I read the story of a single mother here who shared that she doesn’t know what to do and can’t see a way out. It made me want to tell my own story—not to judge anyone, but because when I, too, found myself at a crossroads…

I read the story of a single mother here who said she had no idea what to do and couldnt see any way out. It made me want to share mine as well. Not to judge anyone, but because when you have children and youre in need, you simply cant sit around waiting for money to fall from the sky. No one ever gave me anything. I fought for it myself.
I left home at sixteen. Out of stubbornness, out of foolishness, thinking I was grown up and life would be better with my boyfriend. We moved into a tiny bedsitkitchen right next to the living area, the room sectioned off by a thin wall, and the loo was outside in a tiny courtyard. It wasnt fancy, but it was ours. Two years later, just after I turned eighteen, I fell pregnant with my first child. At the start, everything seemed alright. He drove a black cab, brought home money for food, we paid the rent. There was never anything left over but at least we werent starving.
When my son was nearly one, I started noticing he was bringing home less and less cash. Always an excusetoo quiet, too much competition, trouble with the cab. I believed him. And then I ended up pregnant againwith my daughter. I was four months along when he just walked out. No warning. One day, he turned up, grabbed a few clothes and left to live with another woman.
The worst part wasnt just that he left me. It was that straight after, everyone started talkingthe neighbours, the relatives, people from the area. They said theyd seen him with her for months, that shed wait for him on the corner, that he slept at her flat. Not a soul told me a thing while I was with him. I found everything out when I was already alone, heavily pregnant with another baby and a little boy.
He vanished completely. Didnt even ask after the kids. Not a single pound for nappies. I sat on the floor and cried my eyes out all day. Stared at the nearly empty fridge, milk running out, another baby on the way, rent due soon, no baby clothes, no cot. I cried till I couldnt anymore. But the next morning, I got up and said to myself: I cant just sit here.
I started right there in that flat. Ordered groceries on credit. I made jellies, little puddings in glasses, cupcakes. Took photos of them on my phone and posted them on WhatsApp and Instagram. I didnt lie. I wrote exactly the truth: Selling homemade desserts to buy nappies and milk. People started buying. Some out of pity, some because they liked them. With that money I did the food shop, put something aside for rent, bought what we needed.
After that, I began taking lunch orders as wellrice, lentil soup, chicken casserole, minced beef dishes. A man from the street did my deliveries on his bikeI paid him for every trip. I was up at five every morning to cook, heavily pregnant, my little boy putting toys around my feet. There were days when I was so tired I just sat down and cried quietly. But the next morning, Id be up and cooking again.
I saved every pound. As I got close to giving birth, my mum rang and told me to move in with them. Said I shouldnt be on my own. My daughter was born there. Since then, my parents have been my backbone. They dont support us entirelybut they keep me going, help me with the children when I need to fill orders.
Now, my son is six and my daughters growing fast. With my mum, weve started a little cake business. Not a big company, but weve got a small shop, making birthday cakes, sweets tables, catering for events. Were not rich, but I dont go to bed hungry or worry that my children wont have anything to eat tomorrow.
I know the pain when a man leaves a woman with kids. Its not right. But I also knowno ones coming to save you. No one came for me. When youre a parent, you dont have the luxury of giving up.