**Diary Entry**
I became an orphan at six years old, the day my mother died giving birth to my youngest brother. Even now, I remember it clearlyhow my mothers cries filled the house, how the neighbours gathered, weeping, until her voice fell silent
Why didnt they call a doctor? Why wasnt she taken to hospital? Was the village too remote? Were the roads impassable? Ill never know, but there must have been a reason. She was gone, leaving us alone with tiny baby Oliver.
Father was lost without her. Our family was all down South, and there was no one here to help him raise us. The neighbours urged him to remarry quickly. Barely a week after the funeral, he was engaged.
They suggested the village schoolteachersaid she had a kind heart. So, he went to her. Asked for her hand, and she accepted. Maybe she fancied himhe was young, handsome. Tall and lean, with dark eyes that could charm anyone.
That evening, he brought her home to meet us. Ive brought you a new mother!
A wave of grief and bitterness surged through me, something my childs heart couldnt accept. The house still smelled of Mum. We wore dresses shed sewn and washed with her own hands, and now he was introducing another woman as our mother. Now, older, I understandbut back then, I hated him for it. Hated her, too.
They stood there, slightly tipsy, arms linked. Call me Mum, she said, and Ill stay.
I turned to my little sister. She isnt our mother. Our mothers dead. Dont call her that!
The baby whimpered. I, the eldest, glared. No, we wont! Youre a stranger.
Cheeky little thing! Fine, I wont stay then.
She marched out. Father hesitatedstarted after her, then stopped at the doorway. He came back instead, gathered us in his arms, and wept. We cried with him, even baby Oliver in his blankets. We mourned our mother; he mourned his wife. But our tears held deeper sorroworphans grief is the same in every language. It was the only time I ever saw him cry.
He stayed with us two more weeks. His forestry team was heading into the hillsno other work in the village. He left money with a neighbour for food, sent Oliver to another, and went.
So we were alone. The neighbour came to cook and warm the house, then left. The rest of the day? Cold, hunger, fear.
The village debated how to help. We needed a womannot just any woman, but one whod love anothers children as her own. Where to find her?
Rumour spoke of a distant cousin of a villager, a young woman left by her husband for bearing no children. Or perhaps shed had some who diedno one knew. They sent a letter, and Aunt Mabel brought Zara to us.
Father was still away when she arrived one quiet morning. She moved so softly we didnt hear her. I woke to footsteps, the clink of dishesthe smell of pancakes!
Peeking through the door, we watched. Zara cleaned calmly, scrubbed the floor. Then she called, Come, little blondes, breakfasts ready!
Funny, her calling us thatwe *were* fair-haired with blue eyes, like Mum.
We crept out. Sit, eat! No need to ask twice. The pancakes won us over. Call me Aunt Zara.
She bathed us, washed our clothes, then left. But she returned the next day. The house bloomed under her handsclean, orderly, like when Mum lived. Three weeks passed. Father came home late one night, stunned. I expected misery, but youre living like princesses!
We told him everything. He sat, thoughtful. Well, lets meet this new mistress of the house.
Shes lovely, little Vera rushed. Makes pancakes, tells stories.
Looking back, I smile. Zara wasnt beautifulthin, plain, quiet. But children know where true beauty lies.
The next day, Father fetched her. She entered shyly, as if afraid. I whispered to Vera, Should we call her Mum?
Together, we shouted, Mummy! Mummys here!
Father and Zara brought Oliver home. To him, she *was* his mothershe doted on him. He had no memory of Mum. Vera forgot too. Only Father and I remembered. Once, I heard him murmur at Mums photo: Why did you leave so soon? You took all my joy with you.
I left home earlyboarding school after year four, technical college after year seven. I couldnt wait to go, though I dont know why. Zara never hurt me, treated me as her own. Was I ungrateful?
I became a midwife for a reason. I cant turn back time to save my motherbut I can save others.
