The Trials That Must Be Endured
Vera Anne awaited her husband and son’s return from a business trip. They’d gone to the neighbouring county to expand their company, opening a new branch in another town. Business had been flourishing for father and son—Edward and Gregory. Their enterprise thrived.
Vera Anne particularly longed for Gregory’s return. She had urgent news about something she’d overheard from his wife, Laura, who was due to give birth any day. Everyone knew Laura didn’t love Gregory, but for the sake of their unborn grandchild, they endured it.
Vera Anne had heard Laura whispering on the phone:
*”I’ll have the baby, then I’ll disappear with it. I’ll take what I can from this house and vanish. There’s plenty here to live on.”*
Her first instinct was to call Gregory, but she hesitated—he and Edward were in the middle of an important meeting. She’d tell them when they returned.
*”We’ll take the baby from the hospital afterward,”* she thought. *”Let Laura go where she pleases—she never wanted the child anyway.”*
When Laura went into labour, the men were already on their way home. The ambulance rushed her to the maternity ward. Soon after, Vera Anne received the call—Edward and Gregory had been in an accident. Edward died instantly. Gregory lasted twenty minutes longer, but with his final breath, he whispered:
*”Take the child from her.”*
The inspector explained there had been no child in the car. But Vera Anne murmured, *”My daughter-in-law just gave birth. That’s my grandchild—they’re still at the hospital. Laura doesn’t want him. That’s why my son said what he did.”*
She hardly dared hope she’d ever see her grandchild—yet she went and fetched Laura from the hospital herself. How she endured it, she didn’t know. Only Thomas, the family friend and company financier, kept her standing. He arranged the funerals, the wakes, while a doctor tended to Vera Anne’s shattered nerves.
He even brought Laura and little Nicholas home from the hospital. After her husband’s death, Laura lingered in the grand house, showing little interest in her son. Vera Anne hired a nanny—she had to step into the business now, the inheritance already legally settled in her name. Thomas managed everything, a man she trusted completely.
Laura barely glanced at the boy, disappearing for days. Then, six months later, she snatched Nicholas away, stealing the money she found in her father-in-law’s desk. The safe, with its unknown code, remained untouched.
Losing her grandson shattered Vera Anne again—the last living piece of Gregory. But soon, the girl returned.
*”You’ll give me my share—money, company shares, everything I’m owed. Or you’ll never see Nicholas again. I’ll leave him at an orphanage where you’ll never find him.”*
Vera Anne gave her everything—all legally settled, even extra. The gold jewellery Laura demanded.
*”Laura, please, let me see him,”* she begged.
Laura promised—and broke that promise.
Time passed. Vera Anne rebuilt the business with Thomas’s steady hand. But the ache for her grandson never faded.
*”Let’s go to the police,”* Thomas urged. *”My friend’s an inspector. We’ll find them.”*
They did—Laura had fallen in with rogues who swindled her out of the shares, dumped her in a derelict cottage, and left her to drink herself into oblivion. Worse still, one of her low companions gave her an ultimatum: *”It’s me or the boy.”*
She chose him. They left Nicholas in the woods.
The inspector uncovered it all when tracing the stolen shares. Laura confessed where she’d abandoned the boy—but he was gone. Searches failed. Laura was arrested.
—
Emma had grown up in an orphanage. When it was time to leave, she dreamed of village life—somewhere peaceful, near the city. They gave her a small cottage.
*”Not new, but solid. I’ll make it cosy,”* she vowed.
She found work in the village canteen. Cooking had always been her dream—ever since old Mrs. Betty, the orphanage cook, let her help. Life settled. She fixed up the house with help from Colin, the shy neighbour who fancied her but never said.
One day, she went mushroom-picking. Beneath a bush, she found a filthy little boy curled up, asleep.
*”Sweetheart, wake up,”* she whispered, brushing his cheek.
The child startled awake, wailing. Emma lifted him—he thrashed, terrified.
*”Hush now, I won’t hurt you,”* she soothed. *”Come home with me.”*
He quieted. She bathed, fed him, sent Colin for the medic.
*”What’s your name?”* she asked. Silence. *”Alright then—Stephen it is.”*
The village rallied—milk, clothes, kindness. Stephen clung to Emma, flinching from strangers. The medic said he’d recover—just exhaustion, not long alone.
He shadowed her everywhere. One day, he called her *”Mum.”* She wept. Then he began to speak.
*”My boy, I’ll never let you go,”* she swore.
But the authorities came.
*”You’re too young, unmarried—he needs a family. He comes with us now.”*
Stephen screamed, clinging to her. They took him anyway.
Desperate, she turned to Colin. *”Help me. I need to adopt him—but they won’t let me. Not without a husband.”*
*”What can I do?”* he stammered.
*”Marry me. Just on paper. I swear, I’ll never burden you—”*
*”Emma,”* he interrupted softly, *”I’ve wanted to ask you for months. I love him too.”*
At the orphanage, Stephen sprinted into their arms. *”We’re taking you home,”* Emma breathed.
Years passed. Stephen, now a brilliant student, won maths competitions, even appeared on telly. He called them Mum and Dad, though he knew the truth.
—
One day, a sleek car pulled up outside. A well-dressed woman stepped out. Emma froze.
*”Daria—just to talk,”* the woman said gently. *”About Stephen. I’m Vera Anne. His grandmother.”*
The resemblance was undeniable—Stephen was the image of Gregory in the photo she showed. Over tea, the truth spilled out—the crash, Laura’s crimes, the abandoned child.
*”I saw him on television,”* Vera Anne admitted. *”Then in the papers. That’s how I found you.”*
When Stephen came home, wary at first, something in him softened. Vera Anne stayed late, promising to return for Christmas.
Under the tinsel-laden tree two months later, she made an announcement: *”The business will be Stephen’s one day. And—I’ve bought land nearby. We’ll build a proper family home.”*
Clinking glasses, they toasted the future—warm, bright, and finally whole.
