**The Grumpy Old Woman**
Emma stepped out of the cab and waited for little Sophie to climb out after her.
“Thanks,” Emma said to the driver, taking her daughter’s hand as they walked slowly toward the building. On the low porch bench, two elderly women sat chatting.
“Good afternoon,” Emma greeted them.
“Afternoon,” one of the women replied. “Who might you lovely ladies be visiting?”
Emma just smiled. She unlocked the security door and guided Sophie inside. The moment the door closed behind them, one of the women spoke up loudly, claiming she’d seen two young men carrying boxes and bags into the building half an hour ago.
“New tenants moving into the flat above yours, the one the Smiths rented out. Brace yourself, Mary—sleepless nights ahead,” the other woman answered.
“Not if I have anything to say about it. They’d better not make a peep. I’ll report them to social services faster than they can blink…”
Emma didn’t listen further. The lift was waiting on the ground floor, so they rode up to the fifth floor.
The flat door was slightly ajar. Inside, two men sat in the kitchen sipping tea.
“Oh, Emma’s here! We put the kettle on—hope you don’t mind us making ourselves at home.”
Emma reached into her bag for her purse.
“Emma, come on. You think I’d take your money? We’re mates. Maybe you shouldn’t have left Daniel. You could’ve patched things up. You’re not working—how will you manage with Sophie?” He winked at the little girl, and she grinned back.
“We’ll manage. I’m filing for divorce, I’ll get child support, and my maternity pay will help. I’m not going back to Daniel. You can tell him that.”
“Alright. But if you ever need help, ring me, yeah? Right, we’ll be off. Get settled in.”
Once the men left, Emma sighed, staring at the boxes.
“Right, love—help Mummy unpack?”
“No. I want to play,” Sophie said.
“Fine. But no shouting or stomping, or we’ll get kicked out, got it?”
Sophie nodded.
Emma opened a box of toys, and Sophie immediately grabbed her stuffed bear. Meanwhile, Emma unpacked clothes into the wardrobe.
The one-bedroom flat was small, but what more did they need? The furniture was decent, the place was clean and freshly painted. They’d manage—if they avoided unnecessary spending.
Later, she boiled pasta and heated up sausages she’d brought along. She mopped the floor, tucked Sophie into the pull-out sofa, and read her a bedtime story when the girl refused to sleep without one.
Once Sophie finally drifted off, Emma collapsed onto her pillow—only to hear Daniel’s voice in her head:
*”You’ll come crawling back to me, begging on your knees, and I’ll decide whether I even want you…”*
Tears welled up, and sleep vanished. She rose and shuffled to the kitchen, staring out at the unfamiliar street in the gathering dusk.
***
She and Daniel had met at a bus stop. He’d asked which bus went to Wordsworth Lane.
Emma named the right numbers, and Daniel, grinning, asked where *she* was headed.
Her bus arrived just then, and she hurried aboard.
“Sorry, I just didn’t know how else to talk to you,” he’d called out, standing beside her with a sheepish grin. She found herself smiling back.
Just like that, they’d met. Fresh out of a breakup, Emma found herself swayed by Daniel’s charm. She’d been sharing a flat with a university friend—cost-effective for two young professionals—while Daniel had his own modest place.
He convinced her to move in. Her strict mother had raised her to believe in marriage before children, so Emma lied, pretending she still lived with her friend.
Two years passed with no proposal, no talk of kids. When she finally told him she was pregnant, he glared.
“You’re *what*? And when were you planning to mention this?”
“I’m telling you now. I wasn’t sure before.” She fought tears at his reaction.
“I thought you were on the pill.”
“So I could ‘live my life’ and have kids *later*? I’m keeping this baby—with or without you.”
“Bloody hell. Out of nowhere…”
They reconciled, agreeing to save for a mortgage deposit. Then one evening, watching from the balcony as Daniel was late again, she saw a car pull up.
Daniel stepped out, beaming.
“I saw you from upstairs. Whose car is that?” Emma asked.
“Ours. Nice, eh?”
“Yours? How?”
“Bought it. We’ll never save enough for the house anyway. This way, I can drive you and the baby—no more crowded buses.”
“That was *our* money! You didn’t even ask!”
“You didn’t ask me before deciding to keep the baby.”
“I didn’t *decide* alone—you were there too!”
Their first real fight. They made up, even married in a quiet registry office ceremony—Emma’s dream come true.
But then Daniel kept “working late.” Helping mates move, he said. Giving lifts. No way to verify. She fumed, doubted, raged.
“I’m earning extra cash, not joyriding,” he’d snap.
When her contractions started, he was missing again. “Call an ambulance—I’m out of town,” he said.
He did fetch them from the hospital. The flat had a secondhand crib and pram—hand-me-downs from his mates. Emma didn’t complain. Babies needed so much; every penny counted.
But Daniel’s absences continued. She waited, nerves frayed, Sophie fussing in her arms. He’d stumble in at dawn, snarling about cold dinners and messy flats.
“You’ve let yourself go. No wonder I don’t want to come home. Other women actually *try*.”
The final blow. He left and didn’t return until she was packing.
“Running away? Fine. You’ll come crawling back, begging. And I’ll decide if I even want you.”
She had savings—stashed away since the car betrayal. She rented this flat, filed for divorce.
Their neighbours were a bickering couple, fights escalating to shrieks and crashes, then drunken make-ups with blaring music. Some nights, Emma almost regretted leaving. But Daniel’s words echoed, reaffirming her choice.
A friend found her night shifts—data entry from home. Ignoring the neighbours’ rows, she worked till dawn. Finally, she couldn’t take it and moved again. One of Daniel’s mates helped with the boxes.
***
Dawn crept in, yet Emma hadn’t slept. She needed Sophie in nursery so she could find proper work. No point delaying—she visited the nearest one that morning.
“Parents queue from birth. Didn’t you know? Nurseries are oversubscribed, staff shortages everywhere. I’ll take your daughter *if* you work here as an assistant.”
Emma agreed instantly. Sophie would be safe, close. She could feed her, change nappies.
Things improved—except for the neighbour below. Every time Sophie laughed, cried, or stumbled, the woman banged the ceiling with a broom or radiator. Spotting Emma outside, she’d scold about “that noisy child” drowning out her telly.
Emma explained—Sophie was just a little girl, prone to falls and giggles. But the woman’s threats about “social services” silenced her. Best not argue.
Honestly, the neighbour was vile. Shouting at teens in the courtyard, calling them “druggies,” berating men with pints. Everyone was her business, everyone drew her scorn.
Still, Emma preferred her to the alcoholic couple next door.
Winter hit. The nursery was a germ hub. Sophie caught every bug. One morning, Emma woke dizzy, throat on fire.
“Hot!” Sophie yelped, recoiling.
The thermometer read 39.6°C.
Emma doubled Sophie’s leftover meds. They ran out. She couldn’t even drag herself to Boots.
Sophie whined on the floor. Emma heard her as if underwater. Then—a ringing. The doorbell?
She staggered to the door.
“Drunk, are you? Typical—” the neighbour’s shrill voice began.
Then blackness.
She woke on a stretcher, swaying. “Sophie!” she croaked.
“Don’t fuss, I’ve got her,” a familiar voice said. Whose?
“Mummy?!”
“She’s delirious. Get her to hospital—she’ll croak at this rate.”
Two days in darkness, calling for Sophie. Then—light. An orange on her bedside.
“Your mum brought that. Came with your little girl,” the woman next to her said.
When the doctor came, Emma begged to leave.
“A week at least. You nearly didn’t make it.”
Discharged, gaunt and shaky, she found her keys missing. She knocked below.
“Back already? Escaped hospital? You look half-dead.”
Sophie rushed to her, and though Emma couldn’t lift her, the little girl’s joyful embrace—and the surprising warmth in the old woman’s eyes—told her they’d found something far more precious than just a place to live.
