Lonely Milly…
For weeks, Milly had watched her new neighbor across the landing—a woman who’d moved into the first-floor flat opposite hers. The newcomer was called Anna, somewhere in her thirties, with a four-year-old daughter named Ellie. Anna was divorced, navigating life on her own, dropping Ellie off at the nursery just around the corner.
Milly and Anna exchanged polite nods, then smiles—so quickly that within a week, Milly found herself babysitting Ellie on a Saturday.
*”She’s quiet as a mouse,”* Anna assured her. *”Plays with her dolls on the floor while you get on with your own things. You’re a lifesaver—I’ve got plans tonight, but I’ll be back by late. Ta ever so!”*
Milly shrugged, but it wasn’t until Anna hurried off that it dawned on her: the young divorcee was off to meet a man.
*”Plans, my foot,”* Milly murmured, watching little Ellie settle on the carpet just as her mother had predicted.
Life hadn’t been kind to Milly. At twenty-eight, she ought to have been married with children, but neither husband nor little ones graced her days.
*”You’re stuck in the past,”* her friends chided. *”Always knitting like some old nan. You need to get out—dancing, pub nights, meeting people. Can’t spend your youth waiting for Prince Charming on a white horse.”*
Milly agreed but changed nothing. Shy about her soft curves and convinced she was plain, she kept to herself.
Now, with Ellie often curled up beside her in the evenings, Milly couldn’t fathom how Anna could leave such a sweet child behind to chase romance.
To Milly, family—children especially—felt like heaven’s own blessing. She adored Ellie, reading to her, playing, even molding clumsy animals from playdough.
*”You’re an angel, Milly,”* Anna would whisper, collecting a sleepy Ellie late at night. *”Don’t know what I’d do without you.”*
*”What about Ellie’s father?”* Milly asked once. *”Does he visit? She mentions him often—seems to miss him.”*
*”Would if he could, but he’s always away on business. Bloody business trips—one month, then two. That’s why we split. When he’s back, he’ll take her off your hands sometimes. Dotes on her, spoils her rotten with toys. Useless, really. Could’ve just given us extra cash.”* Anna smirked.
Sure enough, Ellie’s father soon appeared—a tall, fair-haired man named Michael. Milly glimpsed their reunion from her kitchen window, tears pricking her eyes at how fiercely the girl clung to him.
Days later, Milly met Michael properly when he came to fetch Ellie from her flat. By now, it was routine for Ellie to scamper over to *”Auntie Milly’s”* while Anna ran errands.
*”Thank you,”* Michael said, earnest. *”Ellie adores you. Always says, ‘My Milly.'”*
*”Daddy, come have tea with us!”* Ellie called from the kitchen, cheeks stuffed with pastry.
*”Go on, then,”* Milly laughed. *”Fresh-baked. Help yourself.”*
Michael bit into a scone, surprised. *”Homemade? Blimey. Didn’t think women your age still baked.”*
*”Why not?”* Milly chuckled. *”Though I ought to diet—bit round these days.”*
*”Nonsense,”* he said firmly. *”Suits you. And Ellie’s right—these are brilliant.”*
Ellie beamed. *”When I’m big, Milly’s teaching me to bake! Then I’ll feed you all!”*
*”Best news I’ve heard,”* Michael grinned, but his face fell when Ellie added, *”Mummy won’t be back till late.”*
Later, walking Ellie home, he muttered, *”When’s Anna had enough of gallivanting? It’s why we divorced.”*
*”Does she pay you?”* he asked abruptly. Milly shook her head.
*”That’s not right. You’ve no life of your own—no dates, no rest. I thought you had an arrangement.”*
*”We’re friends,”* Milly said softly. *”And Ellie’s become mine.”*
*”What about you?”* Michael pressed. *”Ever married? Anyone?”*
*”No. No children either. Not yet.”*
*”Hmm.”* He tried to leave money on her sideboard. She refused.
*”Then I’ll thank you proper,”* he promised.
That Sunday, as Milly tidied, Michael and Ellie appeared at her door. *”City festival’s on. Come with us.”*
She hesitated, but Ellie tugged her hand: *”I’ll show you my sand pies!”*
They spent the golden evening in the park, Ellie darting between swings and their bench. Michael grew tenser as night fell. *”Anna’s left her with you again?”*
Milly stayed quiet.
*”Right,”* he said suddenly. *”I’m moving closer. Can’t have this.”*
Weeks later, as Milly prepped for a date, Anna scoffed: *”You know his temper, yeah? Don’t jump at the first bloke who glances your way just ’cause you’re thirty and alone.”*
Milly’s smile wavered. *”We’re divorced. Why do you care?”*
*”Not for him. For you, you daft cow.”* Anna flounced off.
*”Charming,”* Milly muttered, then squared her shoulders and joined Michael and Ellie in the courtyard.
Neighbors whispered. Milly—quiet, kind, living alone for a decade—was suddenly stepping out with the divorced father and his girl.
One evening, she confessed to Michael: *”My parents split when I was Ellie’s age. Cried myself sick, trying to understand why love ends. They remarried, moved on. I stayed here—no room for me in their new lives.”*
Michael exhaled sharply. *”That’s why you help Ellie.”*
*”Yes. She’s me. But maybe… it won’t hurt her as much.”*
Suddenly, he took her hand. *”Marry me. Don’t say no yet—just let me hope. Even if you don’t love me, pretend—”*
*”Do *you* love me?”* she interrupted.
*”Course. How could I not? You’re everything good.”*
Tears spilled. *”Never pictured a proposal on this bench,”* she laughed wetly. *”Sat here dreaming of love for years.”*
They embraced. Ellie barreled over, clambered onto Michael’s lap, and grinned at Milly—bright, uncomplicated joy.
Later, they moved nearby, Ellie bouncing between homes. When Milly bore a son, Ellie adored being big sister, buzzing between flats to help.
Love, Milly learned, wasn’t just fireworks—it was showing up, kneading dough, holding hands in the park. And sometimes, it was a second chance, stitched together by a child’s laughter and the quiet courage to try again.
