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.

You are a mistake of youth.

I was sixteen when my mum had me. Dad was the same age, just a couple of teenagers caught up in more than they bargained for. I wont go into the details of the family dramaafter I was born, Mum and Dad split almost right away. Once she realised Dad didnt want anything to do with her or me, Mum lost interest in being a mother at all. So my grandparentsher parentstook me in.

When Mum turned eighteen, she left for Manchester with a new boyfriend. She didnt phone, never sent a card, nothing. My grandparents didnt chase after her or try to mend things. There was resentment, disappointment, and the unspoken question: how could she just abandon her own child? It was a source of embarrassment and heartbreak, raising someone capable of that.

I grew up in a loving homemy grandparents became Mum and Dad to me. Even now, Im endlessly grateful for the childhood they gave me and the solid education they made possible.

When I turned eighteen, my cousin Emily was getting married. The whole family showed up for the big day, including my biological Mum. By then, she was on her third husband and had two other daughtersone ten, the youngest just a toddler.

I felt a rush of nerves and excitement: after years of imagining, Id finally meet Mum and see my sisters. All I really wanted was to ask her, Mum, why did you leave me?

My grandparents were wonderful, and Im forever thankful, yet I longed for some sort of connection to Mum. I even secretly kept the only surviving photo of herGranddad burned all the rest. Mum chatted away to an aunt, bragging about her beautiful girls.

And what about me, Mum? I asked.

You? she replied. Youre just a mistake I made when I was young. Your father was right, I shouldve terminated the pregnancy. She said it like she was discussing the weather, then turned her back.

Seven years later, I was living in a cosy two-bedroom flat near Oxford with my wife and sonthanks to my grandparents and my wifes parents. One evening, my mobile rangan unknown number lit up the screen.

Hello, son, this is your Mum. Your uncle passed your number to me. Listen, your sisters starting uni near you. Would you mind putting her up for a while? Shes family, after all. The halls are grim, and the rents ridiculous. Im strugglingyou know your stepdads left, Ive got one at school, another starting nursery soon…

Youve got the wrong number, I replied, then hung up.

I went over and scooped my son into my arms. Shall we go visit Grandma and Granddad after seeing Mum? And maybe bring along biscuits for everyone?

Well go to the countryside at the weekend, wont we? my little boy asked with hopeful eyes.

Of coursewe mustnt let family traditions slip!

Some relatives reckoned I was cruel not to help my half-sister. But to me, there are only two people I owe a debt: Grandma and Granddad, who raised me. Not to a stranger who deemed me a blunder of her youth.