She traded her grandchildren for an old dog, then silently buried her guilt.
“Daisy, get your boy away from him! He’s driving my poor Benjamin mad!” snapped Margaret Williams, pointing at the scruffy dog trembling in the armchair. “I told you plainly—take your little devil away, now!”
Daisy, pale, pulled little Oliver aside and whispered, “I’m sorry, love.”
From the bedroom, Oliver Senior emerged, rubbing his temples wearily.
“God, what now? You’re making it impossible to work!”
“Oh, we’re interrupting his precious work!” his mother scoffed. “Meanwhile, my Benjamin is on his last days, and all you lot do is scream and leave nappies everywhere! Enough! Get out. You can’t leech off me forever!”
“Mum, come on. We’re not leeching—we buy groceries, Daisy does all the cleaning—”
“I don’t care! I’ve lived my life—now go live yours! Pack up. You’ve got three days!”
Oliver glared at the old dog, then stormed off. Daisy sank onto the edge of the cot where her six-month-old twins slept, silent tears falling.
“We’re leaving tonight,” her husband said, resting a hand on her shoulder.
“But where, Olly? We’ve no money, no flat—”
“Dave left us his keys—he’s away on business. We’ll stay there. I’ll find extra work. We’ll manage, Daisy. Promise.”
She nodded and packed in silence. Margaret didn’t bother seeing them off—just shouted from the kitchen:
“So you’re leaving? Good riddance!”
But fate had other plans. On the way to Dave’s, their cab was hit by a speeding car. Oliver and the twins died instantly. Daisy survived but was left fighting for her life in intensive care.
She lay in a coma for nearly two months. Then, on a damp, grey morning, her lashes fluttered open. The first face she saw was Margaret’s.
“Daisy, my sweet girl! Thank God, you’re awake…” The old woman pressed her lips to Daisy’s palm.
“Who… are you?” Daisy whispered.
“Your mum,” Margaret lied, voice shaking.
She hid the truth—told the doctors Daisy’s memory was gone. “Not now,” she decided. She burned Oliver’s things, hid the twins’ photos at the back of a cupboard. She wanted to undo it all, fix something—anything.
Daisy recovered slowly at home. The only comfort she found was with Alex, her physiotherapist. With him, she felt safe—only for him did she smile. But Margaret? Daisy recoiled from her touch, sensing something cold, unfamiliar.
One day, Margaret wobbled on a rickety stool while dusting. It cracked beneath her—she fell, wrenching her ankle. Daisy took her to A&E but had to rush back for her papers.
That’s when she saw the dusty box on the shelf. Inside—photos. Her. Oliver. The twins. Memory struck like lightning, pain searing through her skull. She screamed.
She charged back into A&E, clutching the pictures.
“Tell me the truth. Where are my babies? Where’s Oliver?!”
Margaret wept—real, broken sobs of guilt and grief. Her silence cut deeper than any blade. Daisy collapsed on the threshold.
When she woke, she ran. Rain lashed her face as she sprinted blindly through the streets, stopping only at the bridge. The river below whispered of peace, of forgetting.
Then—strong hands gripped her. Alex.
“Daisy… I won’t let you fall. Cry. Scream. But don’t disappear. I’m here.”
She buried her face in his chest and sobbed like never before. He held her, stroking her hair in silence.
Ahead was forgiveness. Healing. A life rebuilt. But here, beneath the stormy sky, a new chapter began—one without the joy she’d known, but with stubborn, aching hope.
