The Default Break-Up

Author Wanda MirandaReading 13 minViews 2

The Default Break

Itll be alright, Will whispered, trying hard to sound confident as he took a steadying breath and pressed the doorbell. This evening was always going to be a challengehow could meeting the parents be anything but?

The door opened almost immediately. Mrs. Judith Hamilton stood on the threshold, immaculate in every detail: her hair arranged in a neat chignon, a tailored navy dress, and just a hint of make-up. Her eyes lingered on Ellie, shifted to the basket of biscuits, and then her lips tighteneda fleeting, barely noticeable expression, but Ellie caught it.

Come in, Mrs. Hamilton said, moving aside. There was little warmth in her tone as she ushered them in.

Will stepped over the threshold without meeting his mothers eye; Ellie followed, cautious but determined. The flat welcomed them with soft lamplight and a hint of sandalwood. Everything was meticulously tidy, not a stray book or scarf in sight. The lack of clutter didnt feel lived-in but rather as if theyd stepped into a showroomevery detail whispering of order and control.

Mrs. Hamilton led them into the living room, a spacious area meagrely lit by a single window, shielded by heavy cream curtains. A large, deep-set sofa faced a low mahogany coffee table. She gestured for them to sit.

Tea or coffee? she asked, still not glancing at Ellie, her voice polite but hollow, as though ticking a box rather than offering true hospitality.

Id love some tea, please, Ellie replied, her voice gentle but steady. She placed the basket on the table, loosened the ribbon, and lifted the lid. Warm, buttery scents filled the space. Ive baked some biscuitsdo help yourself, if you like.

Mrs. Hamilton allowed her eyes to rest on the biscuits a heartbeat longer, then nodded. Very well. Ill bring the tea.

As she disappeared towards the kitchen, Will leaned closer to Ellie and whispered, Sorry. Shes always so reserved.

Its alright, Ellie squeezed his hand. What matters is that youre here with me.

While Mrs. Hamilton was gone, silence pooled in the room. Ellie looked abouteverything was elegant and expensive, yet somehow chilly and impenetrable. The flat felt less like a home and more like a set.

Soon, Mrs. Hamilton returned bearing a tray: delicate bone china teacups painted with violets, a shining silver teapot, and a small plate of biscuits, perfectly arranged. She set the tray with quiet ceremony, poured the tea, and lowered herself into an armchair across from them, hands folded on her knees.

So, Ellie, she began, examining the younger woman as if she were a puzzle to be solved. Will mentioned youre studying early years education?

Yes, Im in my third year, Ellie replied, steadying her cup before setting it down. I really enjoy working with young children. It feels meaningful to help them grow, to witness and guide them as they learn.

With children, Mrs. Hamilton repeated, arching a brow ever so slightly. Thats certainly noble. Though I trust youre aware the salary for nursery teachers is rather modest? Nowadays, stability is paramount.

Will bristled. Mum, does it always have to be about money? Ellies passionate about her workthat should matter. The rest, well sort out. Supporting each other means more than a bigger pay cheque.

Mrs. Hamilton turned to Will briefly but made no response. Instead, she sipped her tea, her silence deliberate.

Loving your job is admirable, she said finally, her eyes back on Ellie, but it seldom pays the bills. Have you given any thought to what youll do after uni? Whats your long-term plan?

Ellie took a careful breath. She understood this was more litmus test than polite inquiry.

I have, she answered. Right now, I plan to work at a nursery to gain experience. Perhaps later, Ill train furthermaybe specialise in working with children with additional needs. That seems like my calling, honestly.

Mrs. Hamilton nodded, thoughtful but unmoved, as if still weighing up Ellies worth.

Ive no desire to be dependent on Will, Ellie added. I want to work, to carve out my own path. I genuinely believe that a strong family is built on more than moneyits about sharing responsibilities and fulfilment.

An interesting view, Mrs. Hamilton commented, cocking her head slightly. But have you considered a more profitable field? With your qualities, youd do well in marketing or sales. Far better wages there.

Will looked ready to jump in, but Ellie caught his eye, signalling him to let her speak for herself.

What about you? she asked Mrs. Hamilton, surprising even herself with the directness. Did you choose your work for the pay, or for something else?

The question hung for a moment. Mrs. Hamilton drew herself up, caught off-guard, but quickly regrouped.

I I dont actually work, she replied after a pause. My husband provided for us. I run the household and support himits work, even if it doesnt come with a salary.

Ellie nodded, her resolve solidifying. If you chose to stay home yourself, why do you expect me to abandon what I love just for a better wage? Im not asking Will to support me.

A tense silence fell. Mrs. Hamilton watched Ellie, reassessing her.

My husband offered me that choice. He could support us. But Will

Will sat straighter, discomfort etched across his face as he cast a glance at his mother, then at Elliewho sat proud, her expression tight but determined.

Ellie, you see he started awkwardly. Mum just wants whats best for us. She worries well run into difficulties.

Ellie raised her eyebrows, fighting a wave of disappointment. A moment ago he had her back, but now he sounded unsure. Do you agree with her then? That I shouldnt do what makes me happy? That I should force myself into a job Id hate, simply for a few extra pounds?

Well, not exactly agree Will faltered, twisting his fingers, then letting them go again. But Mum has a pointwe need to think about the future. Stability. You cant ignore the practicalities.

At last, Mrs. Hamilton cast Will a look of approval, a barely-there nod before she turned to Ellie, her tone softer but still insistent.

Tell me, Elliedo you think my son should give up his dream? Hes always dreamt of being a journalist, of seeing the world and writing about it. Thats not stable, but its what he loves. Would you ask him to give that up to support a family?

Ellie opened her mouth, but Will interrupted her.

Mum, I

No, Will. Answer me honestly, Mrs. Hamilton cut in sharply, fixing her gaze on him. Are you willing to set aside your ambitions for this girl? To give up travel and everything you want just to provide?

Will hesitated. He looked at Ellie, hurt written in her eyes, but she said nothinggiving him space to answer for himself. He felt torn between loyalty and hope.

I He paused, breathing deep. I dont want to give up my dream. But I dont want to lose Ellie either. I think theres a way we can manage both. Maybe I wont travel as much, but I can still write. Ellie has always supported mejust as Id support her.

Mrs. Hamilton sighed deeply and sat back, as though satisfied shed said all she needed to say and would see how they chose to proceed.

Ellie breathed a sharp laugh, not unkind, but weary. So Wills dreams are sacrosanct, but mine are optional? Im supposed to change jobs, while Will gets to enjoy life his way? Doesnt that seem a bit one-sided, Mrs. Hamilton?

Will kept his eyes down, porcelain cup trembling in his hands. He could find no words that would settle everything.

Well have to find a way to juggle it all, he muttered, unable to meet the others eyes.

Juggle? his mother replied, her voice tinged with disbelief. You know perfectly well that isnt possible. Either you commit to your work, or you dont.

She gazed at the two of them, years of experience declaring that compromise was nothing but a young persons illusion.

Will swallowed. He wanted to say things were different now, but could find no courage to argue against his mothers steely certainty.

Well, thats quite enough for one day, Mrs. Hamilton finally summed up, rising with poised elegance. Its getting late, and things can be a bit rough round here after dark. I think you should head home, Ellie. Will, you and I need a serious chatnow.

Her tone brooked no argumentit was a gentle but definitive order.

Will ventured, Mum, maybe I should walk Ellie out? At least to the end of the road

Absolutely not! his mother snapped, not turning round. Just stay inside, Will.

Will gave in, slumping, hands resting uselessly on his knees. There was no winning against his mother once shed taken a stance.

Sorry, Ellie, he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. Best not to worry Mum. Call a taxi, yeah?

Ellie nodded, silent. She refused to argue or beg for goodwill; with dignity, she set her cup on the table, picked up her bag and stood.

Alright, she said, her voice cool yet calm. Ill be off then.

Straightening her cardigan, she no longer tried to hide her disappointment. She just wanted to leave this flat where every surface felt hostile.

Thank you for the tea, she said, her voice clipped and formal.

Goodbye, Mrs. Hamilton replied, her gaze studiously averted. It was as though Ellie had already ceased to matter.

Ellie made her way to the door, moving quietly though her nerves were frayed with tension. Halfway out, she cast a last look behindWill sat slumped on the sofa, eyes fixed on his knees, not looking at her, not trying to stop her, not saying a word. In that silence, Ellie found all the clarity shed been looking for.

Outside, she gulped in the brisk evening air, the cold breeze soothing her as she tried to steady herself. Hurt, anger, and disappointment writhed within her, tightening her chest. Now, things were dreadfully clear: Will would always defer to his mother, even at Ellies expense.

She strode along the pavementfirst slowly, then more quickly, as if trying to outrun her own thoughts. But they pursued her relentlessly: He didnt stand up for me. He didnt tell her he respected my choices. Pleasing her mattered more than supporting me. She clenched her fists in her coat pockets, wanting to scream but only pressing her lips more tightly together.

She arrived home in the shadowy quiet. The rain had swept the street; lamplight shimmered on damp tarmac. Ellie locked the door and sank onto the hallway stool. There, surrounded by silence, she at last let herself relax. The turmoil slowly ebbed. This wasnt the end of everything, she realised. It was only the end of one chapterone that perhaps had never truly begun. Ellie breathed deeply, and found, somewhere in herself, a fresh resolve. Tomorrow would be a new day, with new chances. Shed be alright.

*******************

The next day, Ellie let Wills calls go unanswered. The phone buzzed repeatedly in her pocket, but she simply looked at the screen, lips pressed together, and put it away. She needed timetime to figure out what she wanted. The same thoughts kept looping: even if they stayed together, did she want a life of competing with his mothers influence? Of decisions deferred to Mrs. Hamiltons opinions? It left her spirit tired and heavy.

She fell into her routine: lectures, assignments, spending time with friends, all on autopilot. Despite her efforts, the memory of that chilly evening at the Hamiltons wouldnt leave her alone.

Several days later, on her way home from campus, she spotted Will by her building. She tried to slip past him, but heard:

Ellie!

She turned. Will hovered nervously at the entrance, hands deep in his coat pockets, a look of shame on his face.

We need to talk, he said, staring at his shoes. Mums made her mind up. She says youre not right for me.

Ellie bit her lip but composed herself. And what do you think? she asked, her voice level.

Will hesitated, glancing away, fidgeting. He seemed to search for words hed never find.

Shes my mum he said finally, shoulders slumping. She cares about me. I dont want to hurt her.

Weakness, not conviction, coloured his tone. Ellie saw at last: Will was hoping shed choose for both of them.

So you agree with her? she pressed, though she already knew.

Im not saying I agree, Will said quickly, lifting his head, but shes my family. I cant just cut her out.

He trailed off, waiting for Ellie to supply an answer he couldnt.

Do you want to be with me? Ellie asked simply, holding his gaze.

But Will faltered, mouth working, no words coming. He sighed, shoulders slumping again, and said nothing.

Ellie nodded, as if confirming the truth to herself, and turned away, leaving him standing helplessly on the pavement.

Will watched her disappear inside, feeling a hollow ache where words should have been. He wondered if hed chosen right.

That evening, Ellie slipped out for a walk. The street was quiet, golden in the streetlights, the autumn air tinged with rain and the scent of dying leaves. She wandered without direction, breathing in the cool air and her own newfound freedom.

Suddenly, she laugheda clear, light sound that surprised even herself. Pausing under a flickering lamp, she realised that whatever lay ahead, she could face it. She didnt need to apologise for who she was, or bend to anyones approval. She was her own person, free to chart her own courseand that mattered more than anything.

Forgiveness Will Never Come – Have you ever thought about finding your mother? The question caught Vicky so off guard that she actually flinched. She was in the middle of spreading out her work papers on the kitchen table—a stack so precarious it threatened to topple at any moment, and she held it in place with her palm. Now, she froze, slowly lowered her hands, and glanced up at Alex. Genuine bewilderment shone in her eyes: where had he even gotten such an idea? Why would she try to find the woman who, with a careless gesture, nearly ruined her life? – Of course not, – Vicky replied, keeping her voice as even as possible. – What a silly idea. Why on earth would I do that? Alex looked slightly embarrassed. He ran a hand through his hair, as if gathering his thoughts, and smiled—a little forced, already regretting the question. – It’s just… – he began, choosing his words carefully. – I’ve heard that people from care homes often dream of finding their birth parents. So I thought… If you ever wanted to, I’d be happy to help. Really. Vicky shook her head. Her chest tightened as if someone invisible was squeezing her ribs. She took a deep breath, trying to keep a sudden wave of irritation at bay, and looked at Alex again. – Thanks for the offer, but there’s no need, – She said firmly, raising her voice a little. – I will never look for her! To me, that woman has long ceased to exist. I’ll never forgive her! It sounded harsh, but what else could she say? Otherwise, she’d have to dredge up a whole heap of unpleasant memories and pour out her soul to her fiancé. And while she loved him—truly loved him—there were things she wasn’t willing to share. Not even with those closest to her. So she turned back to her documents, pretending she was busy. Alex frowned, but didn’t press further. He was visibly uncomfortable hearing such a sharp answer from Vicky. Deep down, he just couldn’t fathom her position! For him, a mother was almost sacred—it didn’t matter if she’d been involved in his upbringing or not. The simple fact that a woman had carried a child for nine months, given it life, already elevated her in his eyes to something near celestial. He sincerely believed there was an unbreakable bond between mother and child, nothing—not time nor circumstance—could destroy. But Vicky not only didn’t share this belief, she rejected it, flat-out and without the slightest doubt. To her, it was simple: how could you want to meet the person who’d treated you with such cruelty? Her so-called “Mum” hadn’t simply put her in care—it was much worse. Far more painful. Once, in her teens, Vicky had finally dared ask the question that had gnawed at her for years. She’d approached the head of the children’s home, Mrs. Taylor—a strict but fair woman, whom the children both feared and respected. – Why am I here? – Vicky asked in a quiet but steady voice. – Did my mother die? Or did she lose her rights? Something serious must have happened, surely? Mrs. Taylor stilled. She was sorting documents on her desk, but after Vicky’s question, slowly set them aside. There was a pause, as if weighing each word; then she sighed heavily and motioned for Vicky to sit. Vicky sat, clutching the chair tightly, anxiety churning inside her. She already sensed she was about to hear something that would forever change her understanding of her past. – She lost her parental rights and was prosecuted, – Mrs. Taylor began, slowly, picking her words. She looked at Vicky calmly, though her eyes betrayed concern: she had to tell a twelve-year-old a bitter truth that most would rather hide. She could have softened the facts, but she’d decided—Vicky needed to know. However cruel, it was better than ignorance. She paused to collect her thoughts, then continued: – You came to us at four and a half. It was reported by a passerby—they saw a little girl, wandering alone down the street. You were tiny, confused… Later we learned a woman had left you on a bench at the train station and boarded a commuter train. It was autumn, wet and cold, and all you had was a thin coat and wellies. After hours outside, you landed in hospital. You had a terrible cold; it was a long recovery. Vicky sat as if turned to stone. Her fists clenched, her face impassive—but her eyes grew darker, clouds gathering in their depths. She said nothing, but Mrs. Taylor saw her absorbing every word, even as her world was turning upside down. – Did they find her? Did she say why? – Vicky finally asked, barely above a whisper, fists still tight. – They found her and she was prosecuted. Her excuse… – Mrs. Taylor paused, then gave a bitter smile. – She said she had no money, then a job came up. But—detail—the employer wouldn’t allow children on-site; you were a hindrance. She decided it was easier to leave you and start a new life. Vicky’s hands loosened, dropped onto her knees. She stared ahead, seeing nothing, her mind drifting to that autumn morning she didn’t even remember. – I see… – she managed, in a flat, nearly lifeless voice. Then, meeting Mrs. Taylor’s eyes, she added: – Thank you for your honesty. In that moment, Vicky knew with absolute certainty: she would never look for her mother. Never. The fleeting, occasional curiosity—maybe, someday, to look her in the eye and ask ‘why?’—evaporated entirely. Leaving a child outside… She couldn’t make sense of it. Could a mother truly have no conscience or compassion? Anything could have happened to a four-year-old alone on the street. “It’s not human, it’s monstrous,” Vicky thought, pain and anger building inside. She tried—she truly did—to find an excuse. Maybe her mother was desperate? Had no choice? Maybe she’d thought it was best for Vicky? But every theory collapsed in the face of cold reality. Why not officially hand her to the council? Why not take her to care properly? Why abandon a tiny child, alone, in the cold? No explanation fit. Nothing eased the pain or turned the betrayal into necessity. It looked the same every time: a calculated, cold-blooded decision to get rid of a child as if she were an unwanted thing. With every turn of these thoughts, her resolve hardened. No. She wouldn’t look for her. Wouldn’t ask questions. Wouldn’t try to understand. Nothing now could change what was done. Forgiving that was beyond her strength. And with that decision came a strange, almost physical sense of freedom… ******************** – I’ve got a surprise for you! – Alex positively glowed, like he’d just won the lottery. He stood in the hall, rocking from foot to foot, clearly itching to reveal whatever he’d planned. – You’re going to love it! Come on! We can’t keep someone waiting! Vicky froze in the doorway, cold cup of tea in hand. She shot Alex a puzzled glance, then cautiously set her mug aside. What was this surprise? And why, despite his excitement, did unease coil in her chest? Like a taut string, ready to snap at any moment. – Where are we going? – she asked, steadying her voice. – You’ll see soon! – Alex grinned wider, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward the door. – Trust me, it’s worth it. Vicky followed, her anxiety only sharpening. As they headed for the park, she tried to guess. Tickets to a show? Meeting an old friend? None of her ideas seemed likely. In the park, she immediately noticed a woman sitting alone on a bench. She was neatly dressed: a dark coat, scarf, small handbag on her knees. Her face seemed oddly familiar, but Vicky couldn’t quite place it. Maybe Alex’s relative? Or colleague? Alex led them straight to the bench. As they drew close, the woman looked up and gave a slight, nervous smile. At that moment, Vicky felt something shift inside—she knew at last why the face was familiar. It was her own, older by thirty or forty years. – Vicky, – Alex’s voice rang out ceremoniously, as if announcing something on a stage, – I’m thrilled to say: after a long search, I found your mum. Are you happy? Vicky froze, feeling the world halt. How could he? She’d made it so clear she never wanted to see this woman! – Darling! You’ve grown so beautiful! – The woman surged to her feet, arms outstretched. Her voice trembled with emotion, her eyes gleamed, as if she were truly glad to meet her daughter. But Vicky jerked back, putting space between them. Her face turned to ice, her gaze steely. – It’s me, your mum! – The woman persisted, ignoring or not seeing Vicky’s reaction. – I’ve been searching so long! I’ve been thinking about you, worrying all this time… – It wasn’t easy! – Alex added, his voice full of pride. He stood just behind, beaming. – I called in friends, phoned agencies, tracked down leads… But I’m so happy it worked! His words were cut off by a sharp, unmistakeable slap. Vicky’s hand had flown without thinking. Her eyes brimmed with tears—grief and fury mingled. Staring at her fiancé, bewildered, she silently demanded: How could he? Hadn’t she told him a thousand times she wanted nothing to do with her mother? – What is wrong with you? – Alex gasped, clutching his cheek. He hadn’t seen that coming. – I did this for you! I just wanted to help, to do something good… Vicky was silent, unable to speak—rage and hurt churning inside her. The man she trusted had pulled the rug from under her feet, breaking her single inviolable rule: don’t touch her past. The secrets she’d hidden so carefully now dragged out into daylight, all because of his “good intentions.” The woman glanced helplessly between them, as if seeking an escape. She wanted to say something but fell silent when she saw Vicky’s face. – I never asked you to find her, – Vicky murmured at last. Her voice was level, though she shook inside. – I made it very clear—I don’t want this! And you went ahead anyway! Alex dropped his hand from his cheek, but had nothing to say. He searched her face for any softening, any hint she might forgive—but he saw only cold resolve. – I said I don’t want to hear about that woman! – Vicky’s voice trembled with fury. Her look wasn’t mere hurt—it was a deep, festering wound now ripped open. – That ‘mother’ left me on a train station bench when I was four! Alone! Where anything could have happened! Do you really think I could ever forgive that? Alex went pale, but stood his ground. He straightened, determined: – She’s your mother! Doesn’t matter what she did! Mother is mother! At this, the woman stepped forward, voice tentative, as if trying to excuse herself but not believing it: – You were ill a lot, I couldn’t afford medicine – she started, choosing every word. – This was a chance to earn! I would have come back for you, I swear! Once things worked out… Vicky whipped around, her gaze icy. – Come back for me from where? The graveyard? – Her words were cutting but she could no longer hold back. – You could have told Social Services you were struggling! You could have left me at a hospital if I was that ill! But not on the street! Not in the cold, not alone and defenceless! Alex, desperate to stem the swelling conflict, tried to take her hand. His fingers wrapped around her wrist but she wrenched away. – The past is past, you have to move forward, – he insisted, almost pleading with her—and himself. – Didn’t you always say you wished you had family at your wedding? I made your wish come true… Vicky fixed him with a look so full of disappointment that Alex actually took a step back. – I invited Mrs. Taylor, the care home head, and Mrs. Grant, my key worker, – her voice was quiet but steady. – They are my real family! They were there for me when it mattered. They supported me, cared for me. They are the only family I need! She jerked her arm free, and without a backward glance, ran from the park. Her feet carried her blindly through alleys and flowerbeds, away from the conversation, the words, the man she’d trusted most. Inside was a storm so powerful she could barely breathe. She’d never expected betrayal like this from the man she loved. She’d held nothing back from him. She’d told him the raw truth of her childhood, not softening the edges. He’d nodded, listened, said he understood. And yet, he’d still found that woman. Still brought her. “Doesn’t matter what she did, she’s your mother”—those words ricocheted in her head, stoking fresh bitterness. “Never!” Vicky swore to herself. She would never let that woman into her life. Never pretend. Without slowing, she left the park and wandered the streets, barely noticing where she was. Her thoughts tangled; her mother’s face kept flashing before her eyes—older now, anxious, trying to smile. Vicky clenched her fists, pushing it away. She only wanted to get far from all of them. She didn’t even return for her belongings at Alex’s flat. Luckily, there weren’t many things left: a couple of bags, a few personal items—the real move was planned after the wedding. Most of her stuff was at her council flat anyway. That made it easier. Above all, she couldn’t go near that place right now with her emotions so raw and every memory of Alex hurting anew. Her phone vibrated over and over—Alex calling again and again. She saw his name but ignored it. She feared that if she answered, she’d snap, say things she’d regret. Best to wait for the anger to cool a little first. But Alex didn’t give up. Besides calls, he left several voicemails. His voice was sharp, almost angry: – Vicky, you’re acting like a child! I tried to make things right, and you… You’re just ungrateful! This is a tantrum, pure and simple! The next message was even more forceful: – I’ve made up my mind. Linda will be at the wedding. End of story. I won’t be swayed by your moods. We’ll keep family ties, and our kids will call her Grandma. That’s normal, that’s right! Vicky listened to the messages at a bus stop, feeling herself shrink inside. She switched off her phone and looked up at the sky. Her world had just cracked, and she couldn’t see how it would ever mend. She stared at her screen, where Alex’s last messages sat unread. His words still echoed in her mind—absolute, unyielding, leaving no room for compromise. “Linda will be at the wedding. Full stop.” The lines hammered into her memory with every beat of her heart. She opened her messages, typed a brief, clear reply. No ambiguity: “There will be no wedding. I don’t want to see either of you—ever.” She pressed send. Watched the delivery tick, then slowly set her phone down. Almost instantly, the screen lit up—Alex was calling again. Vicky didn’t move. Then more messages came, but she didn’t even read them. Instead, she opened her contacts, found her almost-husband’s number, and blocked it without hesitation. Peace descended—no more buzzing, no alerts, no attempts to break through. Silence wrapped around her like a comforting blanket, bringing a rare moment of calm. Maybe, later, she’d regret her decision. Maybe… But now, in this moment, it was the only right thing. She felt the storm inside her subside, leaving only tired, quiet clarity. This was how it needed to be. She had no future with someone who could do something like this…

Born Son “Len, you won’t believe it! Matvey and I have decided to fly to Turkey again next year!” My stepdad was glowing with happiness. “He says he has to stay at that hotel with the sea view again. What can I do—he’s my own son, after all!” He made sure to clarify—his “own” son. “I’m happy for you,” she replied, remembering how good life had been before Matvey entered the picture, “Your own son… You always told me we were a family. That it didn’t matter whether I was your biological daughter or not.” He did say that. That she was his daughter, whether or not she was blood. “There you go again, Len! Of course you’re my daughter, no question! You know I love you just like my own. But Matvey…” He didn’t even realize he was proving her point. “Matvey’s a son. And I’m just an acquaintance, I guess.” “Len, come on! You are like family to me!” “Like family… Did you ever take me to the seaside? In all these fifteen years you’ve called yourself my father?” He hadn’t. Arthur used to say there was no difference between her and Matvey, but Lena could hear in everything he did for his son that the difference was enormous. “It just never worked out, Len. You know money was tighter back then. You’re not a child, you know how much two weeks in a five-star resort costs… It’s expensive.” “I understand,” Lena nodded. “It’s costly to bring me. Yet Matvey, whom you met just six months ago, you want to buy a flat for with a mortgage, so he’ll have a place for his wife. Am I right in thinking those expenses are less concerning when it’s your son?” “I’m not buying any flat. Who told you that?” “People who care.” “Tell your sources not to spread rumours.” A flicker of hope lit in Lena. “Really, you’re not?” “Of course not. Oh, guess what! Can you guess where we’re going Saturday?—Actually, let me just say it—go-karting! He used to take part in races at uni, and I thought I’d join in for the fun.” “Go-karting,” Lena repeated. “Sounds exciting.” “It sure does!” “Can I join you?” The question slipped out before she could think. Arthur, clearly unwilling, started to stammer: “Uh, Len… Honestly, you’d be bored. It’s a lads’ thing, really. Matvey and I, you know, we’ve got to talk about our father-son stuff.” It hurt. “So you’d find it fun, but not me?” “It’s not like that…” Arthur fidgeted nervously. “We’ve never even met until recently. We’re trying to catch up. We just want to go, the two of us. Can you understand?” You can understand. “Understand” had become the cruelest word in their new vocabulary. She was supposed to understand that being biological mattered more than being adopted. She was supposed to accept her place—out on the sidelines. Matvey really was good. He’d grown up without a father, and in spite of everything, excelled at everything, everywhere. Smart, handsome, kind. “Dad, I helped out at the animal rescue. Fixed the kennels.” “Dad, did you know I graduated with honours?” “Dad, look! I repaired your phone.” He wasn’t just a son—he was the perfect son. That evening, after Arthur had visited a little while and gone back to his, Lena sifted through old photographs… Arthur’s wedding to her mum (who had died five years back, leaving Lena and Arthur alone). Here they are at the summer cottage… Here’s Lena graduating from school… Nothing would ever be the same. *** “Len, are you awake? I’ve got a question. It’s urgent.” Her stepdad turned up at eight in the morning. “What’s so urgent?” Lena swept her fringe back and put the coffee on. “It’s about the flat for Matvey.” “So it’s true?” she breathed out. “I’m sorry, but yes… it’s true.” “And you lied to me.” “I didn’t want you to worry. But I need your advice! I think I need to act quickly. He’ll get married sooner or later. While he’s young, it’d be good to get him settled. I remember how it was for me…” “Then go get a mortgage,” Lena said through gritted teeth, completely uninterested in the flat for Matvey. Matvey truly had it good! “Yes, yes, I know. But you’re aware of my credit history… And Matvey, he deserves help from the father he never had.” “So what are you getting at?” “Will you help—if I ask?” “Depends what you mean.” “Let me explain. I’ve got £20,000 for a deposit, but the bank won’t give me a loan. They’ll give one to you, though. You’ve got a clean record. We’ll put it in your name, I’ll pay it off. Honestly.” Any illusion that “there’s no difference between you two” crumbled. There was a difference. No one’s putting Matvey’s name on the line. “So Matvey gets the flat, and I get the debt? That about right?” Arthur shook his head with such wounded sincerity, as if Lena had suggested it herself. “What do you mean! I’ll make all the payments. I’m not asking you to, just to have your name on it. Think about it…” “You know, Arthur, I’m not thinking about whether to get a mortgage or not—I’m thinking about how you don’t see me as your daughter anymore. You’ve got a son now. You’ve known him six months, me fifteen years, and all that matters is that he’s family.” “That’s not true!” Arthur flared. “I love you both!” “No. Not the same.” “Len, that’s not fair! He’s my own…” Curtain. She was no longer his daughter. Adopted, convenient, sufficient—until the real thing came along. “I see,” Lena tried to be civil. “I can’t, Arthur. I’ll need to buy a flat myself. I definitely can’t manage two mortgages.” Arthur seemed to only now remember she was without her own home. “Oh, right, you’ll need one at some point… But you could help for a couple years. I’ve got the deposit. Not much more to add.” “No. I’m not putting anything in my name.” She never expected Arthur to understand. “Fine,” he said. “If you can’t help as a daughter… then I’ll sort it myself.” Whether he ever truly saw her as his own or not didn’t matter now. Now she only saw Arthur in photographs. One evening, scrolling through her news feed, she saw it. A photo at the airport. Arthur and Matvey, both in pale jackets. Arthur with his hand on Matvey’s shoulder. Caption: “Off with Dad to Dubai. Family—the most important thing.” Family. Lena put her phone down. She suddenly remembered a moment from childhood, long before her mum married Arthur. She was five. They lived simply, and her doll—her grandmother’s gift—broke. She cried. Her biological father had said, “Len, why do you care about rubbish? Don’t bother me.” She was never allowed to bother him. His main interest was a bottle. Lena never really had a father—but she’d thought Arthur had made up for it… Before long, Arthur tried again to convince her. “Len, I think we need to work on your trust issues…” “What trust issues, Arthur? I said no.” “You just don’t get it. Matvey… he never knew me. No father growing up. I need to make it up to him. He’s a grown man—he needs a place. And you don’t even have to do anything, just put your name down. I promise, you won’t spend a penny.” “Who’s going to fill in my gaps, then…” And that, unexpectedly, made him angry. “Lena, enough! I don’t want an argument. I love you, truly! But you’ve got to see… Matvey is my real family. You’ll understand if you ever have kids. Sure, I love you differently, but it doesn’t mean I don’t need you.” “I’m needed. As a resource.” “Len, calm down! Don’t exaggerate.” “You switched to him in just six months, Arthur,” Lena said. “I’m not asking you to choose. The choice was obvious. You spoke the truth: Matvey’s your flesh and blood. And I… I never was.” Six months passed. Arthur didn’t call. Not once. One day, scrolling her feed, she saw a new photo. Arthur and Matvey in the mountains. Arthur in stylish ski gear. Caption: “Teaching Dad to snowboard! Sure, he’s a bit old for this, but with a son—anything’s possible!” Lena stared at the picture for a long moment. She reached for her desk to finish her report, when a message arrived from an unknown number. “Hi, Lena. It’s Matvey. Dad gave me your number—he can’t bring himself to call. He found a way to sort the flat without your help, but he worries about you. And he wants you to come visit over the bank holiday. He can’t explain it, but he really wants you there.” Lena typed and erased her reply several times, then settled on— “Hi Matvey. Tell Arthur I’m so glad everything’s working out for him. I’m thinking of him too. But I can’t visit. I’ve got my own plans for the bank holiday. I’m off to the seaside.” She didn’t add that she’d bought her own ticket—nor that it wasn’t Turkey but Brighton. And she was going with a friend, not her father. Lena hit send. And realised she could be happy without him.

John and Mary: A Tale of Choices, Love and Rural Dreams John never wanted to leave his English village for the city. He loved the open fields, the winding river and the woods, and enjoyed the company of fellow villagers. He decided to become a farmer, keeping pigs and selling the meat, hoping his business would grow and that he’d eventually expand. He dreamed of building a big house; he already had a car, though it was modest and old, and he had invested the money from selling his grandmother’s cottage into the farm. But there was another cherished dream – to marry Mary and make her the lady of his future home. They were already dating. Mary knew John’s business wasn’t booming yet, there was no big money, and the house project had only just begun. Mary was a beauty, but she never intended to make her own way in life. “What’s the point of being beautiful if my husband doesn’t provide for me?” she told her friends. “I just need to find the right man who’ll take care of everything. My looks are worth a lot.” “John’s building his house, and he’s got a car too,” said her friend Lucy, “He just needs a bit of time, he’ll get things going.” “But I want it all and I want it now!” Mary pouted. “Who knows how long John will take to succeed? He’s got no real money yet.” John loved Mary, but he sensed her feelings weren’t as strong as he hoped, though he clung to the belief that she’d love him in time. Life might have trundled along, but everything changed when Tom arrived in the village. Tom was in town on holiday with a friend, staying with his gran. At first, Tom looked down on the local girls, hoping for excitement at the village hall, but he soon became bewitched by Mary’s beauty. Mary at first ignored the outsider, but when she learned Tom came from a wealthy family—his father was an important city councillor—she quickly shifted her attention to him. Tom was older and more worldly, smooth-talking and generous with flowers. The bouquets he gave her weren’t sold anywhere in the village; he ordered them specially, which Mary noticed and appreciated. John was perturbed when Mary started accepting Tom’s flowers. “Don’t take his flowers! Why are you winding me up?” he said, but Mary just laughed. “Don’t be silly, it’s only flowers. What’s the harm?” John confronted Tom: “Stop giving flowers to Mary. She’s my girl. I’ve plans for her.” Tom didn’t back down, and soon a fight broke out. Luckily, John’s mates intervened before it got out of hand. But things turned sour between John and Mary; she began to avoid him, and John—hurt—kept his distance. Mary realised Tom was only in the village for a month before he’d return to the city. “I need to act fast, catch Tom’s attention, and head to the city with him. There’s nothing for me here in the village,” she plotted. It wasn’t hard to lure Tom to her house. Her parents were off selling at the market. Mary timed it so that her parents would catch them together. Catching them in bed, her strict father was furious: “What’s all this then?” he demanded. Mary looked down while Tom shifted nervously. “Well. Tom, if you’ve taken advantage of our daughter, you’ll do the right thing by her. You’ll marry her or else,” her father declared, hustling Tom into the next room. No one knows what was said, but the very next day Mary and Tom filed for a wedding license, driven by her father, while her mother began preparing them to move to the city. The news swept the village. John was devastated, though he tried not to show it. Inwardly, Tom berated himself. “Why did I come here? I let myself get ensnared by a crafty country girl.” Mary, meanwhile, looked forward to city life and the happiness—and luxury—she hoped to find. “I’ll love him, have his children, and he’ll thank his stars it worked out this way. I only wonder how his parents will take to me,” she thought. But Tom’s parents were delighted: their son had finally brought home a pretty and down-to-earth village girl, not another city gold-digger. Mary quickly won them over, proving herself a capable housekeeper. They all lived together in a large four-bedroom flat, and Mary found herself comfortable and warmly welcomed. Even Tom came to see Mary wasn’t as cunning as he’d suspected. “Sure, she trapped me into marriage, but I think she genuinely believes we’ll be happy,” he thought, even though he himself couldn’t see it working. Tom, however, looked forward to a return to bachelor fun after the wedding—he had plenty of girlfriends in town. But then, over dinner with his parents, Mary dropped a surprise: “I’m pregnant—we’re going to have a baby.” “Congratulations, Mary! We’ve long hoped for grandchildren,” gushed Tom’s mother. Tom realised there was no point protesting; it was too late. The wedding went ahead. Tom’s parents gifted the newlyweds a fully furnished flat. But Mary noticed Tom was less than thrilled to be a father. “He’ll change once the baby arrives. He’ll see how wonderful it is,” Mary hoped, blind to the trouble brewing in Tom’s heart. After the wedding, Tom was rarely home, always away on ‘business trips’. Mary, not knowing exactly what Tom did for work, believed his stories. She never complained to his parents about his constant absences. Instead, she waited for him dutifully, making nice meals and keeping the home tidy—though she missed her own village and old friends, and, more and more, found herself thinking of John. She began to doubt her choices. When asked if he loved her, Tom dodged the question. Tom’s mother noticed Mary’s gloom and guessed the truth about her son. The birth of their son was a joy for the whole family; Tom was briefly touched, but nappies and sleepless nights soon made him irritable. Mary, exhausted, could no longer keep the house perfectly. Tom wanted to escape. Worse, he found that now he was married, most of his flings wanted nothing to do with him. He never spoke about Mary to anyone. She had no qualifications, came from the country, and he worried about her working: “Once the boy is older, what can she do? Cleaner? Stallholder? That’d hurt the family reputation. I suppose I’d be better off just paying child support.” Tom had a regular lover, Kate, who had her own place and money and wanted no children. He felt at ease with her and moaned about his life: “Kate, you should see the state of my house—the chaos! I don’t love my wife, I can’t stand the kid. Mary may be pretty but she’s so country. Honestly, I’m fed up. How can I take her anywhere when she’s never seen anything outside her village and cows?” Mary began to realise her marriage was never going to be what she’d hoped. She suspected Tom had someone else; he returned home smelling of unfamiliar perfumes and smudged with lipstick, snapping at her and their son, sometimes even raising a hand. She rang her mother to complain, but her mother responded: “We didn’t make you marry Tom. We thought you’d marry John. You chose yourself, so make your bed and lie in it. When you’re finished, you can come home, but only if you’re ready to stay.” Mary was left crushed. One evening, she checked Tom’s phone while he was asleep and found shocking messages between him and Kate. She told Tom’s mother-in-law, who warned her: “If you think of divorcing Tom, remember: we’ll go to court for the child. You know what connections my husband has. Tom’s the biological father, he’s well-off and the flat is legally his. What can you give the child—no education, no job, no means? Just think.” One night, as her son fussed with a fever and new teeth, Tom grew impatient with the crying. Kate texted, waiting for him. “Give them the sleeping pills I gave you—they’ll drop off quick,” Kate wrote. Mary read the message and panicked. What if Tom really gave them the pills? What if he poisoned them? While Tom showered, Mary rang John and explained everything. “I’ll come and get you, take you back home,” he said. “Don’t worry about Tom’s family—they’re just scaring you. Just stay calm, settle your son and ring me back when Tom leaves, I’ll be nearby.” Mary managed to get her son to sleep, pretended to sleep herself, and when Tom checked and then left, she quickly packed a bag and called John. He whisked her away to his house. Tom only returned the next evening to an empty flat. He rang his parents. “No, Tom, Mary and the baby haven’t been here. Has she left you?” his mother feigned concern. “Should I call the police?” “No, Mum. Don’t call. In fact, I’m relieved she’s gone. She and the boy have worn me out. Let her do as she likes. Please, Mum,” he pleaded until she agreed. Time passed. Mary divorced Tom and married John. They lived happily in John’s big house, soon expecting another child—at last, Mary realised that her true happiness was with John.

There Will Be No Forgiveness – Have you ever thought about finding your mother? The question came so unexpectedly that Vicky flinched. She was just spreading documents from work out on the kitchen table – a wobbly pile she steadied with her hand. Now she froze, slowly let go, and looked up at Alex. Genuine surprise flickered in her eyes: Where had he even got that idea? Why would she ever search for the woman who, with one careless move, had destroyed almost her entire future? – Of course not, – Vicky replied, keeping her voice steady. – What a ridiculous idea. Why would I want to do that? Alex looked a little embarrassed. He ran a hand through his hair, as if gathering his thoughts, then tried a tense smile, clearly regretting his question. – Well, – he began, picking his words. – I often hear that children from care or foster homes dream of finding their biological parents. So I thought… If you ever wanted to, I’d help. Really. Vicky shook her head. A tight feeling clamped her chest, as if someone invisible was squeezing her ribs. She took a deep breath, trying to quell a sudden surge of irritation, and looked at Alex again. – Thanks for the offer, but no, – she said firmly, her voice a little louder. – I wouldn’t seek her out for anything! That woman hasn’t existed for me in years. I’ll never forgive her! Yes, it sounded harsh, but what choice did she have? Otherwise she’d have to revisit so many painful memories and pour her soul out to her fiancé. No. She loved him, really loved him, but some things you just don’t want to share. With anyone. Not even with the closest person. So she turned back to her paperwork, busying herself in silence. Alex frowned, but didn’t argue. He was clearly uncomfortable with Vicky’s biting response. Deep down, he couldn’t grasp her point of view. For him, a mother was nearly sacred – no matter if she’d raised him or not. The very fact that she carried a child for nine months, brought them into the world, placed her almost on a pedestal in his eyes. He truly believed in an unbreakable bond between mother and child, something neither time nor circumstances could destroy. Vicky, on the contrary, rejected that belief outright. To her, it couldn’t be more clear: how could you long for someone who had been so cruel to you? Her so-called “mum” hadn’t just left her in a care home – it was far, far worse… Years ago, as a teenager, Vicky had worked up the courage to ask the question that had haunted her for so long. She went to Mrs Taylor, the head of the children’s home, a strict but fair lady who all the kids respected. – Why am I here? – Vicky asked quietly but firmly. – My mum… did she die? Or did they take me away from her? Something serious must’ve happened, mustn’t it? Mrs Taylor froze, her hand hovering over her pile of papers. She paused, then put the files to one side, weighing her words. Finally she sighed and motioned for Vicky to sit. Nerves knotted inside Vicky as she perched on the chair, fingers clutching the edge. She already sensed the truth about to shatter her understanding of her own past. – She lost her parental rights and was prosecuted, – Mrs Taylor began carefully, her eyes steady but troubled. The truth was bitter, the kind plenty would have softened or left untold, but the head of the home had decided Vicky deserved it all – no matter how hard. She paused, then continued: – You were brought here at four and a half. Someone saw you – a tiny child, alone on the street. Later, we learnt a woman left you sitting on a bench at the station, then leapt onto a train and left you behind. It was autumn – cold, damp – and you only had a thin coat and wellies. After hours outside, you ended up in hospital, very poorly. Vicky sat statue-still, fists clenched, though her face remained impassive. Only her eyes grew darker. – Did they find her? What did she say? – Vicky asked, barely above a whisper. – They did, and she was sentenced, – Mrs Taylor said grimly. – Her explanation? She didn’t have any money and a job had come up – but the employer wouldn’t allow children on the premises, and you were in the way. So she just decided it would be easier – leave you behind and start her life afresh. Vicky’s fists slowly unclenched. She stared ahead, seeing nothing, lost in that autumn morning she couldn’t even remember. – I see… – she finally said, her voice devoid of life. Then she met Mrs Taylor’s gaze. – Thank you for telling me the truth. Right then and there, Vicky decided, once and for all: she would never go searching for her mother. Never. Even the stray half-thought, sparked by curiosity, just to ask “why?” – vanished forever. To leave a child on the street… How could anyone do that? Did the woman who gave her life possess no conscience or compassion? Anything could have happened to a four-year-old left alone… “That’s not the act of a human being, but an animal,” thought Vicky, the sting of betrayal burning inside. She tried, really did try, to find even the weakest excuse – maybe her mother was desperate, maybe there really was no other way, maybe she thought it was best for Vicky… But none of those excuses ever softened the pain or recast the abandonment as anything but cold-blooded cruelty. It was a deliberate, ruthless decision to get rid of her, as if she were an unwanted object. The more Vicky replayed it all, the more unshakable her resolve became. No. She would not look for this woman. Would not seek answers. Would not even try to understand. Nothing could change what had been done – and forgiveness was simply beyond her. And with that, she felt an odd sense of freedom – almost physical release… ******************** – I’ve got a surprise for you! – Alex practically bounced in the hallway, his face alight with excitement, like he’d just won the lottery. – You’re going to love it! Come on! We can’t keep them waiting! Vicky paused in the doorway, lukewarm tea in her hand. What on earth had Alex planned? And why, despite his cheerfulness, did she feel so anxious? A taut thread of worry seemed stretched tight inside her. – Where are we going? – she tried to keep her voice calm. – Just wait! – Alex’s grin widened as he took her hand and towed her to the door. – Trust me. It’s worth it. Vicky let herself be led, her unease growing. All the way to the park she tried to guess – maybe he’d bought concert tickets, or arranged a meeting with someone from her past? Nothing seemed plausible. Entering the park, she saw a woman on a bench near the path. Plain but neat – dark coat, scarf, small handbag on her lap. Something about the face nudged at Vicky’s memory, but she couldn’t place it. Alex’s aunt? A work colleague? Alex strode confidently ahead, Vicky at his side, the puzzle still unsolved, until they stopped beside the woman. She looked up and smiled slightly, and suddenly Vicky knew – the resemblance, older by thirty-odd years, was uncanny. – Vicky, – Alex announced, like he was about to cut a ceremonial ribbon, – after much searching, I found your mum. Aren’t you thrilled? Vicky froze. How dare he? She had made herself perfectly clear – she never wanted to even speak of that woman! – Darling! Look at you, all grown up and beautiful! – the woman rushed at her, arms open for a hug, voice trembling with emotion. But Vicky drew back, instinctively widening the gap. Her face set; her gaze was granite. – It’s me, your mum! – the woman persisted, ignoring or missing Vicky’s icy reception. – I’ve searched for you for so long! I’ve brooded and worried all these years… – It wasn’t easy! – Alex interjected, positively glowing. – I had to call in all sorts of favours, make enquiries… but I did it, and I’m glad! His words were cut short by a sharp slap. Vicky’s hand moved on its own, tears of anger and hurt in her eyes as she glared, dumbfounded, at her fiancé. After everything she’d told him about her past, he still brought this woman here. “Doesn’t matter what she’s done, she’s your mother” – the words echoed and twisted the knife. – What the hell are you doing? – Alex spluttered, holding his cheek. – I did all this for you! I wanted to help, to do something good… Vicky was silent, boiling with pain and betrayal. The one person she’d trusted most had yanked open her worst wounds, all in the name of “good intentions.” She turned away, hand still shaking. The woman hovered uncertainly, wanting to speak, but falling silent at the look on Vicky’s face. – I didn’t ask you to find her, – Vicky said quietly. Her words were calm, though everything inside quivered. – I made it absolutely clear this is not what I want. And you still went ahead! Alex dropped his hand, but found nothing to say. He stood motionless, searching Vicky’s face for the smallest sign she might forgive him, but seeing only bitter resolve. – I told you: I don’t even want to hear about that woman! – Vicky’s voice shook. She stared at Alex, the pain in her eyes raw and old. – That “mother” left me at a railway station at four. Alone! In a thin coat! Do you really think I could ever forgive that? Alex went pale, but stood his ground. – She’s still your mother! That’s all that matters! – he insisted. The other woman took a timid step closer, her voice apologetic, like she wasn’t quite convinced by what she said: – You were always poorly, I never had the money for medicine… This was a chance to work! I’d have come back for you, after I got back on my feet… Vicky turned to her, voice as cold as steel. – Come back from where? The graveyard? – she bit out, refusing to hold back another second. – You could’ve told social services you weren’t coping. You could have left me at the hospital. But not on the bloody street! Not alone, in the cold! Alex, desperate for calm, tried to touch Vicky’s hand, she recoiled. – The past is the past. You need to live for the present, – he pressed on, like trying to convince himself. – You always said you wanted family at your wedding. Your dream’s come true… Vicky fixed him with a look so full of disappointment he stepped back in shock. – I’ve invited Mrs Taylor, the children’s home head, and Mrs Rowe, my carer – they are my true family, – she said quietly but firmly. – They were there for me, they cared for me! They’re the ones I consider real family! She wrenched her hand free, turned, and fled down the path, away from the park and from the man she had loved most. Her heart pounded with a storm of pain and betrayal. She’d never hidden anything from him – she’d told him every brutal truth about her childhood, her years in care, her first hopes her mum might come back. He’d nodded in sympathy. And still, he’d tracked that woman down, brought her here – “She’s your mother, that’s all that matters.” “Never!” Vicky swore inwardly. She’d never accept that woman. Never pretend none of it had happened. She didn’t even go back to Alex’s flat for her things – mercifully little there. Their real move had been due after the wedding; almost everything remained in her council bedsit. All she wanted now was to get far, far away. Her phone buzzed constantly – Alex calling and calling. She stared at the screen, saw his name, but let it ring. She didn’t trust herself not to explode, to say something she’d regret. Best to ride out the first storm of hurt in silence. He kept trying. Voice messages flew in, sharp and angry: – Vicky, you’re behaving like a child! I tried to do the right thing, and you… you’re just being ungrateful! This is a tantrum, pure and simple! Then even harsher: – I’ve made my decision. She’s coming to the wedding. End of. We’ll have family bonds, and our children will call her ‘Grandma.’ That’s normal, that’s right! Standing at the bus stop, listening, Vicky felt her resolve tighten. She turned the phone to silent, placed it in her pocket, and gazed at the sky. Her world had just cracked down the centre, and she had no idea how to patch it. Staring at Alex’s last messages, their ultimatum rang in her ears. “She will be at the wedding. End of.” No way back. She typed, brief and unequivocal: “The wedding’s off. I don’t want to see either of you ever again.” Sent. She watched for the tick, then put the phone down. Immediately the screen lit up – Alex calling. She didn’t move. More messages came, but she didn’t read them. Instead, she opened her contacts, found her ex-fiancé’s number, and blocked him. Now the phone was silent – no calls, no messages, no frantic attempts to “make things right.” Peace, at last, wrapped around her like a warm blanket. Maybe she’d regret it one day. Maybe. But right now, this was her only possible step. Slowly, the storm inside eased, leaving a calm, exhausted clarity. It was the right thing to do. She had no future with someone who could betray her like that… There Will Be No Forgiveness

Blood Ties “Lena, you won’t believe it! Matvey and I have decided—we’re going back to Turkey next year!” My stepdad was practically glowing with excitement. “He says he wants that same hotel overlooking the sea again. What can I do? Anything for my own son.” His words slipped out, clarifying without meaning to: “own” son. “I’m happy for you,” Lena replied, thinking back to how nice things had been before Matvey came along. “‘Own son’… You always told me we’re family, that it doesn’t matter whether we’re related by blood or not.” He had said it before. That it didn’t matter whether she was his biological daughter or not. “There you go again… You know I love you like my own daughter, Lena, that’s not up for debate. But Matvey…” He’d just confirmed it without realising. “Matvey is your son. I’m just an acquaintance now?” “Lena, what are you talking about? I’ve said you’re like family to me!” “Like family… Did you ever take me to the seaside? In all these fifteen years you’ve called yourself my father?” He hadn’t. Arthur always insisted there was no difference between her and Matvey, but Lena knew—he did so much more for Matvey. The difference was huge. “I couldn’t, Lena. You know money was always tighter back then. You’re not a child anymore—you know what two weeks in a five-star hotel costs. Expensive.” “I get it,” Lena nodded. “It’s too costly to bring me along. And yet Matvey, who you’ve only known for six months, you want to buy him a flat on mortgage so he’ll have somewhere to bring his future wife? That doesn’t seem expensive, since he’s your son?” “I’m not buying any flat. Who told you that?” “People who care.” “Tell those people not to spread rumours.” Lena felt slightly revived. “Honestly—you’re not buying it?” “Of course not. Oh, by the way! Guess where we’re going Saturday?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “Go-karting! He did some racing back at uni, and I’m just tagging along.” “Go-karting,” Lena echoed. “Sounds exciting.” “Oh, it is!” “Can I come with you?” The words slipped out before she could stop herself. Arthur, clearly not wanting her to join, blurted: “Uh, Lena… You’d be bored there. Really. It’s more of a men’s thing. Matvey and I, we’ll talk about, you know, father-son stuff.” How that hurt… “So, it’s interesting for you, but not for me?” “It’s not quite like that…” Arthur squirmed. “We just haven’t seen each other for years and want to catch up. Just the two of us. Do you understand?” She understood. That word—“understand”—was their new family code for replacing one with another. She was meant to understand: that blood would always come before chosen family. That her place was outside the fence, not inside. Matvey was objectively great. Raised without a father because his mum kept Arthur in the dark, yet he managed to succeed at everything. Clever, handsome, kind. “Dad, I fixed the dog kennels at the shelter.” “Dad, I graduated with first class honours.” “Dad, I’ve repaired your phone.” He wasn’t just a son—he was the perfect son. Later, after Arthur left, Lena looked through old photos… Arthur and her mother’s wedding (her mum gone five years now, leaving Lena and Arthur alone). There they were at the allotment… there was Lena, finishing school… Nothing would ever be the same. *** “Lena, you awake? I’ve got a question. Urgent.” Her stepdad showed up at 8am the next morning. “What’s so urgent?” Lena swept her fringe back with a hairband and switched on the coffee machine. “It’s about the flat for Matvey.” “So it’s true?” she breathed. “Sorry, yes—it’s true.” “So you lied to me.” “I just didn’t want to upset you. But I need advice! I think I need to hurry. He’ll want to get married, sooner or later. He needs his own place while he’s still young. You should have seen my life at his age…” “Get a mortgage then,” Lena muttered, not wanting to discuss buying Matvey a flat. Matvey had landed on his feet. “Yeah, I know. But you know my credit history… Matvey deserves some help. He’s never had a father, but now I can do this for him.” “So what do you want from me?” “Here’s the thing. I have two hundred thousand pounds. That’s enough for the deposit. But the bank won’t lend to me—they’ll give you a loan, though, your record’s spotless. We’ll put it in your name. I’ll make all the payments, I promise.” The illusion that “there’s no difference between you and Matvey” shattered completely. There was a difference. He’d never throw Matvey onto the mortgage front line. “So Matvey gets the flat, and I get the debt? Is that it?” Arthur shook his head, as if offended—like it was Lena’s idea. “Of course not! I’ll pay everything. I’m not asking you to fork out. I just need the mortgage in your name. Think about it…” “You know, Arthur, I’m not thinking about the loan. I’m thinking about how you don’t see me as your daughter any more. You’ve got a son now. You’ve known him six months and me fifteen years, but only the blood relation matters, right?” “Not true!” Arthur flared. “I love you equally!” “No. Not equally.” “Lena, that’s not fair! Matvey’s my flesh and blood…” Curtain. She wasn’t his daughter any more—just conveniently “like family,” until something realer came along. “Fine,” Lena managed politely. “I can’t help, Arthur. I’ll need a mortgage for myself someday. I won’t get approved for a second one.” Arthur seemed to realise then that she, too, was without a home. “Oh, right, you’ll need one as well…” He checked his watch. “But right now, before you settle down, you could help me out. I already have the deposit. It’s just for a couple of years.” “No. I’m not putting anything in my name for you.” She didn’t expect him to understand. “Alright,” he said at last. “If you can’t help me as a daughter, that’s that. I’ll sort it myself.” Maybe he’d once considered her his daughter. It didn’t matter now. She only saw Arthur in old photographs. One evening, scrolling through her feed, she saw it. A photo at the airport: Arthur and Matvey. Both in pale jackets. Arthur’s arm around Matvey’s shoulder; the caption: “Off to Dubai with Dad. Family is everything.” Family. Lena put down her phone. She remembered a moment from childhood, well before her mother married Arthur. She was five. They were poor, and her favourite doll from her grandmother had broken. She cried, but her biological father just said, “Lena, don’t cry over silly things. Don’t bother me!” You never could bother him: the bottle was always more interesting. Lena realised she’d never really had a father. She’d just thought Arthur could replace him… Soon after, Arthur tried to persuade her again. “Lena, I think we need to address your lack of trust…” “What lack of trust, Arthur? I said no.” “You just don’t understand. Matvey—he never knew me. He needs a home. He’s a grown man. You don’t even have to do anything, just be there, I guarantee you won’t pay a penny.” “Who’s going to make up for gaps in my life…” This time, Arthur grew angry. “Lena, enough! I don’t want a row. I really do love you! But listen—Matvey is my real family now. When you have your own kids, you’ll get it. Yes, I love you both differently, but it doesn’t mean you’re not important.” “I am. As a resource.” “Lena, please! You’re exaggerating.” “You dropped me for him in six months, Arthur,” Lena replied. “I’m not asking you to choose. You already have. You said it yourself: Matvey is your real son. I never was.” Six months passed. Arthur never called. Not once. One day, scrolling that same news feed, she spotted another photo. Arthur and Matvey. Posing in the mountains, Arthur decked out in trendy ski gear. Caption: “Teaching Dad to snowboard! He’s a bit old, but anything’s possible with your son!” Lena stared at the image for a long time. She reached for her laptop to finish her report when a message flashed on her phone. An unknown number. “Hi, Lena. It’s Matvey. Dad gave me your number, but didn’t feel right calling you himself. He wanted to say he’s sorted the flat and didn’t need your help in the end—but he’s worried about you. He really wants you to come visit for the bank holiday. He can’t say why, but he’s asking.” She started to reply, erasing and rewriting. “Hi, Matvey. Tell Arthur I’m really glad he’s doing well. I think about him too. But I won’t come. I have other plans for the bank holiday. I’m going to the seaside.” She chose not to mention she’d bought her own ticket—and that it was Brighton, not Turkey. And she wasn’t going with her father, but with a friend. Lena pressed “send”. And she realised she could find happiness without him, too.

📌 Useful Social Services & Contacts in the U.S.

Stay informed and get help when you need it. Below are key national services with direct contacts that may support you or your loved ones:
🏥 Health & Mental Support

SAMHSA – Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

What they do: Free and confidential help with substance use and mental health disorders.

Hotline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – 24/7, anonymous support

Website: samhsa.gov

🧒 Support for Children & Families

WIC – Women, Infants, and Children Program

What they do: Nutritional and healthcare support for pregnant women, new mothers, and young children.

Federal Info Line: 1-800-522-5006

Find local WIC office: fns.usda.gov/wic