“I knew you’d call, Mum…”
The phone buzzed in the middle of the lecture. Sophie pulled it from her pocket, glanced at the screen, and dismissed the call. But it buzzed again.
“Harrison, have some decency. Switch it off or answer it,” the professor snapped, her irritation sharp.
“I’ll take it. May I?” Sophie’s eyes flicked toward the door.
“Go,” the professor sighed.
“Lila, what is it? I’m in class,” Sophie asked, stepping into the corridor.
“Sophie… your parents—they’ve been in an accident,” Lila’s voice trembled.
“What?” Sophie’s stomach lurched.
“Come home. Quickly.”
Pale and shaking, Sophie rushed back inside, shoved her textbook and notebook into her bag, and made for the exit.
“Nothing to say, Harrison?” The professor’s voice chased her to the door.
“I’m sorry—it’s urgent.” The door swung shut behind her.
“Soph, what’s going on?” Nathan caught up by the stairs, his face tight with concern.
“I don’t know. Lila called—said my parents were in a crash. She told me to come.”
“Are they—?”
“Alive? I don’t know. I’m going.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Nathan, you don’t have to—”
“You might need help. Let me call a cab.” It was only then she realised she was still clutching her phone, fingers white-knuckled.
“God, just let them be alive,” she whispered, handing it over.
The ride home was agony. Sophie twisted the strap of her bag, her nerves fraying. Nathan covered her hands with his own, steadying her.
“Please—can you go faster?” she begged the driver. Every red light felt like a lifetime.
“Cameras everywhere. Can’t risk it,” he said flatly.
“I’ll pay the fines—just *please* hurry,” she choked out, tears welling.
The driver exhaled sharply. “Fine. But if we crash, we crash together,” he muttered, pressing the accelerator.
Home. Nathan dealt with the fare while Sophie was already through the gate.
Lila spotted them from the window and rushed onto the porch of the grand two-storey house. Her hands clutched at her chest, eyes damp.
“Are they—?” Sophie sprinted up the steps.
“Oliver… passed at the scene. Emily’s in hospital.”
“Why didn’t you *say*? Which one?”
“St. Mary’s.”
“Nathan, is the cab still here?” Sophie spun toward him.
“One second.” He pulled out his phone. “Hey—yeah, still outside? Wait for us, please.”
Sophie didn’t rush now. She crumpled into the back seat, sobbing into Nathan’s shoulder.
At the hospital, they wouldn’t let her into Emily’s room.
“She’s my *mother*! Let me see her!” Sophie’s voice broke, desperation raw.
“She’s critical. Unconscious.”
“*Please*,” she begged.
The doctor relented. “No outbursts. No shouting.”
Inside, machines beeped, tubes snaked. Her mother looked small, broken.
Later, in the taxi home:
“She’ll… pull through, won’t she?” Sophie whispered. “I have no one else.”
“What about Lila? She’s family, right?” Nathan asked.
“The housekeeper. Worked for us since I was a baby. I just—lied. Didn’t want people knowing.”
“Why?”
“Do you think anyone in our set *doesn’t* have staff? How d’you think they’d treat me if they knew?”
Silence the rest of the way. At the house, Nathan moved to follow, but Sophie stopped him.
“Don’t. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Inside, Lila met her in the hall.
“Your mum—did you see her?”
“Yes. She’s in a coma.”
“Oh, Sophie.” Lila pulled her into a crushing embrace. “We’ll pray for her. And Oliver’s funeral—the estate’s handling it. They already rang.” Her voice wavered. “Such a good man he was. Never a harsh word…”
Sophie let her babble, then slipped upstairs, curled into a ball on her bed.
Lila woke her at dawn. The tears on her wrinkled face said everything.
“They just called. She’s gone, love.”
Later, in the kitchen:
“I’m completely alone,” Sophie murmured.
“I’ll stay a while. But I’m old, sweetheart—time to retire. Thirty years with your family. Started when your granddad ran the house.”
The funeral passed, then the mourning rites. The house emptied of visitors, the phone fell silent.
Sophie went to class because Nathan forced her. Otherwise, she’d have stayed in bed, facing the wall. Lila bullied her into eating—*Eat this broth or I walk out.* Why stay? No one touched the meals.
So Sophie ate—because the house was too big, too quiet.
One evening, over untouched tea, Lila spoke.
“I swore to your parents I’d never tell. But they’re gone now. You deserve the truth.” She crossed herself.
“What truth?” Sophie’s voice was hollow.
“You’re not alone. You have another mother.”
Sophie stared.
“Emily wasn’t your birth mother. Your real mum—I think she’s alive.”
“Are you *mad*? Mum’s *dead*—”
“Oliver was your father. Emily couldn’t have children. They were desperate. Then a girl started at his firm—eighteen, fresh from some village. She fell for him. Got pregnant.”
Sophie’s breath stalled.
“She wanted an abortion. Oliver offered her money to carry the baby—give it to them. She agreed… then changed her mind. But he convinced her. Told her she’d doom you to her life—poor, struggling. So she signed the papers. Emily pretended it was hers.”
Lila exhaled. “Your real mum came back afterward, haunting the house, begging to see you. Oliver hired her as your nanny. Made her swear never to tell. Emily was jealous—only let her feed you, never keep you overnight.”
“Then she left. Couldn’t bear you calling Emily *Mum*. Her name was Natalie. Natalie Hart. That’s all I know.”
Sophie dismissed her. Then told Nathan—whose father was a detective.
Three weeks later, he found Natalie. In *London*.
Sophie packed immediately.
“*Now*? Exams are next week. Wait, I’ll come—” Nathan argued.
“No. I need to do this alone.”
“Don’t go. She gave you up. Sold you, probably.”
Sophie shook her head. “I need to see her *face*.”
The flat was cramped, dim. Natalie—lean, sharp-eyed—studied her from the doorway.
“You’re Natalie Hart?” Sophie’s pulse hammered.
“I am. Come in.”
Inside, Sophie blurted it: “I’m your daughter.”
Natalie didn’t flinch. “Are you?”
“I just want to know why you left me.”
A pause. Natalie lit a cigarette. “Your dad offered me a way out. I was nineteen—stupid. He gave you everything I couldn’t.” She exhaled smoke. “You think I should’ve dragged you into *this*?”
Sophie’s throat burned. “You never even *tried*—”
“Would you rather have grown up hungry? Hated? I saved you from that.” Her voice cracked. “Now you’ve seen me. Go home.”
Sophie left her number. On the platform, Natalie pulled her into a sudden, fierce embrace.
“Forgive me,” she whispered.
Sophie’s anger dissolved. She *understood*—the fear, the self-loathing.
A month later, the night before her birthday, the phone rang.
“I knew you’d call, Mum,” Sophie breathed, smiling.
