Not Giving Her Up to Anyone: A Short Story

Author Walton MerrittReading 13 minViews 2

Never Going to Give Her Up

Stepdad wasn’t cruel to them. At least, he never denied them a slice of bread, and he didn’t yell about school only raised his voice when Annie came home later than she should.

“I promised your mother I’d look after you!” he’d shout whenever Annie tried to mumble that she was, technically, an adult now. “And I know better than you what you ought to do, miss! So you’re an adult now, are you? Got yourself A-levels and suddenly its anything goes? Get yourself a proper job, then you can start acting grown-up!”

After he’d cooled off a bit, hed become more reasonable.

“Hell leave you, you know. Ive seen what sort he is, that boy who picks you up fancy car, pretty face, he’ll never stick with a plain Jane like you, Annie. You’ll be sobbing your eyes out, mark my words.”

Annie didn’t believe him. Yes, Oliver was handsome, third year at uni, albeit on the expensive course not that Annie wouldve minded paying for university herself. Shed failed to get in through the regular route, didnt like the local sixth form college, so she handed out leaflets, delivered papers, but mostly studied for next years entrance exams. Thats how she met Oliver she handed him a flyer, he took the first, then the second, then the third, and said:

“Tell you what, Ill take all your leaflets if you come have coffee with us?”

Whatever possessed Annie that day, she agreed. Old hand or not, she stuffed the leaflets neatly in her backpack and chucked them in the bins on her way back from the café.

At the café, Oliver introduced her to his mates, treated her to pizza and ice cream. She and her little sister usually only saw that kind of feast on birthdays they didnt have much cash, and stepdad wouldnt let them touch their benefits, said it had to be saved for a rainy day if something happened to him.

His job was quite decent, but half his salary went to fixing his perpetually broken car, and the other half evaporated at the bookmakers. Annie didn’t complain grateful he hadnt chucked her and Eleanor out. The flat was his, and their mum’s had to be sold when she fell ill. Sure, Annie fancied chocolates, pizzas, even fizzy pop, but whenever she got hold of treats, shed always give them to Eleanor first. Even at the café, Annie asked Oliver if she could take a slice of pizza for her sister. He gave her the oddest look then bought her a whole pizza and a massive chocolate bar with nuts to take home.

Stepdad was totally wrong about Oliver. He was proper kind. And Annie, next to him, suddenly felt how little she really had. She worked harder than ever for those exams, even landed a decent job as a cashier at Tesco. Pay wasnt half bad, and she finally bought herself nice jeans and had her hair done at a real salon so Oliver could be proud of her.

When he invited her to his parents place in the countryside, Annie knew exactly what was meant to happen and she wasnt scared, she wasnt a kid. Besides, he loved her and she loved him. At first, she was worried stepdad wouldnt let her out, but he started coming home late himself, sometimes not at all. Annie knew where he was Auntie Lucy, the nurse from two doors down, had caught his eye. She wasnt keen on getting involved with a bloke with two girls from a previous marriage, but after her own messy divorce she eventually thawed to his wonky charm.

All this made things easier for Annie. Though Eleanor cried buckets the first time she found out shed be home alone, Annie bought her a chocolate bar, crisps, and fizzy pop, and Eleanor got on with it.

Annie didnt find out she was pregnant until late. Her cycle was dodgy anyway, and no one ever bothered teaching her to keep track. It was Veronica, the other cashier, who joked,

“Crikey, youre glowing! Filled out a bit youre not up the duff are you?”

They had a good laugh, but that evening Annie picked up a test. Two blue lines. No way, cant be!

Oliver was less than thrilled. Said it was the absolute worst timing and stuffed some cash at her for the doctor. Annie cried all night and went. But it was too late sixteen weeks gone. Turns out, it happened at the country house. And Annie thought you couldn’t get pregnant the first time.

She managed to hide it from stepdad for a bit, but her belly started growing like a freshly watered plant. She had to confess.

He exploded.

“And wheres the boyfriend? Is he marrying you?”

Annie lowered her eyes. She hadnt seen Oliver in a month; as soon as he realised shed have to keep the baby, he bolted.

“Figures,” stepdad muttered. “Told you so, Annie…”

He took his time, probably conferring with Auntie Lucy.

“Since its come to this youll give birth, but, youll have to leave the baby at the hospital. Im not having another mouth to feed. Theres something else Im getting married, Annie. Lucys pregnant too. Were having twins. You see, three babies in one house its too much.”

“Wait, shes moving in?” Annie asked, baffled.

“Where else would she live? Shell be my wife, wont she?”

He wasnt joking. He went on about it every day, threatening to boot her and Eleanor out if Annie brought the baby home. Annie realised he was parroting whatever Auntie Lucy fed him. Still, she couldnt just abandon her child.

Auntie Lucy tried soothing her. “Dont fret, love newborns are snapped up, someone good will adopt her, theyll love her to bits.”

Annie cried, rang Oliver, tried to think of anywhere she, Eleanor, and the baby could go. But she hadnt got a clue. One afternoon, Veronica nodded towards a quiet couple in the shop.

“Blimey, theyre still wearing black after all these years. Youd think theyd try for another kid or adopt, rather than living in perpetual gloom”

That couple, Annie saw them often. Always together, polite, gentle-faced, only a bit melancholy-looking, though she didnt know their story.

“Their daughter died, remember? Big story, lorry crashed with school kids on a day trip, driver fell asleep, I think. He died, so did their girl. Such a shame. The dad’s a doctor, mum teaches English. I used to be neighbours with them, before my divorce. Everyone visited back then, brought the mum these little angel statues. Her daughter bought one herself, clutching it on the trip took ages to get it back. Once folk started giving her angel figurines, it caught on. I worried itd make it worse, but it seemed to help.”

Annie remembered seeing a film where a young woman gave her baby to a couple who couldnt have children. These two could have, and probably didnt want another kid, but Annie kept thinking about them. By now, she was eight months pregnant, and still working because she didnt want to lose her job. One day, the couple came to her till, and the man said,

“Young lady, isnt it time you were on maternity leave? Youll end up delivering between the bread rolls!”

Annie hadnt said anything, but it had become harder her back ached something rotten, heartburn tormented her, feet swollen by evening. No one ever asked how she was, except the GP who just nagged her. That little moment of care nearly brought Annie to tears right there she was always teary lately.

Two days later, walking home, arms full of groceries, the man overtook her and offered to carry the bag. Annie felt awkward but grateful. She thought, hes got to be a good person.

She spotted an angel figurine in a bargain bin one of those summer sales for things nobody wants. Annie, on impulse, bought it and asked Veronica for the couples address.

Standing at their door, Annie suddenly panicked. What if this was inappropriate, after all these years? Doubt anyone brings them angels nowadays.

The woman opened the door, instantly recognised her eyebrows raised. Annie quickly handed her the figurine, head ducked, bracing for a slammed door at best, shouting at worst.

But there was neither. The woman smiled, took the angel, and said,

“Come in, love. Fancy a cuppa?”

Over tea, she told Annie their story harsher, more painful than Veronicas version.

“Why didnt you try for another?” Annie asked, almost whispering.

“My labour was complicated. They had to take out my womb. No more babies for me.”

Annie felt a fool for prying. She wanted to mention adoption, but couldnt get the words out.

“We did consider adopting,” the woman said, as if reading her mind. “Did all the prep, even passed the fostering classes. But at the last minute, I couldn’t go through with it. Asked our daughter for a sign got absolutely nothing.”

Right then, there was a crash, like a glass tumbling off a shelf. The woman stiffened, Annie darted a glance towards the lounge. She imagined a shrine dark, candles everywhere, photos. But no, just one photograph, a bright room, no candles, only angel figurines. One lay shattered on the floor. The woman picked up the pieces, stared long and hard. Then, in a strange voice, she said,

“This is the angel. Her one.”

Annies cheeks burned. If that wasnt a sign, what was?

She gave birth to a girl, right on time. By now, Auntie Lucy was living with them, already delivered the twins ahead of schedule. The twins were in hospital, but due any day; shiny white cribs already set up with coconut mattresses. No one planned to buy Annies baby anything. She was meant to leave the child at hospital. Only Eleanor dared ask, in hushed whispers at night:

“Cant you just hide her? So no one knows shes yours, your little girl. Id help you.”

Those words hurt Annie so much, but she never cried in front of her sister.

Annie carefully wrote a note beforehand. Said she couldnt keep the baby, reassured them their girl was healthy not to worry. She mentioned the sign, the fallen figurine. She stuffed all her saved benefits in the envelope. It should be enough; these were good people.

They discharged her in the morning, but abandoning a baby by daylight was terrifying. So Annie spent a day shuffling through the shopping centre, knackered and dizzy, but her little girl needed a loving family.

Once the centre shut, she lingered on a bench for another hour, thankfully it was warm. Only when dusk settled did she dare enter the block, sneaking in as a man walked his dog.

The baby was in a carrier, bought with Annies own money. Shed asked Veronica to bring it for the hospital discharge no questions asked. Setting the carrier snugly so the door wouldnt hit it, Annie slipped the envelope under the blanket, ready to ring and dash, when the door swung open. The man, the bereaved father, stood there.

“Whatre you faffing about with, then?”

Annie nearly jumped out of her skin.

He saw the carrier.

“Whats this?”

Tears poured and Annie told all: Oliver, whod dumped her; the stepdad, whod kept them afloat for seven years but now remarried with twins; Auntie Lucys declaration Annie must sign her baby away at hospital.

He listened kindly, then said,

“Gals asleep now, best not wake her. Well talk in the morning. Come on, Ill set you up on the sofa.”

Sleeping in a room full of angel figurines was odd. But Annie clutched her child and fell straight asleep.

She woke feeling empty. The baby was gone. In that moment, Annie knew she could never let go. Never. She wanted to run, snatch her daughter back

She leapt up, but before she could move, Galina walked in, cradling the girl.

“Here you are,” she smiled. “Time for a feed I rocked her to sleep, but that only lasts so long.”

Feeding her baby, Annie couldnt look Galina in the face. What had her husband told her? Maybe theyd decided overnight to adopt Annies child. How could Annie admit shed changed her mind?

“How olds your sister?” Galina asked suddenly.

“Twelve,” Annie replied, mystified.

“Do you reckon shed join us here?”

What a bizarre question. Annie stared, totally confused.

“Sorry, what?”

“Alex told me everything. Youve got nowhere to go, stepdads thrown you out. I figured, if your sister stayed there, theyd turn her into a skivvy. She can live here, too.”

“What do you mean, ‘too’?” Annie stammered.

Galina nodded towards the glued-together figurine by the photo warped but still recognisable.

“I think it was a sign. We should help you,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Plus, we’ve got loads of space. Move in with us! Ill help with your little one. And you can forget this nonsense about parting with your child. No mother should be separated from her baby.”

Annie felt such a rush of joy, but so ashamed tears welled up again.

“So do you agree?”

Annie nodded, burying her face in her daughter’s blanket, hoping Galina wouldnt see her tears…

Dad Is Better – Max, we need to talk. Olga nervously fiddled with the tablecloth, smoothing out imaginary creases. Her fingers shook, betraying the anxiety she tried to keep hidden beneath an even tone. Max sat opposite, glued to his phone, thumbs flying across the screen with exaggerated concentration. Intentional ignoring – his favourite weapon. – Son… I want to explain something important. No response. Only the clicking of his screen. Olga took a deep breath, bracing herself for words she’d put off for a week. – When your dad and I got divorced… it was six months before I introduced you to Simon. I didn’t rush, you see? I wanted to be sure it was serious. Max’s fingers froze above the screen. The teenager slowly looked up, his eyes burning with outrage so fierce Olga involuntarily drew back. – Serious? – he hissed through clenched teeth. – You think it’s serious with him, this random bloke? He’s not fit to lick Dad’s boots! Dad’s better than anyone! Memories of their first meeting flashed painfully before Max’s eyes. The tall stranger at their flat’s doorway, mum’s nervous smile, the smell of unfamiliar aftershave in the hall. An invader, boldly occupying the sacred place of his father. – He’s not a stranger, – Olga replied gently. – He’s my husband. – Your husband! – Max threw his phone onto the table. – But to me he’s nobody! My dad is Dad. And this guy… He didn’t finish, but the contempt in his voice said more than words. Simon tried, God, how he tried. He’d disappear to the garage in the evenings, hunched over Max’s battered bike. Hands covered in grease, brow damp with sweat, a stubborn smile on his lips – the face of a man determined to win, whatever the cost. – See, fixed the frame, – he’d say, wiping his hands. – You can ride tomorrow? No answer. Just icy, ringing silence. At night, Simon sat with the boy at his desk, explaining equations in simple words. – Look, if we move the x over here… – Yeah, I get it, – Max cut him off, though he clearly didn’t. Anything just to get rid of him. Every morning, the kitchen would fill with the scent of fresh pancakes with honey – Max’s favourite treat. Simon would stack them carefully on a plate, set them in front of his stepson. – Dad made them thinner, – Max would mutter, barely touching his food. – And he bought real honey. This stuff tastes rubbish. Every act of care crashed against a wall of frosty indifference. The teenager seemed to collect reasons for sharp jabs, turning every little thing into proof for comparison. – Dad never raised his voice. – Dad always knew what I liked. – Dad did everything right. Olga and Simon’s wedding shattered the fragile ceasefire. Max saw the marriage certificate as betrayal – final and irrevocable. Home became a minefield. Every morning began with tension, every evening ended with a slammed door. Max became a secret agent without realising. He logged every slip-up from his stepdad with the precision of a detective. A sharp word at dinner – recorded. An irritated sigh over homework – remembered. A weary “not now” after work – added to his bank of grudges. – Dad, he shouted at me again, – Max would whisper into the phone, locked in his room. – Really? – Andrew would tut with fake sympathy. – My poor boy. Remember when we used to go to the park every weekend, huh? – I remember… – That was a real family. Not like it is now. Andrew painted vivid pictures in Max’s stories, everyday spats becoming dramas of cruelty. He’d paint an idealised past: the sun brighter, the grass greener, and Dad never made mistakes. Simon felt like an unwelcome guest in his own home. Every glance from Max screamed: you don’t belong. You’re occupying someone else’s spot. You’ll never be part of the family. Fatigue built up, layer upon layer, pressing down with invisible weight. It all fell apart one ordinary evening at dinner. – You’ve got no right to tell me what to do! – Max exploded when Simon asked him to put his phone away. – You’re nothing to me! Do you hear? Nothing! Olga froze, fork in hand. Something snapped inside her. Her son stared at her husband with such hatred it thickened the air. – My dad’s better than you in every way. And you… you just… Dad says you ruin everything! I’d be better off with him! – That’s enough, – Olga said softly. – That’s enough. The next morning she dialled her ex-husband’s number. Her fingers trembled, but her resolve held strong. – Andrew, – she began evenly, – since you think you’re the better parent, take Max. For good. I won’t stand in the way. I’ll even pay child support. The silence stretched on for an eternity. – Well… you see… it’s just… – Andrew started rambling – work, business trips… I’d love to, but… He stalled, rustled some papers, coughed. – And, well, Natasha… my girlfriend… she’s not really ready for a kid at home. We’ve only just moved in together, still getting used to it… Pathetic excuses from the man who had turned his son against her new family. Who phoned every evening, whispered poisonous words, fanned every spark of discontent into a blaze. And now – a one-bed flat. Renovations. Natasha not ready. – I understand, Andrew, – Olga said coolly. – Thanks for being honest. She hung up before he could reply. That evening Olga called Max into the lounge. He flopped into an armchair, his usual defiant pose, but something in his mother’s eyes made him quieten. – Today I spoke with your father. The teenager tensed, leaned forward. – What did he say? Olga sat opposite him. – He’s not ready to take you. Not now, not ever. He has a new life, a new partner, and you’re not part of it. – You’re lying! You’re always lying! – Max spluttered. – Dad loves me! He said so himself… – Talking’s easy, – Olga said quietly, seriously. – But when I offered for him to have you, he remembered his renovations and his one-bed flat. Max opened his mouth, but found nothing to say. – Now listen carefully. – Olga leaned in. – No more comparisons. No more spy games, no more reports to Daddy, no more rudeness to Simon. Either we’re a family. All three of us. Or you go live with Dad, who doesn’t want you. I’ll work something out, I’ll make him take you. And then you’ll see for yourself what your father’s really like. Max sat frozen, wide pupils the only sign he’d heard every word. – Mum… – I’m not joking. – Olga looked at him with not a hint of a smile. – I love you more than life. But I won’t let you ruin my marriage. Your behaviour’s been awful. I tolerated it for ages. But no more. You choose. Max froze. The world, once so clear – good Dad vs evil stepdad – suddenly shattered. His father didn’t want him. Dad chose Natasha, and the new flat. Dad… just used him to spite his mum? The painful truth crept in. All the calls, the sympathy, the questions “what else did he do?” – it wasn’t care. It was a weapon. Andrew stockpiled ammo for his own petty revenge, and Max unwittingly supplied it. The teenager swallowed a lump in his throat. And Simon? That same Simon, who he’d tormented for months? Who stubbornly fixed his bike while Max purposely avoided the garage? Who got up early each morning to make pancakes? Who didn’t leave, didn’t give up, never stopped trying – despite everything… …Changing was hard. For weeks, Max hid in his room, avoiding Simon’s eyes. Too ashamed to admit he’d acted like a child. Every time he saw his stepdad, he remembered his own words – “you’re nobody to me” – and wanted the ground to swallow him up. Everyone tiptoed around. Conversations were careful, indirect. The house felt like intensive care, the patient hovering between life and death. The first step came with a physics assignment. Max spent two hours hunched over it, chewing his pencil, finally summoned the courage to admit defeat. – Simon… – the name stuck, almost choking him. – Can you help? I’m stuck on these vectors. His stepdad looked up from his laptop. No surprise, no triumph, just quiet acceptance. – Let’s have a look. A month later, they went fishing together. Sitting on the riverbank, watching their floats, Max suddenly started talking – about school, about mates, about the girl he liked from the next class. No brooding, no comparisons. Just talking. Simon listened, nodded, offered comments now and then. And Max understood: this was real family. Not in grand words about love, not in rose-tinted memories. In quiet breakfasts. In patience. In sticking around when the odds are stacked against you. The boy made his choice. The right one…

The Truth That Left Her Heart in Knots While hanging out fresh laundry in her backyard, Tanya overheard sniffles and peeked over the fence. Sat at the bottom, by her garden gate, was eight-year-old Sophie – her neighbour’s little girl, small and scrawny for her age, more like six than a second-year primary student. “Sophie, have they upset you again?” Tanya opened up the loose fence panel she kept for Sophie’s escape, and the child darted across as she so often did. “Mum kicked me out,” Sophie sobbed, wiping her eyes. “Said ‘get out’ and shoved me out the door. She and Uncle Colin are inside partying.” “Come in, love. Lizzie and Mike are having lunch, I’ll fix you a plate,” Tanya soothed, guiding Sophie inside. Tanya had rescued Sophie from her mother Anna’s rough hands more times than she could count – Anna’s temper made the girl’s life miserable, but living just across the fence let Tanya step in. She sheltered Sophie until Anna cooled down. Sophie envied Tanya’s kids, Lizzie and Mike – their home was warm, filled with gentle words and caring parents. Tanya and her husband were always kind; arguments were rare, hugs plentiful. Sophie visited as much as she could, desperate for the warmth and comfort. At home, everything was forbidden. Anna made Sophie haul water, scrub the shed, weed the vegetable patch, mop the floors. Anna had Sophie out of wedlock, and from the start, disliked her own child. When Sophie was younger, her gran – Anna’s mum – was still alive, bedridden but loving, a protector. But when Granny passed away just before Sophie turned seven, things got worse. Anna, bitter about life without a husband, spent her days searching for one. Anna worked cleaning at the lorry depot, surrounded by men. A new driver, Colin, arrived, and soon Anna moved him in. Colin – divorced, paying child support – gladly accepted Anna’s invitation, grateful for a roof over his head. Anna fawned over Colin, but her daughter got only chores, scolding, and sometimes a smack. “If you don’t obey, I’ll have you sent to foster care,” Anna threatened. Sophie, weak from overwork, got punished for failing to clean the shed, hiding by Tanya’s currant bush to cry, praying for rescue. She grew timid, withdrawn. Neighbours gossiped about Anna’s cruelty, living in a village where everyone knew everyone. Tanya spoke out, but Anna shot back, spreading rumours: “Don’t listen to that nosy Tanya! She wants my Colin, that’s why she lies about me.” Anna and Colin drank and partied often; those nights, Sophie escaped to Tanya’s, sometimes for the whole night. Tanya alone understood her pain. Years passed. Sophie did well in school. After Year 11, she longed to train as a nurse in the city. Anna said flatly, “No – you’re working now, grown-up. I won’t support you any longer.” Sophie ran from home, tears streaming, because home was no place for crying. She poured out her troubles to Tanya, whose own children studied in the city. Tanya finally confronted Anna. “Anna, you’re no mother – you’re heartless. Most parents do everything for their children; you just make Sophie miserable. You don’t love her, but it’s your duty, your conscience! She passed school with flying colours and you want her working in a dead end? She’s your daughter, Anna – some day you’ll regret this.” “Who are you to tell me how to run my family?” Anna exploded. “Look after your own, not my Sophie. She’s always whining to you!” “Wake up, Anna! Colin sent his son to school in the city, and he doesn’t even live with him! But you torment your girl. Are you really her mother?” Anna screamed, but collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted. “Yeah, I’m strict, maybe harsh – but it’s for her own good. I don’t want her to end up like me, with a kid born out of wedlock. Fine, let her go – let her train if she wants,” Anna relented. Sophie got into nursing college, delighted. Her clothes were shabby, but others from rural areas were dressed just as simply, so it didn’t matter. She visited home rarely. She dreaded going back, but holidays forced her to, always stopping in at Tanya’s first, where she was welcomed like family. Anna had new problems – Colin began seeing a younger woman. Anna raged endlessly; Sophie came home during one of these episodes, unwelcome. “What are you doing here? Just here to sponge off me? If you’ve got time off, go work.” One day, Colin appeared and packed his bags. “Where are you going? I won’t let you!” Anna shrieked. “Rita’s expecting my child. I’m not leaving him – unlike you, I care. Rita may bring home a new man someday, and he might hurt my son. No way. Your Sophie’s never felt a mother’s love, like you found her under a bush. My baby will have his mum and dad, and grow up loved. That’s what matters.” He left. His words devastated Anna. She couldn’t scream, beg, or cry. The truth hit – closing her mouth, her eyes, shutting everything inside. She couldn’t even sob. Sophie overheard it all. She didn’t comfort her mother. Memories flashed: every time she’d been yelled at, struck, thrown out for disturbing her stepfather’s peace. Colin never defended her, only watched with a smirk. In her last year, Sophie found work at a hospital to support herself. She stopped going home. Anna drank, her health failing, barely scraping by. Sophie blossomed into a lovely, hard-working young woman, kind to colleagues and patients. People praised her upbringing, assuming Anna had been a good mother. But Sophie kept quiet, smiling: “It’s all Aunt Tanya. I owe her everything – protection, understanding, kindness, and the career I love.” Anna’s new friends were drinking buddies, and every rare visit stunned Sophie with her mother’s decline. Anna had long been fired. Sophie wished she could throw those friends out, fix up the house, start fresh, mend things. But Anna wouldn’t change, sinking ever lower. Sophie held back tears and didn’t cry as she left for area hospital work after graduating top of her class. Arriving one last time, she found her mother alone and bitter. “What do you want? Staying long? There’s nothing to eat, fridge’s off. Give me money – my head hurts.” Sophie felt the lump in her throat, but held firm. “I’m not staying. I passed college with honours, moving to work at the regional hospital. I won’t visit often, but I’ll send a little money. Goodbye, Mum.” Whether Anna even registered Sophie’s words was unclear – her focus was drink, so she demanded cash. “Just give me money – don’t you care about your mother? What kind of daughter are you…?” Sophie quietly set some bills on the table, shut the door behind her, pausing, hoping Anna might chase after her, embrace her. She didn’t. Sophie drifted next door to Tanya’s. Tanya was thrilled, seating Sophie for lunch. “Come join us, Sophie! We’re just sitting down,” Tanya’s husband already at the table. “I almost forgot – here’s a present for passing with distinction – and a little cash to help you get started,” Tanya smiled. Sophie thanked her and broke down in tears. “Aunt Tanya, why? Why does Mum treat me like I’m nothing?” “Don’t cry, love,” Tanya comforted, “Don’t cry now… Anna’s just that way. Maybe you were born at the wrong time. But you’re clever and wonderful – you’ll find love and happiness, Sophie, I promise.” Sophie moved away to work as a surgical nurse in the city. She found love and married Oleg, a young doctor. At her wedding, it was Tanya at her side, beaming with pride. Anna boasted to bar room friends, “My daughter sends money, she’s grateful, I raised her right. Just a shame she didn’t invite me to her wedding or visit, I’ve never even met my son-in-law or grandkids.” Some time later, Tanya found Anna dead in her home – no one knew how long she’d lain there. Tanya realised something was wrong when the yard next door was silent. Sophie and her husband arranged the funeral, sold the house soon after, and visited Tanya and her family from time to time.