**Diary Entry, 3rd March**
“Please, give me back my son. I’ll give you anything,” Nadine whispered, her voice trembling with exhaustion.
“Your father won’t waste away. He’s only forty-three—you think he’ll mourn your mother forever? Hardly. Single women outnumber men in Manchester; trust me, he’ll find someone. So come with me to London—don’t get in his way. Or do you want him to be alone forever?”
They’d grown up in a quiet town just outside London. When they were in Year 11, Nadine’s mother was hit by a car. She and her father were shattered. Overnight, Nadine took on the housework, juggled school, and still managed top A-Levels.
Alice, though, had always dreamed of leaving for London—and she pushed Nadine to join her.
“Dad’s still broken. If I leave him now—how could I?” Nadine refused.
Alice scoffed. “He’ll be fine. Some lonely woman will snap him up. Stop holding him back.”
Harsh words, but not untrue. So Nadine finally talked to her father.
“Go, love. You’re barely an hour away—not even in Scotland. If it doesn’t work, come home.”
So she went.
Nadine could’ve gone to university, but Alice’s grades were middling. Out of loyalty, Nadine joined her at a teaching college instead. They shared a cramped dorm room.
At first, Nadine visited every weekend. But after Christmas, she noticed a change—her father was cheerful, well-groomed, and the fridge was stocked. “Sandra next door,” he admitted sheepishly. Nadine smiled—she was glad he wasn’t alone anymore.
Alice, though, ditched classes, vanished with random lads, and came back at dawn. “You’ll get kicked out—or pregnant!” Nadine warned.
Alice just laughed. “Relax, mum. I’m careful.”
By summer, Alice barely scraped through exams—thanks to Nadine. Then, on the train home, she dropped the news.
“Pregnant,” she muttered.
Nadine gasped. “You *said* you had it under control!”
“I *was*, mostly. Just… slip-ups. Ask your dad for money—for a clinic.”
“No! And what about the father?”
Alice bit her lip. “Told him. He bolted. Mum’ll kill me—she raised me alone, always warned me not to…”
Nadine sighed. “She’ll shout, then melt when she sees the baby.”
“You don’t know her.” Alice gripped the seat. “Help me.”
Nadine *could’ve* asked her father for the money—but she wouldn’t. Maybe Alice would change her mind.
“Traitor!” Alice shrieked later when Nadine refused.
But she never went through with it. Too scared of gossip in their small town. By September, it was too late anyway.
At Christmas, Alice hid—her bump obvious now. Then her mother showed up unannounced. Nadine lied, saying Alice was at work.
“Why?” Nadine scolded later. “She still brought you gifts!”
“If she saw *this*—” Alice clutched her stomach. “I’ll leave the baby at the hospital. What would *I* do with a child?”
Nadine recoiled. “He can *hear* you.”
“Take him, then,” Alice snapped. “Saint bloody Nadine.”
In February, Alice went into labour. The warden shouted after them: “No babies in the dorms!”
Three days later, Alice returned—alone.
“Where’s the baby?” Nadine demanded.
“Gone. Leave it.”
A week later, Alice vanished for good.
—
Four years later, Nadine was back home, raising little Jack. Her father and Sandra lived nearby. Life settled—until one snowy afternoon.
“Nadine! Long time!”
Alice—polished, dripping in designer wool—stood with a man. Nadine froze.
“My husband, Simon,” Alice chirped. “And this is… *your* son?”
Nadine clutched Jack, fabricating a quick excuse to leave. But that night, Alice called.
“He’s *mine*, isn’t he?”
Panic crackled through Nadine. “No.”
“Liar. I *knew* the second I saw him.”
They met at a café. Alice leaned in. “Three miscarriages. Simon wants a healthy son—*mine* was perfect.”
Nadine bolted, screaming, “He’s *my* child!”
—
A week passed. Nadine jumped at every call. Then, one Friday, the nursery teacher blinked at her.
“Your sister picked Jack up earlier.”
“*What?*”
She raced to Alice’s mum—gone, back to London. The police shrugged: “Like finding a needle in a haystack.”
Days blurred into sleepless dread. Then—Alice called.
“Simon made me,” she hissed. “Bring him back, or he’ll leave me.”
Nadine sprinted to the café. Jack barrelled into her arms. Her father wrangled Alice, but Nadine shook her head. “Let her go.”
Alice spat, “He’s *mine*!”
Nadine just held Jack tighter. “You threw him away. I *chose* him.”
—
Women’s friendship dies when they fight over a man—or a child. Alice gave birth and left him; Nadine loved him with her whole heart.
And Jack? He didn’t understand. A strange lady took him to a big city, where adults shouted while he played with a quiet girl. But he only missed one thing—his *real* mum.
(Names swapped: Nadia → Nadine, Alisa → Alice, Moscow → London, Vanya → Jack, Svetlana → Sandra, EGP → A-Levels, rubles → pounds, etc.)
