“Take the kid if you want, I don’t care. I can’t stand looking at him. Just give me money in return,” said Victoria.
Katherine had an elongated face with slightly protruding brown eyes, large teeth, and a heavy chin. But her hair was thick, dark, and curled in rich waves. If she pinned it up, it made a stunning hairstyle—but then her facial flaws became more obvious. So she always wore it loose.
Her figure wasn’t much better, as if clumsily sculpted. But clothes could hide that. Her face, though…
Sometimes, men on the street would call after her—
“Hey, love, fancy a chat?”
But when she turned, they’d stammer apologies and hurry off.
“Why waste hair like that on her?” her envious classmates would sigh.
Katherine would’ve gladly traded it all for thin, lifeless strands if it meant a prettier face—just a little.
She had no friends. But there was one boy she fancied. He sat nearby and sometimes asked to copy her homework or for hints during tests. She was top of the class.
Once, he invited her to the cinema. Katherine was over the moon. After the film, they walked home, chatting. He kept glancing back.
“Who are you looking for? Ashamed to be seen with me?” she asked bluntly.
He flushed and stumbled over his words.
Outside her flat, he awkwardly kissed her—then laughter burst from around the corner. His mates had been watching. They’d bet him he wouldn’t kiss the ugly girl.
“What did they promise you?” she shouted before running inside.
After that, she ignored him. No more homework help.
“Don’t fret, there’ll be men enough for you. I married, and so will you,” her equally plain mother reassured her.
Katherine graduated with top marks, then studied economics at university, graduating with first-class honours. But she envied her prettier classmates who partied, married, even had children during their studies.
After uni, her father—a well-connected solicitor—landed her a job at a prestigious firm.
Her colleagues rushed home to husbands and sickly children. Katherine stayed late, finishing their work. She had nowhere to rush to. They loved her reliability; management valued her. She never missed a deadline.
Grateful co-workers tried setting her up with their husbands’ divorced friends—men who’d left their homes to ex-wives and kids, tired of renting and casual flings. They’d have settled for reliable Katherine. But she wanted love, not convenience. Nights, she cried, cursing fate for making her ugly.
Then her father died. Two years later, her mother followed. Late marriage, only child—now she was utterly alone. Time slipped by, her childbearing years nearly gone.
A colleague suggested a holiday.
“Our CEO had this problem,” she whispered. “Strapping bloke, but infertile. His wife wanted kids, but not a divorce—big house, flash cars, status… Doctors ‘hinted’ they should take a beach holiday.”
They went to Spain. The wife slept with a handsome waiter—after checking his blood type. Discreetly.
“And?” Katherine whispered.
“Point is, it worked. They’ve got a son now. On holiday, every man’s single, marriage certificate or not. Sun, relaxation… maybe something sticks. Just pick someone handsome—improve the breed.”
“Like choosing a pedigree pup?”
“Exactly. You could try here, but why risk a wife’s wrath? Holiday romances vanish afterward.”
Doubtful, Katherine booked a trip. Walking the promenade, she met a tall, broad-shouldered man. She pretended to twist her ankle. He helped her to a café, where she confessed her plan.
He didn’t laugh. Just studied her—then understood.
She returned sun-kissed, rested… and pregnant. Nine months later, a beautiful girl arrived.
The midwife—no stranger to such cases—left no judgement. No one visited Katherine. No flowers, no joyful notes.
At discharge, the doctor gave formula, nappies, and her personal number. “Call if needed.” They became friends. Katherine named her daughter Victoria.
She spoiled the girl wildly, pouring all her unloved heart into her. Victoria grew stunning, spoiled, and selfish—her father’s mirror, save for Katherine’s curls.
Boys flocked to her. She barely passed school, dreaming only of marriage. At eighteen, she fled with a biker, leaving a note: “Don’t look for me.”
Katherine wept, then buried herself in work.
Over a year later, the doctor called. A young mother had abandoned her baby.
“Surname, address… It’s Victoria.”
Katherine rushed to the hospital. Victoria looked worse than a stray cat. She wasn’t pleased to see her mother but listened as Katherine begged her to reclaim her son.
“Take him, then. Just give me money.”
Katherine handed over her savings, met them with flowers—hoping Victoria would stay. But she showed no interest, refusing to nurse or even name the boy. Three days later, she vanished.
Katherine named him George, after his grandfather, and took leave to care for him. She hired a nanny, worked remotely—her boss valued her too much to refuse.
She loved George madly but didn’t spoil him. Fearful of repeating mistakes, she raised him gently. He called her “Mum.”
When older, she explained she was his gran. “Your mum’s far away, but she’ll visit.”
“Then why doesn’t she call?” he asked.
So Katherine wrote letters—”from Mum.” At first, he believed. Then grew tired of empty promises. The envelopes gave it away—no postmarks.
She stopped writing. Life was good. Only one fear gnawed at her: Victoria returning to claim him.
Then, a letter from America. Her hands shook.
Victoria had married an older man with two daughters. He wanted a son. Learning of George, he urged her to bring him over. The letter boasted of “top schools”—but no questions about George’s life. She was coming soon.
Katherine’s breath failed. George found her on the sofa, letter crumpled beside her.
“Mum wrote again?” he smirked.
“This one’s real. She’s taking you to America.”
He fetched her pills. “Gran, I’m not going. She didn’t want me then; I don’t want her now.”
Her relief was fleeting. Two weeks later, another letter: Victoria was divorcing. She needed money—sell the London flat, buy smaller, send the rest. Her price for leaving George alone.
Katherine sold the flat immediately. They moved to a new-build on the city outskirts. Smaller, but with a forest view.
She demanded Victoria sign away all rights to George before sending the money—her friend’s legal advice.
The letters stopped. Katherine hoped Victoria was happy, safe. But she felt nothing—no mother’s intuition.
Time softened her face, its harsh lines gentler now. Looking back, she regretted nothing. No great love, but George filled her heart.
Just let me live long enough, she prayed. See him grown, meet his children…
Parenting’s a delicate balance—care without spoiling. First, do no harm.
