.

Emma sipped her tea, words dripping like honey. She kept going, even as John tried to stop her, and Simon and I wished we could ease her burden.

“Mum first went to prison after a row with my dad. She knocked over an old lady at the crossingmade the papers.”

When Mum went away, Dad took me; we lived apart. Before Mum was released, Dad remarried. His new wife, Sarah, is gentle, and we’ve always got on. Maybe my life was better for Dads choice. He and Sarah raised meI see them as my true family.

Emma paused again. Under the table, she and John grasped hands, and I sensed her storys hardest parts were still ahead.

“Three years ago, Mum fell hard for a younger man, Tomten years her junior. Then Michael came. I loved having a little brother, and often visited. No rows when I was there, but neighbours told the court they heard constant shouting and broken plates.

“One night, Mum and Tom arguedshe got jealous, perhaps. She shoved him, he tripped on the blanket, hit his head. Two days later, Tom died at hospital; Mum was arrested.

Emma drew a shaky breath, words racing out:

“Mum died in custody before her trialher heart just stopped. I beg you, dont judge her. She was like a hummingbirdvivid, restless, untameable. But I loved her deeply.”

Simon spoke softly when Emma finished. “Now you must forgive us, Emmafor making you share all that. But youre right: we’re family now, and here to support each other.”

Embarrassing to admit, but part of me wanted to shout, “John, what are you doing! No need for such complicated kinno criminals in our line!” But I stopped myself, remembering my own wedding, Mum sobbing beside me, begging me not to marry Simon.

I scolded myself in my mind, saying, “Mary, you cannot judge people by their parentsleast of all you!”

This self-reminder worked a miracleI had a wild, dreamy idea. I looked at Simon. He was already grinning, obviously in agreement.

Simon nodded and said, “What about thisMary and I can foster Michael while you two finish university. You can bring him home when you’re ready.”

“What?” Emma stared.

“Dad, really?” John protested.

“Theres plenty of fun for Michael in the villageremember your own childhood. If you wish, take him back anytime.

“Life is quiet now; wed love to care for Michael. Your sisters more taken with boys than parents these days!”

“Emma,” I said, meeting her eyes, “its your call finally.”

“But how can I put such a load on you? My own dad and Sarah wouldnt even take him,” Emma said softly.

We hadnt noticed Michael stirringhe toddled into the kitchen, arms stretching not for anyone, but for Simon.

“What a heavy burden,” Simon joked, lifting Michael up.

“Well, Simon! More father than grandfather” I laughed.

“Wait and see,” he winked, whispering, “Ill show you a proper granddad tonight!”

The youngsters squabbled a bit, but agreed to let us take Michael. Miraculously, the paperwork was smoothno trouble at all.

The woman from social services said its not uncommon for couples our age to foster young childrenwhen your own have grown, and your love’s still overflowing. It was true: Simon and I felt alive again, caring for Michael.

I cried happy tears at night, amazed at my unexpected joy.

Mum moaned at our decision, predictablybut soon loved Michael more than anyone, and he adored her.

“Oh Mary! What are you doing?” shed fret, then, cooing at Michael, “Whose sleepy eyes are closing now, whos ready for bed?”

A pause, then again:

“What are you thinking, Mary! And whose little fingers made such a mess? Well, how will you manage? Wheres my Michael, wheres he hiding?”