**Forever Home**
When her mother decided to remarry, Emily didn’t object. She liked her mother’s choice—Paul, a quiet, steady man who always treated her well and doted on her mother. Everything seemed perfect, except fifteen-year-old Emily had one condition.
*Mum, I don’t mind you getting married. Uncle Paul’s a decent man, and I know you’d be lonely otherwise. I’ll be leaving for university soon anyway. But I’m moving in with Gran. I’m going to stay with her in the city.*
Her mother’s face fell. *What do you mean, moving in with Gran? You’re only fifteen! You’re not even of age—how can I just let you go unsupervised?*
*Mum, I won’t be unsupervised. Gran raised you alone, didn’t she? She’ll look after me if you’re so worried. Besides, I’ve already spoken to her—she’s thrilled I’m coming.*
Her mother sighed. *So it’s all decided behind my back, then?* She sounded hurt, disappointed.
*Mum, believe me, it’s better this way. Even if Uncle Paul is kind, he’s still a stranger to me.*
Her mother was about to argue when her phone rang—Gran, Margaret Anne, was calling.
*Hello, love. Have you and Emily sorted things? Honestly, I think she’ll be better off with me. You know how much I adore my granddaughter—do you really think I can’t handle a nearly grown girl?*
*Mum, I know you adore her. But you understand—a mother’s heart…*
*Everything will be fine, don’t fret. I managed with you, didn’t I? Emily and I will be just fine.*
When the call ended, Emily was already packing, grinning. *Don’t worry, Mum. It’ll be brilliant!*
Margaret Anne was no delicate flower—she was sharp, independent, a retired maths teacher. And Emily had a stubborn streak of her own. There were small quarrels, misunderstandings, but Margaret was wise. She never let arguments spiral.
Sometimes, after a spat, she’d slip into Emily’s room at bedtime, stroking her curly hair and whispering stories until the girl drifted off, all grievances forgotten. Other times, it was Emily who made peace, buying her gran’s favourite toffees, sharing tea, and restoring harmony.
Years passed. Emily graduated from university in the city, found work, but the pay was dismal. Colleagues told her about a big firm in the Highlands—great managers, decent wages.
*Gran, don’t be upset. I’m going far, but we’ll stay in touch.*
Margaret sighed, running a hand through Emily’s curls. *Must you go so far? Can’t you find work here?*
*Gran, I’ve tried. Started as a junior with peanuts for pay. I need more. I want more.*
*Everyone starts at the bottom, love. Experience takes time. There’s a saying—where you’re born is where you’re meant to be.*
But Emily wouldn’t be swayed. She packed her bags and left.
In the Highlands, luck was on her side—a good job, a decent salary, even staff accommodation. When her first paycheck came, she celebrated, buying treats and even Gran’s favourite toffees. But that evening, sipping tea alone, loneliness crushed her. There was no one to share the sweets with. The toffees sat untouched in a dish.
Time passed. She called her mother and Gran daily—everything seemed fine. She saved diligently, dreaming of a car, maybe even a mortgage. But life had other plans.
One day, her mother called, voice trembling. *Gran’s gone, love. Her heart… She never told us how bad it was.*
*What? How?* Emily choked on tears.
In the taxi home, the driver glanced back. *You alright, love? Need anything?*
*No, thanks. Nothing can help.* She knew she’d sob properly at home, but the tears wouldn’t wait.
The flight delay had cost her the funeral. She never got to say goodbye.
Now, she stood outside Gran’s flat—now hers, transferred before Margaret’s death. The key turned. Silence greeted her.
*Maybe I’ll sell it,* she thought, sinking into her favourite armchair. Memories flooded her—Gran’s voice, bright and warm. *Emily, wash your hands, I’ll put the kettle on…*
Now, only stillness. She pressed her hands to her ears, as if to block it out.
Then—a tiny sound. A squeak. Fear prickled, until a ginger face peeked from the slightly ajar wardrobe.
*Oh! Who are you?* The cat darted out.
Emily remembered—Gran had mentioned a stray she’d taken in last May. *Maisy!* The cat rubbed against her legs, then trotted to the kitchen, glancing back. *Right, you’re hungry.*
Confused, Emily wondered how Maisy had survived alone—until another squeak came. The cat leapt back into the wardrobe, emerging with two tiny, ginger kittens.
*Blimey! A whole family.* Maisy settled, nursing them.
*God, what do I do with you lot?*
Clueless about kittens, she called a local vet.
Soon, a knock. *Hello, pet emergency?*
A kind-faced young man stood there—older than her, gentle-eyed. *Yes, come in.* She pointed to the cats.
*What’s happened? I’m Greg, by the way.*
*Erm… birth. Hers.*
*Right. Anything wrong with them?*
*No, just…* She explained—Gran’s death, the missed funeral, the sudden feline responsibility.
Greg patiently taught her how to care for them, even helped set up a warm nest. Before leaving, he *happened* to take her number.
The next morning, he called. *How are your charges? Need a hand later?*
*They’re alright. Yes, please.*
That evening, they walked in the park. Greg spoke passionately about animals—surprisingly, Emily loved listening. She’d never thought herself a pet person.
Their friendship grew. Soon, Emily emailed her resignation.
Time passed. Wedding plans took shape. She told her mother, *We’re coming to introduce Greg.*
They visited Margaret’s grave, commissioned a headstone. After it was placed, Emily laid flowers.
*Sorry, Gran. Maybe I shouldn’t have left. Maybe you’d still be here. But I’m back for good now. Don’t be cross. And I’ve got Greg—we’re getting married.* She stroked the engraved photo, then left.
That night, she dreamed of Gran. They stood in a field of daisies, warmth radiating from her smile.
*Thank you for Maisy, love. You’ve always had a kind heart. Don’t fret—I could never stay angry. I loved you most in this world. And Greg’s a good man—I know it. Be happy. I must go now—but not you. Not yet.*
Emily woke, soul light. A new day dawned—and in a week, her wedding.
