**Diary Entry**
I heard a small voice behind me. “Excuse me, miss?” I turned to see a little girl, no older than six, staring up at me with wide, anxious eyes.
“Have you seen my mum?” she asked.
I hesitated. Id only just moved into this building, and as far as I knew, the flat she was standing in front of had been empty the whole time.
“No one lives there, love,” I told her gently.
Her face crumpled, and she sank onto the stairwell, tears spilling over. “Please, Auntie, we really need her. Dad misses her so much, and only she can make things right.”
I stood there, helpless. Id never had children of my ownhow was I supposed to comfort her? A hug? An offer of tea? But she wouldnt go with a stranger, would she? Just then, my phone rang. I asked her to wait and rushed off. When I returnedshe was gone.
That evening, I couldnt shake the thought of her. I rang my landlady, Mrs. Thompson. “Who lives across the landing?”
“Nobodys lived there in years,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“A little girl came by today, looking for her mum.”
A pause. Then, quietly, “Ah. That must be Emilys daughter but Emilys gone, love. Her husband was left with the babycouldnt stay in that flat. Been empty ever since.”
“If she comes back, bring her home,” Mrs. Thompson added, giving me their new address.
Time passed, the memory fading. Work kept me busylate nights, early mornings. Then, just before Christmas, I heard soft knocking and sniffles at my door. There she was again, the same blue-eyed girl, crying.
“Whats wrong, sweetheart? Wheres your dad?”
“At home,” she whispered. “But I need to find Mum.”
Remembering the address, I hurried to find it, asking her to wait inside. She perched on the hallway stool, quiet and tired. By the time I found the slip of paper, she was curled up asleep. I carried her to the sofa and called Mrs. Thompson again.
“Shes here,” I said. “I meant to take her home, but she fell asleep. Her father must be frantic.”
“Ill go to them,” Mrs. Thompson offered.
As I waited, I studied the girls face, tucking back a loose strand of hair. My own dreams of motherhood had ended years agotwo miscarriages, then a divorce. My ex had moved on, started a new family, while I drifted between rented flats, alone.
A knock interrupted my thoughts. I opened the doorand froze.
“James?”
He looked as stunned as I felt. “Ive come for my daughter Sarah, is she here?”
I nodded. “Shes sleeping. Come in.”
As the kettle boiled, he rubbed his face, weary. “She keeps coming back to that old flat,” he admitted. “We lived there with Kateher mother. The flat was Kates inheritance. After we married, we moved in. Then she fell pregnant, and Id never been happier.”
His voice cracked. “When the time came, I took her to hospital. She made me promiseif anything happened, Id look after our girl. But there were complications. They couldnt save her.”
I squeezed his shoulder as silent tears fell.
A small voice called from the living room. “Daddy?”
James rushed to her, holding her tight. “Annie, you scared me. Why did you run off?”
“I just wanted to find Mummy.”
“Well find her one day,” he murmured. “But for now, lets go home.”
Before leaving, he handed me his number. “Call if she turns up again.”
“How did she know about the flat?” I asked.
“I showed her,” he admitted. “Had to collect some things. She saw Kates photos and well. I told her Mummy had gone away but would come back someday.”
Days later, James called. Slowly, we began seeing each otherweekend walks, cafés, the cinema. Annie clung to me, once even calling me “Mum.”
Then, one evening, James turned to me. “Irene, move in with us. No more rented rooms. Annie misses you. And I” He took my hands. “Ive missed you too. Im sorry for everything.”
Now, were a family. Every day, I thank fate for this giftto be loved, to be a wife, to be Annies mother. And though she isnt mine by blood, that doesnt stop me from giving her every bit of love Ive saved up all these years.
