“It’s All Because of You”
“Miss Thornton, there was a strange man bothering your little Sophie at the playground.”
“Bothering her? What do you mean, Margaret? Where is he? Who is he?”
“How should I know? I went over to ask, and he bolted before I could get a word in.”
“I don’t like the sound of this. Sophie! Sweetheart, come here!”
The five-year-old girl, her pigtails bouncing as she ran, skipped over to Eleanor with her usual bright grin.
“Mummy! I saw the cutest puppies!”
Eleanor studied her daughter’s face, trying to read the situation. Sophie seemed fine, but a mother’s intuition never rested.
“Where did you see them? Who showed them to you?”
Sophie blinked, then shrugged. “No one! I saw them myself. Three little ones—two black, one with white spots. Come, I’ll show you!”
Eleanor gripped her daughter’s hand tightly.
“Did someone talk to you? A man? What did he say? Was he bothering you?”
Sophie’s face twisted in confusion.
“Mummy, what’s wrong? You’re shaking. No one bothered me! There was just a nice man who asked if I knew Eleanor Thornton.”
Her heart clenched. Who could that be? After all this time—had he really come back?
“What did he look like, this ‘nice man’?”
Before Sophie could reply, Eleanor’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Her husband, William. She couldn’t ignore it.
“Yes, darling?”
Her thoughts still swirled around the stranger who’d approached her little girl. She wouldn’t tell William—no need to worry him. Sophie wouldn’t mention it either.
“Let’s not upset Daddy, okay?” she’d whispered earlier. Sophie never questioned why.
That night, Eleanor tossed and turned. By morning, her head pounded, her body ached, and even the smallest movement sent daggers through her skull. She decided the day would be for rest—no chores, no cooking.
“Why don’t we eat out tonight?” William suggested.
Eleanor agreed gratefully. Her second marriage was nothing like the first. With William, she felt safe. She avoided causing him distress and, in turn, was met with kindness.
“Sounds perfect,” she said, forcing a smile.
Her spirits lifted slightly—until they stepped outside. As she slid into the car, she spotted a man near the neighbouring building. Her breath hitched.
“Ellie, what’s keeping you?” William called from the driver’s seat.
“Mummy, come on! What are you staring at?”
Slowly, Eleanor got in, never taking her eyes off the figure standing just metres away. As the car pulled away, an uneasy weight settled in her chest.
At the restaurant, she couldn’t relax. When William stepped away to take a call, Sophie’s voice broke through her thoughts.
“Mummy, I saw that nice man again near our house.”
Eleanor nearly gasped. For a moment, she didn’t move. Then it hit her—the man she’d erased from her life a decade ago had returned. The memories rushed in—some sweet, most unbearable. How was she supposed to live with this now?
“You saw him tonight?” she asked mechanically.
Sophie nodded. “When we left for dinner. He was by the other building, watching us.”
The meal was agony. When they finally stood to leave, William took her hand.
“What’s wrong, love? You’ve been distant.”
She wanted to stay silent—but she loved him too much for that.
“William… Andrew’s back.”
He froze, releasing her hand. “Andrew? He called you?”
“Who’s Andrew?” Sophie piped up.
“An old… friend,” Eleanor said vaguely before turning back to William. “No, but I saw him—twice now. It’s definitely him.”
William said nothing. The ride home was tense. As they neared their street, Eleanor knew it was coming. There he stood—watching, waiting, his eyes locking onto hers.
“You were right,” William murmured. “It’s him. He found you.”
“Will you let me talk to him?” Her voice trembled. “If you’d rather I didn’t—”
“Ellie.” William touched her hand gently. “He’s your son. I won’t stand between you.”
She glanced back at Sophie, asleep in her seat.
“Go,” William said softly. “We’ll drive around a bit longer.”
Grateful, Eleanor stepped out. As she neared Andrew, she studied him. Ten years had changed him—his face weathered, his hair thinner. But the anger in his eyes was the same.
“Hello,” she said first.
He gave a curt nod. “I’ve been looking for you.” His voice turned cold. “Then I find out you married William. Had a daughter with him.”
She didn’t flinch. “Did you come just to judge me? I’ve no interest in that.”
“I’m still your son. Not inviting me up?” His smirk was cruel.
Another mother might have—but she knew better.
“You’re not here to talk. Why now? Ten years of silence—were you happy?”
Their last conversation had been a decade ago. Twenty-year-old Andrew had packed his things, accused her of destroying their family, and left.
“You ruined us,” he’d seethed. “Dad drank himself to death because of you. You’re dead to me!”
Now, he stood before her, unchanged.
“I wasn’t happy. Not once. Not after I found out you cheated on Dad with his best friend.”
“You only heard his side,” she countered. “You never asked for mine. Why are you here?”
His smile turned predatory.
“I need money.”
Disgust curdled inside her. She felt nothing for him—no pity, no longing. Just revulsion, the same she’d once felt for his father.
With Philip, she’d spent nearly twenty years. They’d married young, in love—until he changed. Slowly, he became a monster.
The first strike came when Andrew was seven. Philip only hit her when the boy wasn’t home. To Andrew, he was a hero. To Eleanor, a tyrant.
The drinking worsened. The beatings became routine. She hid bruises, lied to friends, shielded Andrew—until the night Philip reached for a knife.
She fled—straight to William’s door.
Philip’s best friend had known the truth. He’d tried to help, but Philip refused. That night, William had been firm.
“He won’t change. You know that.”
She’d left. Filed for divorce. Philip drank harder, poisoned Andrew against her, then vanished.
Two years later, she and William grew close.
“I know you’re afraid,” he’d said. “But I’m not him.”
Their marriage brought peace. Then Sophie—a late blessing. Eleanor had accepted she’d never reconcile with Andrew.
Now here he stood, sneering, demanding.
“It’s all because of you,” he spat. “If you hadn’t left Dad, we’d still be happy.”
She didn’t argue. Let him keep his illusions.
“Will you give me the money?” he pressed. “After all these years, you owe me.”
“You chose this,” she said. “I never forced you out.”
“You wrecked our family, and now you play perfect mum?” He scoffed. “Married Dad’s best friend, had a kid to trap him? You can afford to help me.”
Her eyes locked on his face—so like Philip’s.
“You said I was dead ten years ago,” she said coldly. “Let it stay that way. Leave, Andrew. And don’t come back.”
Hatred burned in his gaze.
“I hate you,” he hissed. “I wish you’d died instead of Dad.”
A chill ran down her spine. She nodded.
“Maybe. But you can’t rewrite the past. Go.”
As she watched him walk away, she realised—she felt nothing.
Perhaps the mother in her had truly died long ago.
