You ought to be fixing up my flat, not swanning off on holiday! My mother-in-law has a bone to pick with
When she was ladling something from the saucepan, I pulled a packet of anti-bacterial wipes from my handbag
The memory of that autumn still sits in my mind like a wellworn coat. It began, I recall, with a filthy
Im going on holiday, Im not here to babysit anyone! My mother-in-law let me down, but I gave her a taste
So, my mother-in-law offered to help out with the kids over the summer. Shes retired now and has loads
You know, I sometimes think back to how money really did buy me a younger version of myself.
You should have given me a new kitchen, not galavant off on holiday! My mother-in-law blames us for escaping
A young boy awoke to the distant, muffled groans of his mother, floating through the cottage as if they
You know, I sometimes think back to how money really did buy me a younger version of myself.
A Miracle Didn’t Happen
Tanya left the hospital with her newborn son. But there was no miracle—her parents didn’t come to meet her. The spring sun was shining, she pulled her now-loose jacket tight, grabbed her bag with clothes and paperwork in one hand, adjusted her baby with the other, and started walking.
She had nowhere to go. Her parents had flatly refused to let her bring the baby home—her mother demanded she give him up. But Tanya had grown up in care herself, after her own mother abandoned her, and she’d vowed never to do the same, no matter what it cost.
She’d been adopted by a decent couple—not rich, often ill, but kind and indulgent, so she never really learned independence. Now, Tanya understood she was partially to blame for her son’s absent father; he’d seemed serious, promised to introduce her to his family, but when she told him she was pregnant, he’d said he wasn’t ready for nappies, left, and blocked her number.
Tanya sighed. “No one’s ready—not the father, not my parents,” she thought. “But I’m ready to take responsibility.” She sat on a bench, letting the sun warm her face. Where could she go? People had said there were shelters for mothers like her, but she’d been too shy to ask about them, hoping her parents would change their minds and come. But they hadn’t.
She decided to go to the countryside, to stay with her gran—she’d help out in the garden while receiving Child Benefit, and find a job later. Things would work out; grannies are usually kind. She shifted her sleepy son, pulled out her battered phone, and nearly walked in front of a car.
The driver—an older, tall man—jumped out, scolding Tanya for not watching where she was going, saying she could have killed herself and the baby and left him with jail time. Tanya, frightened and teary-eyed, comforted her now-wailing son. The man calmed down and asked where she was going. Sniffling, Tanya admitted she didn’t know.
“Well, hop in,” he said. “You and the little one can come to mine, get settled, and we’ll sort things out.” He introduced himself as Mr Constantine Gregory, and helped her in.
At his roomy flat, he offered a bedroom for Tanya and her baby and fetched essentials, refusing any money. He quickly enlisted a friendly neighbour who was a doctor; she drew up a list and called in a visiting nurse for tomorrow.
Later, Constantine Gregory confided that he’d lost his only son, Saveliy, in a tragic motorbike accident before his wedding. He’d never met his late son’s child—though he had a photo of the bride-to-be and knew she’d been expecting. “Stay here,” he urged Tanya. “You and the baby—this is your home now. I’m lonely, and would love some family around.”
Tanya agreed happily—and revealed that she’s adopted from care, her birth mother leaving only a locket on her blanket. When she emerged in new clothes, Mr Constantine Gregory noticed the locket and, upon opening it with a special mechanism, discovered a lock of his late son’s hair inside. Realising that Tanya was actually his granddaughter, he joyfully embraced her and her son, refusing any DNA test—“You’re my granddaughter, and he’s my great-grandson. Case closed.”
“Would you like to see photos of your parents?” he asked, his eyes shining with tears of happiness.
By Sofia Corall. A miracle did not occur Clara stepped out of the hospital, her newborn son bundled close. The miracle
