I knew you’d call, Mum…
The phone buzzed right in the middle of the lecture. Sophie pulled it from her pocket, glanced at the screen, and dismissed the call. But it buzzed again.
“Gregory, have some decency. Either turn it off or answer it,” the professor said irritably.
“I’ll answer. May I?” Sophie gestured toward the door.
“Go on,” the professor sighed.
“Milly, what is it? I’m in class,” Sophie asked, stepping into the corridor.
“Sophie… Your parents were in an accident,” Milly’s voice trembled.
“What?” Sophie’s breath caught.
“Come quickly.”
Pale and shaken, Sophie hurried back into the lecture hall, shoved her textbook and notebook into her bag, and bolted for the door.
“Have you nothing to say for yourself, Gregory?” The professor’s sharp voice followed her.
“I’m sorry, it’s urgent,” Sophie muttered before slipping out.
“Soph, what’s wrong?” Nathan caught up to her at the stairs.
“I don’t know. Milly rang—said my parents were in an accident. Told me to come.”
“Are they alive? I’ll go with you.”
“Nathan, you don’t have to—”
“You might need help. Give me your phone—I’ll call a cab.” Only then did Sophie realise she was still clutching it.
“God, just let them be alive,” she whispered, handing it over.
The entire ride home, Sophie fidgeted with the strap of her bag. Nathan covered her hand with his, steadying her.
“Please, hurry,” she begged the driver. Every second felt like an eternity.
“Can’t—speed cameras everywhere,” he replied flatly.
“I’ll cover the fines, just go faster,” she nearly sobbed.
The driver sighed, then pressed the accelerator, weaving past cars. “If we crash, we go together.”
At last, her house. While Nathan paid, Sophie rushed through the gate.
Milly spotted them from the window and stepped onto the porch of the grand two-story home, tears in her eyes, hands clasped to her chest.
“Are they alive?” Sophie sprinted up the steps.
“Leonard passed at the scene. Margaret’s in hospital.”
“Why didn’t you say so? Which one?”
“St. Mary’s.”
“Nathan, has the cab left?” Sophie turned to him.
“Hold on.” He dialled. “Hello? Could you come back, please?”
Sophie didn’t rush this time. She wept in the backseat, burying her face in Nathan’s shoulder.
At the hospital, they wouldn’t let her see her mother.
“She’s my mum! Let me in!” Sophie sobbed, pleading with the doctor.
“She’s critical—unconscious.”
“I need to see her.”
“Fine. But no outbursts,” the doctor warned before leading them to intensive care.
Later, in another cab home, Sophie whispered, “Mum… She’ll pull through, won’t she? I’ve no one left. No one.”
“What about Milly? Isn’t she family?” Nathan asked.
“The housekeeper. She’s been with us forever—like family. I lied so no one would know.”
“Why?”
“None of our lot have housekeepers, do they? How d’you think they’d treat me if they knew?”
The rest of the ride passed in silence. At the house, Nathan moved to follow, but Sophie stopped him.
“Don’t. I’ll ring you tomorrow,” she said before slipping inside.
Milly met her in the hall. “Well? Did you see her?”
“Yes. She’s in a coma.”
“Oh, Sophie.” Milly embraced her, weeping. “We’ll pray Margaret pulls through. The funeral home’s handling Leonard’s arrangements. They’ve already called.” She stroked Sophie’s back. “Such a tragedy. He was such a good man—never a harsh word, always kind…”
Sophie left Milly to her lament and retreated to her room, curling into a ball on the bed.
At dawn, Milly woke her. The tears on her face and pity in her eyes told Sophie everything.
“They rang just now. She passed in the night… God rest her soul,” Milly crossed herself. “Oh, Sophie…”
Later, they sat together in the kitchen.
“I’m all alone now,” Sophie murmured.
“I’ll stay a while. But I’m old, love—time to retire. Thirty years I’ve been here. Started under Bernard, your grandfather—Leonard’s father.”
The funerals passed, then the mourning rituals. The house grew quiet, the phone silent. Friends and colleagues stopped visiting.
Sophie attended lectures only because Nathan dragged her. Otherwise, she’d have stayed in bed, facing the wall. Milly forced her to eat, threatening to leave if she didn’t take at least a spoonful of broth. What was the point? Cooking for no one.
So Sophie ate—just to avoid being alone in the empty house.
One evening, over untouched tea, Milly broke the silence.
“I swore to your parents I’d never tell you. But they’re gone now, so the oath is void. And you deserve the truth. May Leonard and Margaret forgive me.” She crossed herself.
“What truth? What oath?” Sophie asked wearily.
“You’re not alone. You’ve another mother,” Milly said firmly.
“Don’t talk rubbish. Mum’s dead,” Sophie snapped.
“Margaret’s dead. But she wasn’t your birth mother. Your real mother—I think she’s alive. Though I don’t know where.”
Sophie stared.
“Mum wasn’t my mother? What about Dad?”
“He was your father. I’ll explain. I’ve been here forever—your dad trusted me. That’s how I know. I’d not believe gossip either.”
Margaret couldn’t have children. She and Leonard were heartbroken. She tried every treatment, travelled everywhere. Then a girl started working at his firm—fresh from some small town, failed her uni exams, too proud to go home. Your father was handsome—women always fancied him. Your mother was no exception. Eighteen and starry-eyed.
That’s when Leonard and Margaret hatched their plan. Or maybe it just happened. I won’t lie—I don’t know. But your mother got pregnant and wanted an abortion. Came to your dad for money. Where would she go, a girl alone with a baby?
He convinced her to keep it. Rented her a flat, paid her to carry the child and hand it over. She agreed—until the last moment. Then she changed her mind. Nine months carrying a baby—not every mother could give it up, even a young one like her.
I remember your father brooding. Then he laid it out: her mother raised her alone, dirt poor. No work in the village. Your mother wore hand-me-downs, dreamed of escape.
“You want that life for your daughter? I can’t support you forever. I’m a public figure—no room for scandal. And this will get out. I’m married. I can’t wed you. Think it over,” he told her.
At the hospital, she signed the papers. Your father told everyone Margaret had given birth. She stayed out of sight—no one doubted it.
They brought you home, and you cried nonstop, like you knew your mother was missing. Your birth mother lurked outside, begging to see you.
Your father relented. Hired her as your nanny, made her swear never to reveal the truth. Margaret was jealous. She’d let your mother feed you, then take you back—only gave you to her at night. You settled then.
Eventually, your mother left. Couldn’t bear you calling Margaret “Mum” and her “nanny.” So you’re not alone. You’ve a real mother out there.
Now let me go. I’ve unburdened my soul. I’m retiring.
“Fine. But tell me her name,” Sophie said, torn between belief and doubt.
“Natasha. Natasha Naylor. That’s all I know. I don’t pry. Don’t ask—I’ve no idea where she’s from. She was eighteen when she started at the firm. You’re nineteen now—do the maths.”
Sophie let Milly go. Alone, she wondered how to find her mother. She told Nathan—his father worked for the police. Maybe he could help.
Three weeks later, Nathan found her. Just one match fit.
Sophie packed for London at once.
“Where’re you off to? Exams are next week—you’ll fail. We’ll go together,” Nathan said.
“No. I need to do this alone. I’ll make it back.”
“Honestly? Don’t go. She gave you up. Didn’t fight for you. Your dad probably paid her off. Sold you. Your real mother’s the one who raised you. Let it be.”
But Sophie insisted. She had to look her in the eye, hear the truth.
“Did Milly mention any identifyingSophie stared out the train window, watching the city blur past, her heart lighter than it had been in months, knowing that despite the pain and loss, she had finally found the missing piece of herself and, in doing so, made peace with the past.
