“You’re a monster, Mum! People like you shouldn’t have kids!”
Emma had always dreamed of studying in London. She worked hard and finally got into a university there. One night, she went out with friends to a club and met Jake—a handsome Londoner whose parents were away for a year on business abroad. She fell head over heels for him and soon moved into his flat.
They lived large, splashing the money his parents sent. Every night was either clubbing or parties at home. At first, Emma loved it. But before she knew it, she’d piled up debt and missed classes, barely scraping through her winter exams. She was almost kicked out.
Emma promised to smarten up and retake her exams. She buried herself in books, hiding in the bathroom whenever Jake’s mates came over. She passed her retakes, barely. Then she begged Jake to settle down—he was in his final year, about to graduate.
“Come on, Em,” he’d laugh. “You only live once. When else are you gonna have fun if not in your twenties?”
She was too ashamed to tell her mum she was living with a bloke unmarried. Whenever she called home, she lied, saying they’d tied the knot in a registry office and would have a proper wedding when his parents got back.
One day, Emma felt dizzy in class, her stomach churning. She couldn’t remember her cycle—and then it hit her. A pregnancy test confirmed it.
Jake begged her to get an abortion. They had their first massive row, and he stormed out for two days. Emma was a wreck, crying and waiting. When he finally came back, he wasn’t alone—a drunk blonde was clinging to him. Exhausted and furious, Emma screamed at him to get rid of her.
“She’s not leaving. If you don’t like it, *you* can sod off!” he shouted—then slapped her across the face.
She grabbed her coat and ran. Walked all the way to her student halls. The caretaker took pity on her swollen cheek and smudged mascara and let her in.
The next day, Jake came apologising, swearing he’d never raise a hand to her again. Emma believed him—for the baby’s sake.
She barely scraped through her first year. Too scared to go home—what would her mum say? But staying in London terrified her too. Jake’s parents would be back soon, and there she was, heavily pregnant, looking a mess.
Sure enough, his parents returned. The second his dad heard Emma was from up north and barely passing her second year, he offered her money to “do the decent thing” and leave their son alone.
“Be honest, love—what kind of father would he be? All he cares about is partying. And who’s to say it’s even his?”
Humiliated, Emma refused the money—though later, she wished she’d taken it. She packed up and went home to her mum.
The second her mum saw her on the doorstep, belly swollen, she knew.
“Where’s your *husband*?” she sneered, blocking the doorway. “Let me guess—your London boy got what he wanted and tossed you out? Did he at least give you money?”
“Mum, how can you say that? I don’t want his money!”
“Then why come crying to me? We could barely afford this place just the two of us. I thought you’d landed on your feet—married some posh Londoner. Instead, you turn up knocked up. And where the hell are we supposed to fit a baby?”
Emma froze. “*We*? Who else is here?”
Her mum scoffed. “While you were off gallivanting, *I* met someone. What, I’m not allowed a life? Raised you alone, never had time for myself. He’s younger. I don’t want him gawking at you.”
“Where am I supposed to go, Mum? I’m due any day!”
“Back to your *husband*, whoever he is. He got you pregnant—let him deal with it.”
No warmth, no pity. Just coldness. Emma grabbed her bag and left. Sat on a park bench and sobbed. Where could she go? If even her own mother didn’t care, who would? For a second, she thought of stepping in front of a bus—but the baby kicked, and she couldn’t do it.
“Emma?”
She looked up through tears. A girl stood in front of her—Sophie Wilson, an old schoolmate.
Sophie took one look at her belly and sighed. “Come on, you’re staying with me. Mum and Dad are at their cottage till autumn. We’ll figure it out.”
Emma had no choice. She was starving, exhausted.
Sophie’s flat was a lifeline. Two days later, Sophie burst in excitedly.
“There’s this elderly lady at the hospital—had a stroke, can’t walk, but sharp as a tack. Her daughter won’t take her in. Says she’s too busy with her own kids. Needs a live-in carer. I thought of you.”
Emma panicked. “How can I look after an old lady *and* a newborn?”
“We’ll manage,” Sophie insisted.
The daughter, a brassy woman in too much gold, barely glanced at Emma.
“Fine, but don’t expect pay. Her pension covers food and bills. And you’re out the second Mum dies—no sob stories.”
So Emma moved in with Mrs. Higgins, a frail but kind woman. She bathed her, fed her, and—when her baby, Lily, came—found an unlikely helper. Mrs. Higgins hummed lullabies, soothing Lily to sleep.
Months passed. Lily started walking. Mrs. Higgins passed away quietly one night.
The daughter showed up for the funeral—then coldly told Emma to pack up.
“Wait—I’ve nowhere to go!”
“Not my problem.”
But while clearing out Mrs. Higgins’ things, the daughter found a will—leaving the flat to Emma. She shrieked, threatened court, but the neighbours vouched for Emma. She’d cared for Mrs. Higgins when no one else would.
Emma stayed. Got a job, raised Lily. Just as life settled, her mum turned up—crying about a “serious operation,” claiming she’d sold her flat to pay for it. Emma took her in.
Then one day, she overheard her mum on the phone:
“They’re out… Don’t worry, I’m saving up… Taping my stomach down… Just a little longer…”
Emma stormed in. “You LIED! No operation, no selling your flat—just funding some deadbeat!”
Her mum stammered excuses.
“Get out. Don’t come back.”
Sophie tried to calm her. “She’s still your mum…”
But Emma couldn’t forget being thrown out pregnant.
Years later, when her mum fell ill, Emma cared for her—not out of love, but duty.
Hate breeds hate. But sometimes, the cycle breaks—even if the heart stays broken.
