“You’re a monster, Mum! People like you shouldn’t have children!”
Vera had always been a dreamer, floating through life like a leaf on the wind. When she got accepted into university in London, she saw it as her golden ticket. Her mother, a sharp-tongued woman from a small Midlands town, had scraped together every penny to send her off with a stiff warning—”Don’t mess this up.”
Too late. One night at a club in Soho, she met James. A proper Londoner, all charm and careless smiles, his parents were away on a long-term business trip abroad. Vera fell head over heels, floating on champagne bubbles and promises. Soon, she moved into his Kensington flat.
Money flowed like tap water—his parents wired funds every month. Nights blurred into parties, clubs, lazy mornings spent nursing hangovers. At first, Vera loved it. By the time she snapped out of it, debts and missed lectures piled up like unwashed dishes. She barely scraped through winter exams, her grades in tatters. The university threatened to kick her out.
She swore to buckle down, retake the exams. Locked herself in the bathroom when James’ lads came over, textbooks spread across the tiles. Somehow, she passed. Then she tried to talk sense into James.
“Come off it, Ver,” he’d laugh, swirling whiskey in his glass. “We’re young once. When else are we meant to have fun?”
Shame kept her lying to her mum. Every phone call was another fairy tale—”We’re married, Mum, just a quick registry office thing. Big wedding when his parents get back.”
Then came the dizziness, the nausea. A missed period. The test confirmed it.
Still early days, but James wanted her to “sort it out.” Their first real fight—shouting, tears, him storming out. Two days in limbo, praying he’d come back. When he did, he wasn’t alone. Some bleary-eyed blonde clung to his arm, lipstick smudged. Exhausted, Vera snapped. “Get her out!”
“She stays. Don’t like it? You leave,” he growled—then slapped her.
She ran. Wandered the streets until she stumbled into her uni halls. The porter took pity, let her in.
Next day, James came begging. “I’ll never do it again,” he swore. She believed him. For the baby’s sake.
Somehow, she scraped through first year. Too terrified to go home. What would Mum say? But staying in London felt worse. James’ parents would return soon, and there she’d be—pregnant, pale, pathetic.
They arrived fresh off a flight from Singapore. Took one look at Vera—her accent, her bump—and his father cut to the chase. “Take the money. Go home.”
“Be honest—what kind of father would he be? Out every night. And who’s to say it’s even his? Take the cash. It’s better for everyone.”
Humiliation burned. James stood silent. She refused the money (regretted it later), packed her bags, and fled to her mother’s.
The moment Mum opened the door, her face twisted. “Back alone, then? Suppose there was no wedding.”
“Mum—”
“Needed somewhere to dump you, did he? At least get some money out of him.”
“I don’t want his money!”
“Then why come here? We barely fit as it was. Thought you’d landed on your feet, but no—knocked up and dumped. And where d’you think we’ll put a baby?”
Vera froze. “We?”
Mum smirked. “While you were off playing house, I met someone. Younger. Not having you moping about, cramping my style.”
“Where am I supposed to go?” Vera whispered, clutching her belly.
“Back to him. He got you into this—let him deal with it.”
No warmth. No guilt. Just cold dismissal. Vera grabbed her bag and left.
Sat on a park bench, sobbing. Nowhere to go. No one who cared. For a wild second, she thought of stepping in front of a bus—but the baby kicked, hard. She couldn’t do it.
“Vera?” A voice cut through her tears.
She blinked up—Sadie Wilkinson, an old schoolmate.
“You’re—” Sadie’s eyes dropped to Vera’s stomach. “Oh.”
The whole story spilled out between hiccupping cries.
“Stay with me,” Sadie said firmly. “Parents are at the Devon cottage till autumn. You can’t sleep rough.”
Gratefully, Vera followed.
Sadie worked part-time at a hospital while studying nursing. Two days later, she burst in, grinning. “I’ve got you a job. Elderly woman needs a live-in carer. Stroke left her bedridden, but she’s sweet. Her daughter won’t take her—too busy swanning about in designer gear. Says she’ll pay in room and board.”
Vera panicked. “I’m pregnant! How can I—”
“You’ll manage. I’ll help.”
The daughter barely glanced at Vera. “Don’t expect wages. Mum’s pension covers bills. Screw up, and you’re out.”
The flat was small, smelling of antiseptic and old books. Mrs. Eleanor Hastings watched silently as Vera approached.
“I’m Vera. I’ll look after you.”
Eleanor’s watery eyes flicked to Vera’s bump.
“I’ll manage,” Vera lied.
It was gruelling—sponge baths, soiled sheets, pureed meals. But Eleanor never complained. One night, Vera left baby Alice fussing in her pram beside the bed while she rushed to stop boiling porridge. When she returned, Eleanor was humming—a rusty, off-key lullaby. Alice slept peacefully.
After that, they found a rhythm. Alice thrived; Eleanor softened. But time, relentless, dragged the old woman downhill. One morning, Vera found her gone—peaceful in sleep.
The daughter swooped in like a vulture. “Pack your things. I’m selling this place.”
Then she found the will.
Eleanor had left it all to Vera.
“You conniving little—!” the daughter screeched. “I’ll contest this!”
Sadie stepped in. “Try it. The courts won’t throw out a mother and child. And everyone knows you never visited.”
Vera stayed. Alice started nursery; Vera took a receptionist job, picked up care work. Just as life steadied—her mother appeared.
Thin. Pale. “I’m ill,” she croaked. “Sold my flat for treatment. Let me stay?”
Against her better judgment, Vera said yes.
One afternoon, rushing back for a forgotten phone, she overheard Mum giggling into hers:
“—out walking, she won’t hear… Oh, I miss you too… Nearly saved enough… Me? Oh, just taping down this stupid belly—”
Vera stormed in. “You lied!”
Mum dropped the phone. “It’s not—”
“No operation. No sold flat. Just stealing from me to fund some man!”
“You don’t understand—”
“Get out.”
Mum left that night.
Years later, when cancer came for real, Vera nursed her till the end.
Hate breeds hate. But sometimes, against all odds, kindness finds a way.
