**Diary Entry**
I hurried home tonight—it was already past ten. Dead tired. All I wanted was dinner and bed. Mark was home already, the meal ready, and our boy Tom fed.
I work at a small hairdresser’s, and today was my late shift. Tidying up, setting the alarm, locking the doors—no wonder I was late.
The way home cuts through a little park. Usually quiet, even during the day—just pensioners on benches. At night, deserted but well-lit, so no bother.
Tonight, though, I spotted two children huddled together on a bench: a boy around nine or ten, and a girl no older than five. I slowed and walked over.
“What are you doing here so late? You should be home!”
The boy eyed me carefully before tightening his grip on his sister.
“We’ve got nowhere to go. Our stepdad kicked us out.”
“And your mum?”
“With him. Drunk.”
I didn’t think twice.
“Come with me. We’ll sort it tomorrow.”
They hesitated but stood. I took the girl’s hand and offered mine to the boy.
At home, I explained everything to Mark and Tom. They know my soft heart—no fuss. They showed the kids where to wash up and sat them at the table. The poor things ate shyly but hungrily.
Later, I knocked on our neighbour’s. Her girl had just started Year 1, so I borrowed clothes. People always keep spares, don’t they?
I bathed little Emily—that was her name—and dressed her in clean clothes. The boy, Jack, washed himself and borrowed Tom’s old things.
I settled them both on the sofa in the parlour. Emily wouldn’t leave Jack’s side, and he kept holding her close. Exhausted, they slept soundly.
Mark and I stayed up late, whispering about what to do.
The next morning, I saw Mark off to work—my shift started later. The kids woke, ate breakfast, and I walked them home, carrying their freshly laundered clothes in a bag.
Their flat was just nearby. The door was unlocked. They stepped inside but lingered at the threshold. I followed, wanting to look their mother in the eye—ask how she’d slept with her kids missing.
A worn-out woman, younger than I expected, stepped out, a bruise dark under her eye. She barely glanced at them.
“Oh. You’re back. Who’s this?”
“Auntie Lucy. We stayed with her.”
“Right.”
She turned away. I stood stunned—how could any mother—?
Then she came back. “Kitchen. Now.”
Oddly, the place was spotless. Worn but tidy. Her dressing gown was clean, though its buttons dangled loose.
“Sit.”
I did. She faced me, that bruised eye piercing as she asked, “Got kids?”
“One. Tom, twelve.”
“Listen. If anything happens to me—don’t let them go to waste. Look after them. They’re good kids.”
“You’d really abandon them?”
“I can’t stop now. Tried enough times. And *he* won’t let me.” She jerked her chin toward the snores from the next room.
“Call the police!”
“Done it. He serves two weeks, comes back worse. And I can’t quit the drink now. Every day. He throws them out—they’re not even his.”
“Their father?”
“Drowned when Emily turned one. Been drinking since.”
“Work?”
“Cleaned at Tesco. Got sacked last week—too many no-shows.”
She studied me. “Just promise—if it goes bad, don’t let them rot. Visit them in care, at least.”
I left numb, head spinning.
Outside, the children hugged me. Tears came hard. People stared as I walked away, crying.
That night, I told Mark. He agreed—if it came to it, we’d take them. Tom overheard, and the three of us just held each other at the kitchen table.
Three days later, Jack came running—their mum was gone, stepdad arrested. Emily was at a neighbour’s, but social services would take them that day.
Their mother was found in the river the next morning—foul play. She’d known.
We fought for custody. No relatives, so they let us take Jack and Emily.
I quit my job. Emily clung to Jack, flinching at Mark’s shadow. Even dropping a spoon made her freeze, waiting for a slap. Earning her trust took months. Jack understood quicker—this home was safe.
Little by little, Emily warmed to us. She’d talk, play, even smile—though Mark still made her nervous. He treasured her, gentle as anything. He’d always wanted a daughter, but I couldn’t have more after Tom.
Then, one day—after he’d been away on business—she finally hugged him. He crouched, arms open. She stepped close and wrapped her arms round his neck. He lifted her, and we all met in the kitchen, grinning, arms around each other.
This family—we’ll be all right.
