Leave her in the maternity ward, the relatives urged, their voices echoing like a chorus of windchimes.
Why on earth did you even think of taking her? the husband wailed, gesturing at the newborn swaddled in the tiny cot. They told you her diagnosis, didnt they?
How could anyone be so? Did you ever stop to consider the mess you were stepping into?
She tried to understand, contrary to what everyone else believedher boyfriend Sam, her whole clan, even her mother Nora, who called the infant Little Lily, shouted:
Why, dear Olivia? Do you plan to have another? This is a disaster! Take a carrier for yourself so you dont stumble, love!
Theyd warned that she wouldnt live long.
Yes, theyd said that, and suggested leaving the child in the hospitala perfectly reasonable suggestion, since not every parent could bear such a shock. If some mothers leave perfectly healthy babies, imagine the sick ones
The baby didnt even cry; she had bluetinted lips and the tips of her fingers were a watery huewhat doctors call acrocyanosis.
Shed been diagnosed with a congenital heart defect of moderate severitya ventricular septal defect: survivable, but hard. The doctor had said so. Then Olivia decided to bring the child home, for in any matter concerning a child, the final word belongs to the mother.
And thats where the whirlwind began.
Sams loving husbandtype fled almost immediately once it became clear she wasnt about to relinquish the child. He shouted, If I ever change my mind, maybe Ill come back. If you still want a life with me, youd better hurry. Such was the fierce love they claimed to share.
Olivia didnt blame him; not everyone can sacrifice themselves, and in this case, that was the only path.
He did turn up for Olivia and the baby, though without any fanfareno bouquets, no balloons. What was there to celebrate? Both grandmothers, on their side of the family, had already declared: Leave her in the hospital; we dont need that burden.
Would you still claim there are no strangers children?
Olivia tried to see things from her relatives and husbands perspective, but she failed miserablycouldnt even manage a wilted little bouquet. No one rallied behind the young mother. Only one soul did: her steadfast schoolmate, the childhood sweetheart Mike Whitaker.
Mike and Olivia had drifted apart latelySam had objected, Theres no such thing as friendship between the sexes, stop feeding me lies! Ill never believe there was anything between us! Yet both resigned themselves. Olivia often recalled her cheerful, cheeky friend from a modest background, a boy her mother Nora never liked.
Then there was Alexnow that was a proper lad! A solid chap, not that factory groaner who, after some night school, ended up on the production line.
At the time, rockets were being tested and IT tech was invading every corner. Mike worked as a machineoperator at the plant, proud of his role.
You know, Ollie, hed call her, which drove Nora madUgh, country girl!theyve given me a raise! Maybe your mum will let you marry me? The naïve lover hoped that if Nora approved, sweet Olivia would become his wife; theyd known each other forever.
Olivias heart, however, already beat for Samhandsome, wellmannered, from a respectable family, approved by her mother.
Thats the kind of man Ill show off to my friends! Not that simple lad of yoursplain as three pennies!
Olivia didnt understand why she had to flaunt her chosen one before any girlfriendsperhaps hers, perhaps her mothers. Yet she was pleased that the outwardly supportive woman approved her choice; otherwise, a domineering lady would have forced her way.
And indeed she succeeded, except for one last episode when her daughter rebelled and refused to sign a refusal form.
How dare you disobey, you little brat? From now on I have no daughter! Dont you dare come near me with your?
In the end, Olivias decision to bring the baby home mirrored a scene from a British drama about loss and tears, only with a stark twist: Lilys condition was grave, and escaping a bleak reality for a happy ending, as in the film, proved impossible.
Olivia never imagined that everyone would turn away at onceher husband, both mothers, even the fathersnone remained. Strangely, the whole family rallied behind Nora:
Are you mad? Do you want to keep rambling all your life? Return her before you get used to it! Sam will come back!
Her husbands ecstatic reaction wasnt limited to the mother; everyone cheered. Yet, caught in a stupor of betrayal, Olivia didnt want Sam to return. She still loved him, but a fissure began to crack that love from within.
It was clear that living side by side would no longer work; too much had changed, not for the better.
Sam left that very day, hauling them to the flat that Olivia owned; hed retrieve his belongings later.
Olivia was left alone with her grief and a sick Lily, far from the pink nursery shed imagined, far from the perfect future shed dreamed of.
Sam himself had wallpapered the walls: My daughter will have the best of everything!
Now the nursery was indeed pink, the furniture pristine, but Lilys future seemed shrouded in fog. Would there even be a future for her daughter?
There were no tears, only raw emotions. Olivia called Mike, whose connection had almost faded: Is this still us, brother? Their husband, still opposed, was a distant memoryhed overindulged in pears.
She poured her tangled tale into the newly arrived suitor, a bewildered young man who, recognizing the absurdity, could not hide his relief.
A longawaited train of hope rumbled toward the waiting room where hed spent years, and Michael finally claimed his happiness.
The flat buzzed with activity: Olivia, soothed by a cup of tea with milkjust as it should bewatched Mike rush to the shop for baby supplies. Everything Lily needed, as Mike called her Lily, had already been bought.
The cot was moved to another room; Olivia should sleep close, within arms reach, no argument.
She didnt argueexhaustion crashed over her like a tidal wave, the kind that follows severe stress. The first beautiful girl, Olivia Hart, slowly began to recover.
She collapsed, thinking of nothing, because reliable Mike was near: Dont worry, OllieIve got you covered! And he truly did.
When she awoke, Lilys nappy was fresh, soup simmered on the stove, Mike dozed beside the sleeping infant, while Olivia lay on the other side of the double bed.
A strange calm enveloped her, a certainty that everything would be alright: they would all pull through, together, bit by bit.
Mike visited daily, helping with chores and money; Lilys treatment was costly.
To ease Olivias burden, a nanny was hired for a few hours each day.
In the evenings, Mike walked with Lily and bathed her; Olivia alone could not have managed. No calls came from Sam or Nora.
After a month and a half, Sam returned for his possessions:
I knew you were behind my back maybe I wasnt the only defective one in our line! Dont you dare call my mother! And dont expect alimony!
She never expected alimony anyway, long ago.
Mike, gently, pushed the shouting, disheveled, nowsilent Sam out the door:
Scram, you programmer!
Sam slunk away, and Olivia filed for divorce. Yet the biological father could not escape child support.
Time passed, Lilys health improved; her cheeks began to pinken. A radical improvement loomed after surgerydate set.
Mike remained steadfast. When the moment came, Olivia asked him to stay, not out of gratitude but because she needed him beyond a helper.
Lilys operation went smoothly, followed by rehabilitation and a return to a healthy life.
When the girl started school, she was placed in a folklore club, where her perfect pitch shone in traditional English ballads; she even discovered absolute pitch.
Meanwhile, Olivias own blogstarted at Mikes suggestionflourished. Youre brilliant, Ollie! Post pictures of Lily, add interesting captions, keep it regular!
Followers loved the simple story of a girls recovery, her hobbies, her joy. The internet, tired of empty mouths and glossy lips, welcomed Lilys genuine voice. She began winning contests, and Olivia posted not just photos but recordings of her songs. Subscribers multiplied geometrically.
Relations with Nora stayed cool; she never forgave Lilys defiance. Granddaughter mattered little to herwhether sick or well.
One day, a former motherinlaw called after Lilys latest triumph:
Ollie, the girl looks just like my Samsame face! We were amazed!
Later, Sams exhusband phoned:
I was wrong, I was hotheaded. Maybe we could meetme, you, and Lily? I can finally talk to my own daughter.
Of course, Sam, but only if Lily wants it.
Thirteenyearold Lily, aware of having two dads, replied:
Why? I dont even know him, Mum! What would we talk about?
So, dear readers, the answer is simple: this isnt a story about a girl, its about a hole in a doughnut youll never get, not a tennis ace.
Tomorrow, Nora called, obsessed with appearances, bragging about a beautiful girl with a gorgeous voice winning prizesno shame in showing friends.
Olivia, surprisingly vengeful, never forgave her grandmother for demanding a meeting with Lily.
Its wonderful to have a smart, healthy, beautiful, successful, independent girl, but its far sweeter to raise such a miracle yourself, feeling the deep satisfaction of being a true mother. Mike, after all, proved to be a genuine father figure.
And everyone else can hold hands and go wherever they wishinto the woods, to a village with butterfly netsthough they might not be welcome.
Is it cruel? Very much so. Is it fair? Perhaps. It concerns you too, Sam and Nora, especially
