“You’re a monster, Mum! People like you shouldn’t have children!”
After finishing school, Emily left her small provincial town for London to continue her studies. One night, she went clubbing with friends and met Oliver – a handsome Londoner whose parents were abroad for a year on business. She fell head over heels for him and soon moved into his flat.
They lived extravagantly, funded by his parents’ money—clubbing every night, throwing parties at home. At first, Emily loved it. But before she knew it, she’d racked up debts and missed lectures, barely scraping through her winter exams. She was at risk of being kicked out.
Emily promised to sort herself out and resit the exams. She buried herself in books, locking herself in the bathroom when Oliver’s mates came over. She passed in the end but begged Oliver to grow up—he was in his final year, nearly graduating.
“Oh, come off it, Em,” he’d say carelessly. “We only live once. When else are we supposed to have fun, if not in our twenties?”
She was too ashamed to tell her mum she was living with a man without being married, so whenever she called home, she lied—said they’d tied the knot in a registry office and would have a proper wedding when Oliver’s parents returned.
One day in class, Emily felt dizzy and nauseous. Horrified, she realised she’d lost track of her cycle. A pregnancy test confirmed her fears.
It was early days, but Oliver pushed for an abortion. They had their first big row—so bad that he stormed out and didn’t return for two days. Emily was beside herself, crying nonstop. When he finally came back, he wasn’t alone. A drunk blonde clung to him, barely able to stand. Exhausted and betrayed, Emily screamed at him, demanding the girl leave.
“She’s staying. If you don’t like it, *you* sod off, you hysterical cow!” he snarled—then struck her across the face.
She grabbed her coat and ran. All the way to her old student halls. Swollen cheek, mascara streaked, she banged on the door. The night manager took pity and let her in.
The next day, Oliver begged forgiveness, swore he’d never hit her again. For the baby’s sake, she believed him.
Somehow, she scraped through her first year. She was terrified to go home—what would her mum say? But staying in London was just as scary. Oliver’s parents were due back soon, and there she was, visibly pregnant.
When his parents returned, his father took one look at Emily—provincial, barely into her second year—and made his disdain clear. He offered her money to disappear.
“Be realistic. What kind of father would he be? All he cares about is partying. And who’s to say it’s even his? Take the money, go back to your family. It’s better for everyone.”
Humiliated, Emily refused—though she’d regret it later. Oliver stayed silent. She packed up and left for her mum’s.
The moment her mother saw her pregnant on the doorstep, she knew.
“Why are you alone?” she asked sharply, blocking the doorway. “I take it there was no wedding? Got what you wanted from you, then chucked you out, did he? Did he at least give you money?”
“Mum, how can you say that? I don’t want his money.”
“Then why come here? We barely scraped by together before. I thought you’d won the lottery—married a Londoner, living the high life. Instead, you turn up knocked up. How are we supposed to fit four of us in here? With a baby?”
“Four?” Emily whispered, confused.
“While you were off gallivanting, *I* found someone. What? I’m not dead yet—I deserve happiness too. Raised you alone, never had time for myself. He’s younger. I don’t want him gawping at you.”
“Where am I supposed to go, Mum? I’m due soon,” Emily pleaded, tears choking her.
“Go back to your *husband*. Whoever he is. He got you pregnant—let him take responsibility.”
Her mother stood firm. No pity, no warmth. Their relationship had never been close, but now it was like talking to a stranger.
Emily took her bag and left. She sat on a bench down the street, sobbing. Where could she go? If even her own mother didn’t care, who would? She thought about stepping into traffic—until the baby kicked sharply, as if begging her not to.
“Emily?” A voice startled her. Blinking through tears, she barely recognised the face.
“It’s me, Sophie Wilkins. We went to school together. Why are you—?” Sophie’s eyes dropped to her belly. “You’re pregnant?”
The story poured out between sobs.
“Come home with me,” Sophie said firmly. “My parents are at their cottage till autumn. You can’t sleep on the streets. We’ll figure it out.”
Emily had no choice. Her legs shook with exhaustion; she was starving.
Sophie’s flat was a relief. “Make yourself comfortable,” she said, rushing to the kitchen. “I’ll fix you food. I’m training to be a nurse—working at the hospital over summer. Heard you were at uni in London?”
“*Was*,” Emily murmured, closing her eyes.
Two days later, Sophie burst in excitedly.
“There’s an elderly lady on my ward—had a stroke, can’t walk, but her mind’s sharp. Her daughter visited today, refused to take her home. Says she lives in another city, her husband won’t allow it. Three kids in a tiny flat. She asked us to find a carer. I thought of you.”
“You told her I’m about to give birth?”
“No,” Sophie admitted. “But no one else wants the job. Just come—try not to show your bump too much. She’ll take you.”
“How can I care for a bedridden woman while pregnant? She needs lifting, washing, nappies changed!”
“I’ll teach you. I’ll help. Em, this is your best shot—a roof over your head.”
Terrified but desperate, Emily agreed.
The daughter—a sour-faced woman—eyed Emily skeptically. “Pregnant? Can you handle it?”
“She’ll manage. I’m training to be a nurse—I’ll assist. She’s got nowhere else,” Sophie answered for her.
“Fine. But don’t expect the flat. No wages either—just her pension for expenses. And keep receipts. Ring me only for emergencies.” With that, she left.
Sophie introduced Emily to the old woman—Margaret Hayes.
“Hello, Margaret. I’m Emily. I’ll be living with you. Sophie will help too,” Emily said gently.
Margaret’s watery eyes lingered on her belly.
“Yes, I’m pregnant. But I’ll manage,” Emily said firmly.
Sophie nudged her. “Her own *mother* threw her out.”
Emily shot her a look. “Would you like water?” she asked Margaret.
A muffled sound.
“That means no. You’ll learn,” Sophie whispered. “Come, let’s check the kitchen.”
Emily adjusted to life with Margaret—feeding her, wiping her tears, confiding her struggles. When labour struck, Sophie took over. Emily gave birth to a girl—Lily.
Terrified Margaret’s daughter would evict them, Emily worked tirelessly between the baby and the old woman. One day, she left Lily in her pram near Margaret’s bed. Returning from the kitchen, she found Margaret humming—and Lily drifting off to the sound.
Margaret became Lily’s lullaby.
Time passed. Lily learned to stand; Margaret weakened. Then, quietly, she died in her sleep.
Emily called the daughter. She arrived for the funeral, then coldly said, “Pack your things. I’m selling the flat.”
“You said I could stay until—”
“Not my problem.”
While clearing Margaret’s things, the daughter found a will—leaving the flat to Emily. She erupted.
“I’ll contest this! You scheming little— Did you *kill* her?”
Stunned, Emily called Sophie, who explained: Margaret had requested a solicitor.
“She could barely speak, but she was sound of mind. The neighbours will vouch for you—they never saw *her* visiting.”
The court sided with Emily. She kept the flat. Lily started nursery; Emily worked as a receptionist, picking up care shifts.
Just as life settled, her mother appeared—weeping on her doorstep.
“I had major surgery. Sold my flat to pay for it. I’ve nowhere else.”
Emily relented. Family was family.
One sunny afternoon, Emily, Lily, and Sophie went for a walk.
“Forgot my phone,” Emily said suddenly. “Mum might need me.”
She hurried back—and overheard her mother on a call:
“… She’s out… Miss you too… Almost saved enough… Pretending to be ill… Taping my stomach flat…”
“*Mum!*” Emily gasped.
Her mother spun around, guilty.
“You *liedShe slammed the door behind her, walking away for good this time, determined to break the cycle and give Lily the love she’d never received.
