A Twist of Fate: Veronica’s New Life
Veronica was frying chicken cutlets in the kitchen when the doorbell unexpectedly rang. Wiping her hands quickly on her apron, she went to answer. Standing on the doorstep were two strangers—a dignified man and woman, no longer young but composed in their demeanour.
“Are you Veronica?” the woman asked warmly. “We’re Nicholas’s parents. May we come in?”
The name struck Veronica like a blow. Nicholas—the man who had once promised her love, only to abandon her when she revealed her pregnancy. She froze for a moment but nodded and stepped aside, letting them in.
Over tea, the conversation unfolded slowly. The couple spoke fondly of their son, as though he were a saint. Veronica struggled to listen, having endured the deepest betrayal from him. Just as she was about to ask them to leave, the woman hesitated, then spoke.
“Please understand. There’s so much deception these days. We don’t doubt you, but…” She paused. “Take a test. If the boy is truly our grandson—we want to be part of his life. To help, to support, to be family.”
Veronica agreed. When the results confirmed Nicholas’s paternity, the couple returned with gifts—toys, clothes, an envelope of cash. But that wasn’t the end.
A week later, they called. At their next meeting, they handed her documents: a small flat, worn and unfurnished, but now hers and her son’s. A gift. A surprise. A fresh start.
Tears welled as Veronica stood in the empty flat. The tired sofa, peeling wallpaper, dim ceiling light—but it was theirs. She flung open the windows, letting in fresh air and hope.
Yet it hadn’t always been this way.
Three years ago, she’d arrived in London, renting a room from a stern old woman and working at a shop. Alone, with struggles, but with dreams. Then she met Nicholas—tall, strong, confident. For a moment, happiness seemed within reach.
But when she told him she was pregnant, he turned cold. “You’re mad. Whose child is this? Not mine. Get rid of it.” And he left.
She cried all night. Her landlady listened, sighed, then said firmly, “If you keep the baby, you can stay. If not, find another room. I won’t have part in that.”
Veronica stayed. She gave birth. She worked. She survived. All for her son.
Then one day, the landlady disappeared. That evening, she admitted, “I found Nicholas’s parents. I went to them. He’s dead, can you believe it? And they never knew about you.” Veronica cried silently that night, realising that beneath the anger, part of her still loved him.
Two weeks later, his parents rang her doorbell…
Now, everything was different. The flat—though modest—was theirs. The landlady, now a true grandmother in every sense, greeted them daily with baked treats. Veronica worked remotely and part-time at a bakery. Her son grew up cheerful and kind.
Standing by the window, cradling a warm mug, she smiled.
“Gran, when are we seeing you again?”
“Soon, my love. Very soon.”
Life takes unexpected turns. The trick is to keep moving forward.
