**Diary Entry**
*December 12th*
“Who are you looking for, sweetheart?” I asked.
“Im looking for my mumhave you seen her?” The little girl, no more than six, stared up at me with wide, watery eyes.
I hesitated. Id only just moved into this building, and as far as I knew, the flat she stood before had been empty the entire time.
“But no one lives there,” I told her gently.
At that, she burst into tears and slumped onto the stairs.
“Please, Auntie, we really need her! Only she can fix everything. Dad misses her so much.”
I stood there, useless, unsure how to comfort her. Id never had childrendidnt even know where to begin. A hug? An offer for tea? But shed never follow a stranger inside… Just then, my phone rang. Begging her to stay put, I hurried off. When I returned, she was gone.
She lingered in my thoughts all evening. Later, I rang my landlady, Mrs. Whitmore, to ask about my neighbours.
“That flats been empty for years,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“A little girl came by earlier, looking for her mum.”
A pause. Then, quietly: “That must be Catherines daughter… But Catherines gone. Her husband was left with the babycouldnt bear to stay there, moved out. The place has been vacant ever since.”
“If she comes back, Irene, take her home.” She gave me their new address.
Life moved on. Work kept me busy; I left early, returned late. Then, just before Christmas, I heard soft knocking and sniffles at my door. There she wasthe same grey-eyed girl, crying.
“Whats wrong? Wheres your dad?”
“At home. I need to find Mum,” she whispered.
Remembering the address, I rushed to find it, this time inviting her in to wait. She perched on the hallway stool, quiet and small. By the time I found the slip of paper, she was curled up, fast asleep. I carried her to the sofa and called Mrs. Whitmore again.
“Shes here. I meant to take her back, but she fell asleep. Her father must be frantic”
“Dont worry, Irene. Ill go to them. Stay by the phone.”
Hanging up, I studied hertousled hair, delicate fingers. Id wanted children once. Years ago, my husband and I tried. The first loss came after stress at work; the second, despite leaving my job. Soon after, he left too. I heard he had a daughter now, but I cut all ties, moving from rented flat to flat.
A knock interrupted my thoughts. I opened the doorand froze.
“George? How?”
“Here for my daughter. Sugar Lane, number 5, right?”
“Right. Shes asleep.” I let him in, putting the kettle on. Life had stranger twists than this.
“Should I wake Annie? We wont trouble you long.”
“Let her rest. Whats going on? She keeps coming here, knocking on that empty flat.”
George rubbed his eyes. “We lived thereyears ago. Catherine inherited it. After we married, we moved in. Then she fell pregnant.” His voice wavered. “At the hospital, she made me promise… Complications took her. They couldnt save her.”
“Im so sorry.”
Tears spilled overyears of grief, finally breaking free.
“Daddy?”
Annie stood in the doorway. George swept her up, holding tight.
“Why did you run off?”
“I just want to find Mum.”
“We will,” he murmured. “But not today. Lets go home.”
Handing me his card, he added, “Call if she comes again.”
“How does she know this address?”
“I showed her,” he admitted. “Had to fetch some things. She saw Catherines photos… Now she dreams of meeting her. I told her Mummys awaybut shell come back someday.”
They left. Days later, George called. We started meetingweekends in the park, cafés, cinemas. Annie grew attached, even calling me “Mum” once.
Then one evening: “Irene, move in with us. No more renting. Annie misses you.”
“And you?”
“Me too.” He took my hands. “Im sorry… for everything.”
Now were a family. Anniemy precious, if not by bloodhas all the love Id saved up. Every day, I thank fate for this: to be a wife, a mother. To belong.
