You Were My Teenage Mistake A girl gave birth at sixteen; the father was also sixteen. Skipping the scandalous details, after the baby was born, they quickly went their separate ways. When the girl realised the boy wanted neither her nor their son, she immediately lost all interest in her child, who was then raised by his grandparents. At eighteen, the girl moved with a new boyfriend to a nearby city, cut off all contact, and her parents made no effort to see her. There was blame and disbelief: how could she abandon her own child? The shame and pain of raising such a person. The grandparents raised their grandson. To this day, the boy regards them as his parents and is deeply grateful for his childhood, good education—everything. When he turned eighteen, his cousin was getting married. All the relatives attended, including his biological mother, now on her third marriage and with two daughters: the eldest ten, the youngest a year and a half. The boy was excited to meet his mother and sisters—and naturally, to ask: “Mum, why did you leave me?” Despite recalling how wonderful his grandparents were, he missed and remembered his mother, even saving the only picture of her (his grandfather burnt the rest). The woman chatted with a relative, bragging about her wonderful daughters. “And me, what about me, Mum?” he asked. “You? You were my teenage mistake. Your father was right; I should’ve had an abortion,” she replied indifferently, turning away. Seven years later, now living comfortably with his wife and son (thanks to his grandparents and in-laws), he received a call from an unfamiliar number. “Son, it’s your mother. Listen, your uncle gave me your number. I know you live near the college your sister attends. Can she stay with you for a while? She’s family. She can’t stand the dorms, rent is expensive, my husband left me, life is hard, one daughter a student, another in school, the third starting nursery soon,” she said. “You have the wrong number,” he replied, hanging up. He went and picked up his son: “Let’s get ready to meet Mum, and then we’ll all visit Grandma and Grandpa, ok?” “And at the weekend, we’ll all go to the countryside together, yeah?” asked his little boy. “Of course, we must never break family traditions!” Some relatives criticised the boy for refusing to help his sister, but he believes he should only help his grandparents, not a stranger who called him her mistake.

Author Emily TaylorReading 4 minViews 3

Youre a mishap of youth.

The girl gave birth when she was just sixteen, and the father was also sixteen. Lets spare ourselves the gory details of the scandal, shall we? Not long after the child arrived, the young couple split up faster than you can say awkward teenage romance. The moment the girl twigged that the teenage dad wasnt bothered about her or the baby, the last bit of interest she had in her son fizzled out like a cup of cold tea.

So, the grandparents her mum and dad rolled up their sleeves and raised the boy themselves.

At eighteen, the girl ran off with a fresh-faced lad to Manchester. She barely wrote, never phoned. Her parents made no move to look for her. There were the inevitable mutterings: How could she abandon her child?” The shame! The heartache! Did we really bring up someone like that?

They did a cracking job raising their grandson, though. To this day, the lad still thinks of them as his proper parents. Hes endlessly grateful for a happy childhood, a good education, the whole lot.

Fast-forward to his eighteenth year. His cousin was getting hitched, so the entire extended family gathered at the wedding. Even his biological mother turned up. By then she was on marriage number three and had a second daughter.

The eldest was ten, the youngest just a tot. The young man was all butterflies, hoping to meet his mum and get to know his sisters. And of course, the burning question: Mum, why did you leave me?

No matter how wonderful his grandparents were, hed always missed his mum. He even kept her lone surviving photo; his granddad had burned all the rest. The woman chatted away to a relative, beaming about her lovely daughters.

And what about me, Mum? he piped up.

You? She shrugged. Youre just a mistake I made when I was young. Your father was right I shouldve had an abortion, she replied, utterly flat, and turned her attention elsewhere.

…

Seven years later, he was living in a smart two-bedroom flat in Leeds with his wife and son, thanks to the help of both his grandparents and his in-laws. One day, his phone rang unknown number.

Hello, son, Uncle George gave me your number. Its your mother. Listen, I know you live near St. Andrews University, where your sisters studying. Can she stay with you for a bit? Shes family, after all. She hates digs, and rentings ever so costly, my husbands left, its tough going. One daughters a student, the others in school, the third will soon be off to nursery, she rattled off.

I think youve got the wrong number, he said, and hung up.

Turning to his own son, he scooped him up and said,

How about we pop round to see Granny and Grandpa, eh? Maybe meet Mum and then all of us head over to the old folks for tea?

And at the weekend, are we all going up to the countryside together? piped his lad.

Of course! Family traditions are sacred cant break those!

…

Some relatives scolded the young man, claiming he ought to have helped his sister. But he reckoned his help belonged only to Granny and Grandpa, not to the woman who saw him as nothing but a youthful blunder.

“Lydia, have you lost your mind in your old age? Your grandkids are already in school — what sort of wedding is this?” That’s what my sister said when I told her I was getting married. But why wait? In a week, Tolly and I are tying the knot. I had to tell my sister, though I knew she wouldn’t come all the way from the other side of the country. No lavish do for us at sixty — just a quiet ceremony and a meal for two. Tolly insists on doing it properly: he’s the perfect English gentleman, opening doors and helping me with my coat. “I’m not a boy anymore; I want something serious,” he said. For me, he’ll always be young at heart. At work he’s all business, but when he sees me, he lights up and twirls me in the street, and I’m embarrassed, but secretly delighted. “What people?” he laughs. “I only see you.” When we’re together, it feels like we’re alone in the world. But I still have a sister to tell, and I worried she would judge me. In the end, I gathered my courage and called. “Lydia!” she gasped. “It’s only been a year since Victor died, and you’ve already found a replacement?” I knew I’d shock her, but I didn’t expect her to cling to my late husband’s memory. “Who makes these rules anyway? When am I allowed to be happy again without being judged?” “At least wait five years, for decency’s sake.” “So I’m supposed to tell Tolly to come back in five years while I wear black?” Silence. “Even then, someone will gossip. But your opinion matters. If you insist, I’ll call it off.” “I don’t want to be the villain here. Get married if you want — but know I don’t understand or support you. You’ve always had a mind of your own, but I didn’t expect you to go completely off the rails in your old age. Have some sense and at least wait a year.” “And if Tolly and I only have a year left? What then?” Sniffles. “Do what you like. I get it, everyone wants happiness. But you had a good life for years…” “Oh, Tanya! Did you really think I was happy all those years? So did I, until now. Turns out I was just a workhorse. I didn’t know life could be joyful. Victor was a good man; we raised two daughters and now have five grandkids. We worked ourselves into the ground for family, then for our children, then for the grandkids. I look back and see one long slog for everyone else. Other women were off on seaside trips or at the theatre, while I didn’t even have time for the shops! All that kept me going was knowing the kids were cared for. But living for yourself? That was a foreign idea. Now, I know better: I sleep in, stroll to shops, see films, go swimming, skiing — and the family gets on fine! Even raking leaves brings me joy now. I love the rain, because I watch it from a cosy café, not while chasing goats in the yard. Only Tolly showed me the beauty around me. When Victor died, I was lost, waking early out of habit, not knowing what to do next — until Tolly, a neighbour and a friend’s dad, took me to the park, bought me ice cream, and showed me how to watch the ducks. For years, I’d had ducks but never really watched them. And then, hand in hand, Tolly promised to show me how wonderful life could be. He was right. Every day was a new discovery, and soon, I couldn’t imagine life without him. My own daughters disapproved, accusing me of betraying their father, which hurt deeply. Tolly’s children, in contrast, were thrilled he wasn’t alone. I put off telling my sister. When I finally did, Tanya asked, ‘So, when’s the big day?’ ‘This Friday.’ ‘Well, I suppose — best wishes for love in your old age,’ she said stiffly. On Friday, Tolly and I dressed up, bought dinner for two, called a cab — and at the registry office, all our families were waiting: my children and grandchildren, Tolly’s kids, and my sister, holding a bouquet of white roses, smiling through tears. I couldn’t believe she’d come all that way. ‘Well, I had to see who I was giving my sister away to!’ Turns out, everyone had conspired to surprise us. We celebrated our first anniversary recently, and Tolly has become part of my family. Sometimes I still can’t believe how outrageously happy I am — I’m almost afraid I’ll jinx it.”

JUST IN CASE Vera glanced at her weeping colleague, turned back to her computer with indifference, and began typing rapidly. “You’re heartless, Vera,” came the voice of Olga, the department boss. “Me? What gives you that idea?” “You act like if everything’s fine in your personal life, it must be the same for everyone else. Can’t you see she’s devastated? You could at least show a little sympathy, maybe give advice or share your experience, since things are going so well for you.” “Share my experience with her? I doubt Nadine would appreciate that. I tried once, five years ago, when she used to show up to work with black eyes—said it made the road home more visible, I suppose. You weren’t here yet. And no, it wasn’t her man beating her—she said she fell, had accidents. When he ran off, there were no more black eyes. He was the third to leave. I tried to support her, to share my experience, but somehow I ended up the bad guy. Later, our coworkers told me it was a lost cause; Nadine knows best in all things. I was nothing but a jealous homewrecker, ruining her happiness! Back then, she used love spells. Now she’s modern—goes to therapy, works through her traumas. It’s never occurred to her she’s living out the same story each time—the only thing changing is the names. So, forgive me if I don’t offer tissues or sympathy this time.” “Still, Vera, that’s not how you should be.” At lunch, everyone at the table talked only about Nadine’s ex, the scoundrel. Vera ate in silence, then poured herself some coffee and retreated to a corner to scroll through social media and clear her head. “Vera,” said Tania, plopping down beside her. Usually cheerful, Tania’s face was unusually somber. “Don’t you feel even a little sorry for Nadine?” “Tania, what do you want from me?” “Leave her be,” Irina tossed in as she passed. “Vera’s got her beloved Vasily, she lives like a queen—how could she understand what it’s like to be left on your own with a child, with no help, not even child support from that deadbeat?” “Should’ve thought before having kids,” chimed in Tatiana Ivanovna, known as ‘Auntie Tanya’ by the girls—a stalwart of the department. “Vera’s right. How many times has Nadine sobbed while pregnant, he drove her mad, and before that… well.” Surrounding the ever-crying Nadine, the women dished out all sorts of advice. Ultimately, fiercely ‘strong and independent’ Nadine decided to pull herself together. She summoned her mum from the countryside to help with her son and that ungrateful man, while she attempted a comeback—grew out a fringe, microbladed brows, glued on lashes, almost got a nose ring (talked out of it collectively). And off she went. “Don’t worry, Nadine,” encouraged her mates, “he’ll regret it someday—cry his eyes out.” “He won’t cry,” Vera said quietly, mostly to herself, but tipsy colleagues overheard her. “What do you mean, he won’t?” “He just won’t, and he won’t regret it either. And Nadine? She’ll find herself another one just like him soon enough.” “You have it easy, Vera, your Vasily isn’t like that, is he?” “Not at all. My Vasily is the best—doesn’t fight, doesn’t drink, doesn’t cheat—loves me madly.” “Yeah, right, they’re all the same dogs.” “Watch out, Vera, someone will snatch him from you.” “Nah, he’d never leave.” “I wouldn’t be so sure.” “Well, you should.” Tipsy debates broke out—until someone boldly suggested, “Let’s go to your place, Vera, see if your Vasily can resist our charms. Bet you won’t invite us—you’re afraid you’ll lose your perfect Vasily!” “Let’s go then.” “All right, girls—let’s descend on Vera’s and steal her Vasily! Auntie Tanya, are you coming?” “No, girls, my Mikhail is waiting for me at home… You lot have fun,” laughed Tatiana Ivanovna. The boisterous party arrived at Vera’s, laughing and bustling in her kitchen. “Let’s cook something quick—Vera’s Vasily is out but will be home soon.” “Don’t bother; he’s picky and doesn’t eat much,” Vera replied, “but yes, you’re right, he’ll be home soon.” The mood calmed, and most left early—only Nadine, Olga, and Tania stayed for tea in Vera’s cosy kitchen, shyly awaiting the mysterious Vasily’s arrival. As they were about to leave, someone came in. “Vasily, my dear Vasily, my sweet boy,” Vera cooed in the hallway. The women’s spirits dropped as a tall, handsome young man entered. Oh—that’s the secret. Vera’s ‘husband’ was much younger than her. “Girls, meet my Denis.” A silent, stunned “Who’s Denis?” echoed in their eyes. “My son, Denis. So, how’s Vasily doing, Den? Was he good?” “Yes, Mum, he’s resting now after the op, but he’ll be up and about tomorrow. Just don’t let him lick—” The women blushed. “We… should go?” “Wait, I haven’t introduced you to Vasily—shh, he’s recovering after surgery. Denis and Lena (my daughter-in-law) took him while I was at work—for the snip, you see, he kept marking the curtains… Come, here he is.” Here’s my Vasily, sleeping. Barely holding in laughter, the ladies ran from the room. “Vera, it’s a cat!” “Of course it is. What did you think?” “But your husband…?” “Oh, I haven’t got one. You all just assumed – I once said I had a wonderful man, Vasily, but didn’t get to finish before you’d invented the rest and bought into it.” “Married young to my first love, dropped out, had Denis. That lasted three miserable years. Parents helped a lot. Tried again closer to thirty, had hopes for family life, but… the fairytale ended quickly. Sent him packing to his mum. Long stretch alone with Denis. Third try was… well, let’s say he left a mark—a black eye from passionate love, he said. Who knew I’d find self-defence skills useful? Denis did martial arts since he was six, and I’d spar with him at home. Gave the ‘Othello’ his just deserts and got out. Denis married. I got lonely, got myself Vasya. We’re happy together. He’s the perfect company—goes to the cinema or on holiday with me, no strings, no demands. Sometimes I cook up a feast, invite him over. He leaves happy, neither of us owes the other anything.” Denis once asked why Vasily didn’t live with us. Why would he? We’re not young lovers. Look at my brother—he and his wife are inseparable after thirty years. That’s not my story. Why force it just to say I’m married? Vasya and I are good together. Right, love?” Vera cooed to her awakening cat. “Warned you, one more curtain incident, and that would be the end of your extra ‘accessory’.” The girls left, full of thoughts—especially Nadine. But Nadine couldn’t do things Vera’s way. A month later, she’d found a new beau and was receiving bouquets at work. Vera and Auntie Tanya smiled quietly. “So, how’s your Mikhail’s paw, Auntie Tanya?” “He’s fine, dear—stepped on something on a walk, but he’s healed now, thank goodness. My grandkids want to take him to a dog show—no need for that, we’re happy without the fuss… Nadine, I see your life’s back on track!” “Yes, Auntie Tanya—some get pets, some collect husbands!” “Well, everyone’s different. Maybe Nadine will have better luck this time.” “Oh, let’s hope so.” “What are you two whispering about?” “About you, Nadine—hoping luck’s on your side now.” “Ladies, I know how it looks, but I just can’t be alone, really.” “Don’t mind us—stop explaining, everyone has their own journey…” As Vera headed to the car park, Nadine called after her. “Vera, could you give me tips on having a cat? What’s better—a boy or a girl?” “Go on, they’re waiting for you… We’ll see—just in case.”

You Were the Mistake of My Youth A young girl gave birth at sixteen, as did the father of her child. Setting aside the scandal’s details, the couple swiftly separated after the child’s birth. The moment the girl realised her boyfriend wanted neither her nor their son, she lost all interest in her baby, who was then raised by his grandparents—her own parents. At eighteen, she left with a new boyfriend for a nearby city, never calling or writing home. Her parents did not seek contact, only bitterness and shame over her abandoning her child—and regret over having raised ‘someone like her.’ The grandson grew up, forever grateful to his grandparents for his upbringing, education, and everything. He considers them his true parents. When he turned eighteen, his cousin was getting married; the whole family gathered, including his biological mother—by then married for the third time, with two daughters. The eldest was ten, the youngest just a toddler. The boy, excited, wanted to meet his mother and sisters, and ask, “Mum, why did you leave me?” Despite loving his grandparents, he still yearned for his mother—and kept her single surviving photo, after his grandfather burned the rest. She chatted with relatives about her wonderful daughters. “And me, Mum—what about me?” he asked. “You? You’re the mistake of my youth. Your father was right, I should’ve had an abortion,” she replied coldly, turning away. Seven years later, living comfortably in a two-bedroom flat with his wife and son (thanks to help from his grandparents and in-laws), he received a call from an unknown number. “Son, hi, your uncle gave me your number. It’s your mum. Listen, I know you live near the college your sister is attending—could she stay with you for a while? She’s family to you, after all. She doesn’t like her dorm, rent is dear, my husband left, I’m struggling: one daughter a student, one a schoolgirl, one soon for nursery.” “You’ve got the wrong number,” he answered, hanging up. He lifted his son and said, “Let’s get ready—we’ll go see Mum, and afterwards, all together to Grandad and Grandma’s?” “And at the weekend, can we all go to the countryside together?” his young son asked. “Of course—we mustn’t break family traditions!” Some relatives condemned the boy, saying he should’ve helped his sister. But he believes he owes help only to his grandparents—not a stranger who calls him a mistake.