Alice hurried home. It was already past ten in the evening, and she was eager to get back, have supper, and collapse into bed. She was exhausted. Her husband, James, was already home, dinner was ready, and their twelve-year-old son, Oliver, had been fed.
Alice worked at a small hair salon and had been on closing duty that day. After tidying up, arming the alarm, and locking the doors, she’d ended up running late.
The walk home took her through a little park. Usually, it was quiet and peaceful—during the day, elderly ladies sat on the benches, but by evening, it was deserted. The streetlights were on, so it never felt unsafe.
Tonight, however, one of the benches wasn’t empty. A boy, about nine or ten, and a little girl no older than five huddled close together. Alice slowed her pace and approached them.
“What are you two doing out here so late? Come on, let’s get you home!”
The boy studied her carefully, stroked the girl’s hair, and pulled her closer. “We’ve got nowhere to go. Our stepdad kicked us out.”
“Where’s your mum?”
“Inside with him. Drunk.”
Alice didn’t hesitate. “Up you get. You’re coming with me. We’ll sort it out tomorrow.”
The children stood uncertainly. Alice took the girl’s hand and offered the other to the boy.
She brought them home, explaining everything to James and Oliver. Knowing her soft heart, they didn’t argue, just showed the kids where to wash up and sat them down at the table. The hungry pair ate everything timidly but eagerly.
Alice then popped next door to her neighbour, whose daughter had just started Year One, and asked for spare clothes. The neighbour handed over a bundle—more than enough, as most families had plenty left over from outgrown wardrobes.
She bathed little Emily—that was the girl’s name—and dressed her in clean clothes, while the boy, Thomas, washed up and borrowed some of Oliver’s old things.
She settled them together on the sofa in the living room—Emily wouldn’t leave her brother’s side, and he kept hugging her close. Worn out and full, they fell asleep straight away. Alice sent Oliver to bed, then she and James whispered late into the night about what to do next.
The next morning, she woke early, saw James off to work (her shift started later), and got the kids up for breakfast. She decided to walk them home, packing their freshly laundered clothes in a bag.
They led her to a nearby flat on the third floor. The door was unlocked. Inside, the children hovered on the threshold while Alice stood beside them, determined to look their mother in the eye and ask where her mind had been all night.
Out shuffled a woman who might once have been young but now looked worn down, a fresh bruise under her eye. She barely glanced at the children.
“Oh, you’re back. Who’s this?”
“This is Auntie Alice. We stayed with her.”
“Right. Good.”
And just like that, she turned away. Alice was stunned. Was this really their mother?
But then the woman reappeared. “Come to the kitchen,” she muttered.
Surprisingly, the flat was spartan but spotless—no mess, dishes washed, floors clean. Even her faded dressing gown was tidy, though missing a few buttons.
“Sit.”
Alice did. The woman slumped opposite, fixing her with a weary, bruised gaze.
“You got kids?”
“Yes, a son. Twelve.”
“Listen—if anything happens to me, don’t let my children go without someone. They’re good kids.”
“But you—you’re not thinking of leaving them?”
“I can’t stop now. Tried before. He won’t let me either.” She jerked her chin toward the bedroom, where snores rumbled.
“Call the police!”
“Done that. He’ll do fifteen days inside, come back worse. And I can’t quit the drink. He kicks the kids out—he’s not their dad.”
“Where is their dad?”
“Drowned when Emily was one. That’s when I started drinking.”
“Don’t you work?”
“Used to clean at Tesco. Got sacked last week for skipping shifts.”
“And him?”
“Odd jobs. Scraping by.”
She studied Alice again. “Promise me. If things go bad, don’t leave them. Just visit them in care if you can’t take them.”
Alice left, her mind reeling. Outside the door, the children hugged her tight. Tears pricked her eyes—she swiped them away, telling Thomas where to find her, then hurried off. Once outside, she let them fall properly, drawing stares from passersby.
That evening, she told James everything. He was quiet, then said simply, “If it comes to it, we won’t let them down.” Oliver, overhearing, joined them at the kitchen table, and the three sat in silent understanding.
Three days later, Thomas came running. His mum had vanished; the police had taken his stepdad. Emily was with a neighbour, but social services were coming. He dashed off to be with her—by day’s end, they were in care.
Their mother’s body was found in the river the next morning—evidence of foul play. Maybe she’d known what was coming when she’d asked Alice to step in.
Alice and James spent weeks navigating paperwork to foster Thomas and Emily. With no relatives willing, and Alice’s account of that kitchen talk, they were approved.
Alice quit her job—little Emily was terrified, clinging only to Thomas, flinching at every sound. It took patience to earn her trust. Thomas, older, understood they were safe now.
Slowly, Emily warmed up—playing with Alice and Oliver, though she still shied from James. He handled her gently, secretly thrilled—he’d always wanted a daughter, but Alice couldn’t have more children.
Then came the day she hugged him first. Back from a work trip, he crouched to greet her. Emily hesitated—then threw her arms around his neck. He scooped her up, and they walked inside, grinning. Oliver and Alice joined them, and for a moment, they just stood there, arms around each other, smiling.
In this family, things would be alright.
