“He’s not our child!” cried Ellen. But life had other plans.
Ellen stood by the stove, irritably stirring pasta in a pot. Her eyes flashed with anger, her voice trembled with barely contained frustration.
“Alex, this can’t go on forever!” she blurted out. “He’s not even ours! Just think about how absurd this is!”
Alexander sank onto a stool with a heavy sigh.
“I know, Ellie… But what can we do? Throw him out? You know Mum would never—”
“And your mum—forgive me—is the reason we’re in this mess!” Ellen snapped.
Alexander just shook his head. He didn’t know what to do. It all started when his sister, Amelia, divorced her no-good husband. Their mother, Margaret, had been the first to insist on it, claiming such a son-in-law was a disgrace. Amelia, already pregnant, was left alone. She gave birth to a boy—Oliver—but the father never showed up, not at the hospital or after.
At first, Amelia managed, but then she suddenly “grew tired.” She wanted a new life, started dating, and little Oliver became a burden. So Margaret “parked” her grandson with Alex and Ellen—just for two weeks, she’d said. They didn’t have kids yet—what harm could it do?
But two weeks turned into three months. Ellen was furious. She worked from home as a freelancer, stuck alone with the boy. Amelia visited less and less, barely stopping to kiss Oliver’s forehead before rushing off. She had a new beau—a businessman from another city, far too important for other people’s children.
At first, Ellen held her tongue. Oliver, though not hers, was sweet and gentle. She pitied him. He’d wait by the window for his mother, who never came.
One evening, exhausted, Ellen sat at the kitchen table and whispered—
“Alex, he’s getting rude… Today he told me I’m not his mum and have no right to tell him what to do. And I… I’m pregnant.”
“What?!” Alex stared at her, stunned.
“Yes, Alex. We’ve waited so long… But I can’t do this anymore. We’ll have our own child. I can’t carry this alone.”
Two weeks later, when the test showed a single line, Ellen cried. It had all been for nothing. Meanwhile, Alex took Oliver back to his mother, who had just retired. Margaret swore she could handle it.
But Oliver was old enough to know no one really wanted him. Margaret struggled—he fought at school, his grades dropped. Eventually, she begged Ellen—
“Ellie, he loves you… He’s only calm with you. Please, just let him stay for a while longer.”
“And Amelia?”
“Amelia?” Margaret scoffed. “She’s a mother on paper. She told me she regrets having Oliver. Her new husband doesn’t want him—they’re nearly divorced themselves.”
Gritting her teeth, Ellen agreed. Oliver came back. He smiled again, his grades improved. He and Ellen chatted on walks to school, sharing jokes and secrets. Then one day, he hugged her tight and whispered—
“You’re my real mum. I love you. I want to stay with you and Uncle Alex forever.”
Ellen burst into tears. She realised just how much she loved this boy—as if he’d been hers all along.
Years passed. Amelia divorced. Oliver stayed with Alex and Ellen for good. They arranged guardianship, then adoption.
One day, as Ellen stood by the window, Oliver ran up and pressed his cheek against her stomach—
“Mum, promise I’ll get a baby brother! I’ll protect him!”
Ellen smiled, holding her breath. This time—two lines. And happiness. Real happiness.
