The phone buzzes in the middle of the lecture. Sophie pulls it from her pocket, glances at the screen, and declines the call. But it rings again.
“Ms. Griffiths, have some decency. Either switch it off or answer,” the professor snaps, irritation sharp in her voice.
“I’ll take it. May I?” Sophie nods toward the door.
“Go,” the professor sighs.
Outside the classroom, Sophie exhales. “Milly, what is it? I’m in class.”
“Sophie…” Milly’s voice trembles. “Your parents—they’ve been in an accident.”
“What?” Sophie’s voice cracks.
“Come home. Now.”
Pale and shaking, Sophie storms back into the lecture hall, shoves her books into her bag, and strides for the door.
“Not a word, Ms. Griffiths?” the professor calls after her.
“I’m sorry. It’s urgent.”
Sophie shoves the door open and steps into the corridor.
“Soph, what’s wrong?” Nicholas catches up to her by the stairs.
“I don’t know. Milly just rang—said Mum and Dad were in a crash. I have to go.”
“Are they alive? I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“You might need help. Give me your phone—I’ll call a cab.” Only then does Sophie realise she’s still clutching it, fingers numb.
“God, please let them be alive,” she whispers, handing it over.
The entire ride home, Sophie twists the strap of her bag. Nicholas covers her hands with his, steadying her.
“Please, hurry,” she begs the driver. The car crawls, the roads a blur of taillights.
“Can’t. Speed cameras everywhere,” the driver mutters.
“I’ll pay the fines. Just go faster.” Her voice splinters.
The driver exhales sharply, then floors it, weaving through traffic. “If we crash, we all go together.”
At last, home. Nicholas pays while Sophie bolts through the gate. Milly spots them from the window, stepping onto the porch of the large two-story house. Tears streak her face, hands pressed to her chest.
“Are they alive?” Sophie gasps, skidding to a halt before her.
“Edward didn’t make it. Margaret’s in hospital.”
“Why didn’t you say that first? Which one?”
“St. Mary’s.”
“Nicholas—did the cab leave?” She whirls toward him.
“Wait.” He grabs his phone. “You still nearby? Turn around, please.”
Sophie doesn’t rush now. She sobs in the backseat, face buried in Nicholas’s shoulder.
At the hospital, they won’t let her see her mother.
“She’s my mum! Let me in!” Sophie pleads with the doctor.
“She’s critical. Unconscious.”
“Please. Just let me see her.”
“Fine. But no outbursts.”
Later, in another taxi, Nicholas holds her close as the city blurs past.
“Mum… She’ll pull through, won’t she?” Sophie whispers. “I’ve got no one left. No one.”
“What about Milly? She’s family, isn’t she?” Nicholas asks.
“The housekeeper. Been with us forever—like family. I lied so no one would know.”
“Why?”
“Do you think anyone else in our class has a live-in housekeeper? How d’you think they’d treat me if they knew?”
The rest of the ride passes in silence. At the house, Nicholas moves to get out, but Sophie stops him.
“Don’t. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Milly meets her in the hallway. “Well? Did you see her?”
“Yes. She’s in a coma.”
“Oh, Sophie.” Milly pulls her into a crushing hug. “We’ll pray for Margaret. Edward’s funeral is being handled by his firm—they’ve already called.” Her hand rubs circles on Sophie’s back. “What a tragedy. Your father… such a good man. Never raised his voice, always kind…”
Sophie leaves Milly to her tears and trudges upstairs, collapsing onto her bed, curling into herself.
Milly wakes her at dawn. Her red-rimmed eyes tell Sophie everything before she speaks.
“They rang just now. She passed in the night. God rest her soul,” Milly murmurs, crossing herself. “How could this happen, Sophie?”
Later, they sit at the kitchen table, untouched tea cooling between them. Milly breaks the silence.
“I swore to your parents I’d never tell you. But they’re gone now—the oath is broken. You deserve the truth. Forgive me, Edward and Margaret.” She crosses herself again.
“What truth? What oath?” Sophie’s voice is hollow.
“This. You’re not alone. You have a mother.”
“Have you lost it? Mum’s dead,” Sophie snaps.
“Margaret wasn’t your birth mother. Your real mother—I think she’s still alive. Though I don’t know where.”
Sophie stares.
“Mum wasn’t my mother? What about Dad?”
“He was your father. I’ve worked here for years—he trusted me. Margaret couldn’t have children. They tried everything. Then your father hired a girl—barely eighteen, fresh from some backwater town. She fell for him. Got pregnant. Wanted an abortion. He convinced her to keep the baby—promised her money, a flat, if she’d give the child to them. She agreed at first. Then changed her mind before birth. But your father… he found out about her past. Raised by a single mum, dirt poor. Told her, ‘Is that what you want for your daughter? I can’t help you forever. I’m married. Think about it.’”
Milly sighs. “She signed the papers at the hospital. Your father told everyone Margaret had given birth. When they brought you home, you wouldn’t stop crying. Then your real mother showed up—haunting the house, begging to see you. He took pity. Hired her as your nanny. Made her swear never to reveal the truth. Margaret was jealous—only let her feed you, never keep you overnight. Then one day, your mother left. Couldn’t bear hearing you call another woman ‘Mum.’ So you see, you’re not alone.”
Milly’s voice softens. “Now let me go. I’ve unburdened my soul. I’m retiring.”
“Fine. But tell me her name.” Sophie’s voice wavers between belief and disbelief.
“Natasha. Natasha Carter. That’s all I know.”
Sophie lets Milly go. She tells Nicholas everything. His father works for the Met—maybe he can help trace her.
Three weeks later, he does. Only one woman fits.
Sophie packs for London at once.
“Where are you going? Exams are next week—you’ll fail,” Nicholas protests.
“I have to do this alone. I’ll be back in time.”
“Honestly? Don’t go,” he says. “She gave you up. Didn’t fight for you. Your dad probably paid her off. She sold you. Margaret was your real mum. Let it go.”
But Sophie won’t budge. She needs to look her in the eye. Ask why.
“Did Milly say anything to identify her? What if she’s a fraud after money?”
“A scar on her left eyebrow. Fell off a swing as a kid. Hair doesn’t grow there.”
The London flat is in an old converted townhouse. Sophie’s heart hammers as she rings the bell. The door swings open to a lean, athletic woman.
“Natasha Carter? Mind if I come in?”
Natasha studies her as Sophie toes off her trainers, pushes back her hair.
“Kitchen,” Natasha says, gesturing.
Sophie takes in the cramped, gloomy space.
“Building used to be a lord’s residence. Turned into flats after the war,” Natasha says, mistaking her curiosity.
“I’m your daughter,” Sophie blurts.
“Is that so?” Natasha doesn’t flinch.
“I don’t want anything. Just… why did you leave me? You’ve got a scar. From a swing?”
Natasha doesn’t answer. She lights a cigarette at the window.
“Didn’t expect this,” she finally says.
“Neither did I,” Sophie whispers.
Natasha exhales smoke. “You want the story? How’d you even find me?”
“The housekeeper. Milly. My parents died. She thought their deaths freed her from the oath.”
“Milly’s still with you?”
“Not after the accident.”
Natasha stubs out the cigarette. “Fine. Here’s how it happened.” Her version matches Milly’s exactly.
“You thought I’d beg for forgiveness?” Natasha’s voice hardens. “Your father gave you everything I couldn’t. Nineteen, stupid, and naïve—that’s all I was. He paid me to disappear. I didn’t visit because you had a better life than I could’ve given you. Now you’veSophie reaches across the table and takes Natasha’s hand, whispering, “But I needed you too,” and for the first time in nineteen years, her mother’s grip tightens around hers.
