Lena was practically floating on her way to the club.
Skinny jeans with a metallic sheen, a cropped denim skirt, pristine white trainers, a crop top with a model’s face splashed across it, and a high ponytail secured with a thick scrunchie. Lips glossed in pink, eyes smudged with rainbow shadow. A proper star.
Everyone said Lena was something else. And she knew it. The pride of the estate. Got into uni in London—on her own. No connections, no favours.
Remember what Zoe Harris used to snipe?
*”You, Sinclair, have as much chance of getting into uni as I do of walking to the moon! Best you can hope for is college, and even that’s a stretch unless your stepdad pulls some strings. Otherwise—street sweepers’ll be fighting over you.”*
Ah, right. The stepdad. Her real dad vanished years ago. And the stepdad? Fat chance he’d lift a finger for *”such a waste of space.”*
Zoe Harris waited for the waterworks. But Lena just stood up, stared her dead in the eye, and said, cool as you like:
*”We’ll see who ends up where.”*
Zoe smirked and promised a nasty surprise on exam day. But Lena aced it. Got in. All on her own. No *”special arrangements.”* So there.
*”Fancy a bit of proper romance, love?”*
*”With you? Thompson, have you lost the plot?”*
*”Len, come on. How’s life?”*
*”Better than yours.”*
*”That figure though, mm…”*
*”Fancy one like it?”*
*”Wouldn’t say no.”*
*”Pop round, I’ll doll you up—you’ll look almost decent.”*
*”You’re cruel, Sinclair. Maybe I’m in love with you.”*
*”Piss off, demon. My nan blessed an aspen cross—works on your sort and nightmares.”*
*”Bit harsh…”*
*”Precautionary.”*
They strolled down the dusky street, tossing banter back and forth. Young. Free. Invincible.
*”Hey, fancy crashing the school Monday?”* Thompson grinned.
*”Lost it, have you? Why?”*
*”Imagine Zoe’s face when she hears you got into uni. On your own.”*
Lena snorted.
*”Couldn’t care less. What about you?”*
*”Messing about till summer, then off to basic. You gonna wait for me?”*
*”Oh yeah. Park bench, headscarf, knitting you a scarf. Hundred metres long.”*
*”Git.”*
*”Yeah, yeah.”*
*”Oi, look—that’s Mary! She went to trade school?”*
*”Yep. Each to their own. Right, Mike, I’m off. There’s my lot. You and Mary an item?”*
*”Nah, just… hanging about.”*
*”She’s nice. She’ll wait. I won’t.”*
*”So… no chance?”*
*”None.”* Clear as day. And she walked.
Uni came easy to Lena. Not because it was simple—she just never whinged.
*”How d’you manage it all?”* her flatmate asked.
*”What?”*
*”Y’know—parties, clubbing, and your grades…”*
*”Dunno,”* Lena shrugged. *”Just live, don’t moan. Avoid blokes. Uni’s my future. Fun? If not now, when?”*
*”I just wanna marry rich.”*
*”I don’t.”*
She met Dave at the club. Too pushy—she bolted. Next day, he turned up at the dorm. Flowers, chocolates. She slammed the door. He came back with cinema tickets. She dodged again.
By then, his attention had her eye twitching. Near hated him. Then there was Thompson, sending letters from barracks. Rambling about feelings, not the army.
She knew Thompson—ran around in brown tights under his shorts till he was fourteen. His nan dragged him to some witch to cure his bed-wetting.
Dave rode a bike, lurked like some film extra. Then—he wiped out. Right in front of her. And she sprinted over. Not for Dave. For a person.
And somehow… agreed to a date.
Six months in. No butterflies. No grand love. Just… comfortable. He felt like home.
Then Thompson’s letter: accusations, filthy words. Someone had snitched. Not that she’d hidden it.
Dave was easier. Reliable. Safe. With him, she could dream—wedding, future.
*”Lucky you, Len,”* her flatmate said.
*”How?”*
*”With Dave. You know who his dad is?”*
*”Meaning?”*
*”Big shot. Bought him the bike. Now a car. Only child. Loaded. Parents ancient.”*
*”And?”*
*”Rumour is… he’s got a fiancée. Lily. Dads merging businesses.”*
That night, she asked Dave. He fidgeted.
*”Dad’s idea. I’m against it. Don’t want Lily. Got you. We’ll leave.”*
*”I’m visiting my parents this weekend.”*
*”Right…”* She swore he sighed in relief.
When she got back—something was off. Girls whispered. Lads smirked.
*”What’s going on?”*
*”Sit down… Len… Dave… He…”*
*”What?”*
*”Got married.”*
Not a tremble. Not a tear. Inside—wreckage. Outside—stone.
*”That’s it?”*
*”You’re so calm…”*
*”What else? I knew. Left to think. He married. I let him. Makes sense.”*
She leaned in:
*”Don’t say his name. Ever. To me—he’s dead.”*
After graduation, Lena didn’t go home. Went to the maternity ward instead.
Alex was born. Tough. Built to survive.
*”Lena… you… telling the father?”*
*”Mum, never. Don’t ask.”*
*”Alright, just… hoped you wouldn’t follow my path.”*
*”I won’t. You married Dad. I won’t.”*
*”Staying with us?”*
She saw it—her mum was scared. Stepdad—not thrilled.
*”Got it. Not even picking us up from hospital?”*
*”Don’t be daft, Lena… course we will…”*
They came. Stepdad shook her hand, silent.
*”Dad says you can stay a month or two.”*
*”Cheers. We’ll be quick.”*
Alex hardly cried. Like he knew—they weren’t welcome.
A month later, Lena moved to her nan’s. The old woman hugged them tight and whispered, *”You’re home now.”*
Then—a knock.
*”Thompson?”* Lena blinked. *”How’d you find me?”*
*”Got the address from Mum…”*
They sat in the kitchen. Nan squinted.
*”Ah. Not the father. Mike. Childhood friend.”*
*”Right… Dress the little one—we’ll take a walk,”* Nan grumbled, leaving.
*”Len…”* he started once the door shut. *”I’m here. For you. For him.”*
*”Pity?”*
*”No! I love you. Always have.”*
*”And my kid’s not a problem?”*
*”No, I—”*
*”What about your mum’s face when she heard I had a baby? Auntie Nora. Looked at me like dirt.”*
*”Len, that’s history…”*
*”Get out. Don’t even glance my way again.”*
*”Who’d want you with baggage?!”*
*”Who’d want you without a brain?”*
He slammed the door. She stood there. Crying.
*”Friend?”* Nan asked gently.
*”Schoolmate. Idiot. Followed me around for years.”*
*”Came to propose?”*
*”Nan—”* She laughed through tears. *”Pissed himself till he was thirteen!”*
Nan chuckled too. Then, softer:
*”But what if…”*
*”No ‘what if,’ Nan. Lived with a stepdad. I know what I’m saying.”*
Lena stood tall again. For her boy. For herself.
Because none of it was an accident. It was her path. Her fight. And her strength.
