“You’re a monster, Mum! Women like you shouldn’t have children!”
After school, Emily left her small provincial town for London to continue her studies. One night, she went clubbing with friends and met Jack—a handsome Londoner whose parents were abroad on a year-long assignment. She fell head over heels for him and soon moved into his flat.
They lived lavishly, thanks to his parents’ money. Nights were spent clubbing or throwing parties at home. At first, Emily loved it. But before she knew it, she’d racked up debts and missed classes, barely scraping through her winter exams. She was at risk of being kicked out.
Emily promised to turn things around and retake her exams. She buried herself in books, locking herself in the bathroom when Jack’s friends came over. She passed—barely—but begged Jack to settle down. He was in his final year, after all.
“Relax, Em,” he laughed. “We only live once. Youth doesn’t last forever. If we can’t have fun at twenty, when can we?”
Too ashamed to admit she was living with a boyfriend, Emily lied to her mother, saying they’d married in a registry office and would have a proper wedding when Jack’s parents returned.
One day in class, Emily felt dizzy and nauseous. She checked her calendar and froze—she must be pregnant. A test confirmed it.
When she told Jack, he pushed for an abortion. They had their first real fight, and he stormed out, vanishing for two days. Emily wept, waiting for him. When he returned, he wasn’t alone—a drunk blonde clung to him, barely standing. Exhausted and furious, Emily yelled, demanding the girl leave.
“She’s staying. If you don’t like it, *you* get out, you psycho!” Jack shouted—then slapped her across the face.
Emily grabbed her coat and ran. She stumbled to the student halls, her cheek swollen, mascara streaked. The matron took pity and let her in.
The next day, Jack begged forgiveness, swearing he’d never hurt her again. Emily believed him—for the baby’s sake.
Somehow, she scraped through her first year. Too afraid to go home—what would her mother say?—but terrified to stay. Jack’s parents were due back soon, and she was visibly pregnant, a mess.
When his parents returned and learned Emily was from a small town, barely passing, his father offered her money to leave Jack alone.
“Be reasonable. What kind of father would he be? All he knows is partying. And who’s to say it’s even his? Take the money. Go home. It’s for the best.”
Humiliated, Emily refused—though she later regretted it. She packed up and returned to her mother.
The moment her mother saw her pregnant on the doorstep, she understood.
“Where’s your husband?” she snapped, blocking the door. “Or was he never real? Had your fun, then tossed you out? Did he at least pay you off?”
“Mum, how can you—? I don’t want his money!”
“Then why come here? We could barely afford this place just us two. I thought you’d won the lottery, marrying a Londoner. Instead, you’re back, knocked up. Where are we supposed to fit—four of us now, with a baby?”
“Four?” Emily’s voice wavered.
“While you were off gallivanting, *I* found someone. What? I’m not old yet. I deserve happiness too. Raised you alone—never had a life. Now it’s my turn. He’s younger. I don’t want him staring at *you*.”
“Where am I supposed to go, Mum? I’m due soon,” Emily whispered, tears brimming.
“Go back to your *husband*. He got you pregnant—let him provide.”
Her mother stood cold, unyielding. No pity, no warmth. They’d never been close, but now it was like talking to a stranger.
Emily took her bag and left. She sat on a bench, sobbing. Where could she go? Not even her mother cared. She thought of stepping into traffic—but the baby kicked, as if pleading. She couldn’t do it.
“Emily?” A voice broke through her tears. She looked up, blinking. It was Sophie, an old schoolmate. “Why are you crying?” Then Sophie noticed the bump. “You’re pregnant?”
Emily broke down, confessing everything.
“Come home with me,” Sophie said firmly. “My parents are at their cottage till autumn. You’ll stay with me—we’ll figure it out.”
Emily agreed. Where else could she go?
At Sophie’s flat, she collapsed onto the sofa. “Make yourself at home,” Sophie said, bustling to the kitchen. “I work at the hospital on breaks—studying to be a nurse. Heard you were in uni in London?”
“Was,” Emily murmured, closing her eyes.
Two days later, Sophie returned from work excited.
“There’s an elderly lady on my ward—stroke survivor, sharp mind. Her daughter won’t take her in—claims her husband refuses. I thought of you. They need a live-in carer. The pay’s just room and board, but—”
“Sophie, I’m *pregnant*! How can I lift or bathe her?”
“I’ll teach you. It’s your best shot.”
Terrified but desperate, Emily agreed.
The daughter—a sour-faced woman—eyed Emily. “Pregnant? You’ll manage?”
“She will. I’ll help,” Sophie cut in.
“Fine. But don’t expect the flat. And I’m not paying—her pension covers expenses. Don’t waste it.”
So Emily moved in with Margaret. The old woman rarely spoke, just wept silently. Emily fed her, wiped her tears, and told her own story.
A month later, Emily went into labour. Sophie cared for Margaret while Emily delivered a daughter, Lily.
Juggling a baby and Margaret was exhausting—until one day, she left Lily in her pram by Margaret’s bed. Returning from the kitchen, she found Margaret humming, Lily dozing off.
From then on, Margaret helped. Lily slept to her murmurs, giving Emily time to breathe.
Time passed. Lily learned to stand; Margaret declined. Soon, she died peacefully in her sleep.
Her daughter arrived, coldly announcing Emily had to leave.
“Overstayed her welcome, didn’t you?” she sneered, eyeing Lily. “Told you—no flat. I’m selling it.”
“But—where will we go?”
“Not my problem.”
While clearing Margaret’s things, the daughter found a will—leaving the flat to Emily. She screamed, threatening legal action.
Sophie explained: before dying, Margaret had summoned a solicitor. “She wanted you safe. No court will evict you—every neighbour knows you cared for her while her own daughter vanished.”
Emily kept the flat. Lily started nursery; Emily took odd jobs.
Just as life steadied, her mother reappeared—pale, tearful. She claimed to need surgery, having sold her flat to pay for it. Now, she pleaded, she had nowhere to go.
Emily relented. Blood was blood.
One day, returning from a walk, Emily realized she’d forgotten her phone. Rushing back, she overheard her mother on a call:
“—she’s out… I’ve barely touched my savings… Almost have enough… Me? A failed actress… I tape my stomach to look ill—”
“Mum!” Emily gasped.
Her mother spun, panicked. “You misunderstood—”
“You lied! No surgery, no sold flat—just mooching off me to pay your lover’s debts! After throwing me out pregnant? You’re a *monster*! Get out!”
Sophie found Emily trembling in the park. “What happened?”
“She *used* me. All that weakness—an act!” Emily sobbed. “How could she?”
Sophie sighed. “Parents aren’t perfect. But… she’s still your mum.”
That night, Emily returned—her mother was gone.
Years later, when her mother fell truly ill, Emily cared for her until the end.
Hate breeds hate. If a mother won’t love her child, what love can she expect in return?
