Things Aren’t Always What They Seem
Before her morning rounds, Nurse Emily stepped into the office and whispered confidentially:
“Mrs. Thompson, that Wilson girl from Ward Five has been begging me all evening to let her go home. You asked me to tell you if anything came up.”
“Thank you, Emily. I’ll handle it.” Margaret tucked a loose curl back under her cap and made her way to Ward Five.
By the window, a girl lay with her back turned to the room.
“Good morning, Lucy. What’s the matter?”
Lucy jerked upright, swinging her legs over the bed.
“Please discharge me. I can’t stand lying here anymore. At home, I can distract myself, do something useful. But here—” She sniffled, eyes pleading.
“No tears now—you’ll upset the baby. Unless you’ve changed your mind about keeping it?” Margaret replied firmly.
“No, I haven’t. I feel fine. I promise I’ll rest at home, take walks, do nothing strenuous. Please let me go. It’s lovely outside, and I’m stuck in this stuffy ward all day.” Lucy gave a timid smile.
“Alright. Tomorrow, you’ll do your tests, we’ll do a scan, and if all’s well, I’ll discharge you,” Margaret promised.
“Thank you!” Lucy clasped her hands together. “I swear I’ll be careful. If anything feels wrong, I’ll call you straightaway.”
Margaret left the ward, still baffled how her son could have fallen for someone as plain as Lucy. Her handsome boy had worked at a top firm—no, *had* worked. She corrected herself mentally. It was his choice, and she had to respect it. If James had loved this girl, she’d try to love her too.
Back in university, James had been head over heels for a vivacious beauty named Charlotte. They made a striking couple. But after a year, Charlotte left him for some foreign bloke. James took it hard, skipping lectures for months. Margaret feared he’d drop out altogether.
Eventually, he pulled himself together, graduated, and landed a prestigious job. Still, it took ages before he so much as glanced at another girl. Then he met Lucy—pale, slight, unremarkable—the polar opposite of fiery Charlotte. Maybe he thought someone like *her* wouldn’t betray him.
“Mum, meet Lucy,” he’d said the first time he brought her home.
Margaret had strained not to frown. Every Lucy she’d ever known had been two-faced—meek on the outside, sharp as a tack underneath. She’d hoped the relationship wouldn’t last; they were too mismatched.
When James announced they were getting married, she bit her tongue.
“Have you filed the paperwork?” was all she said instead of congratulations.
“Not yet. Aren’t you happy for me?” he asked anxiously.
“All that matters is *your* happiness,” Margaret replied.
James gave Lucy a diamond ring, still glinting on her slender finger. They postponed the wedding till August. Margaret secretly hoped something would happen to make him change his mind.
She’d jinxed it. At a friend’s birthday, James had a few drinks, sent Lucy home in a cab, and decided to walk to clear his head. In a dark alley, he saw two men forcing a girl into a car. She fought back, screaming for help.
James intervened. One of them stabbed him in the gut. The car sped off, taking the men and the girl, leaving James bleeding on the pavement. He wasn’t found till morning—too late to save him.
Margaret couldn’t help blaming Lucy. Why hadn’t she insisted he come home with her? She blamed herself, too. She’d raised him to be that way.
She thought she’d never recover. But she returned to work. Then Lucy was admitted to her ward—ten weeks pregnant, at risk of losing the baby. The dates pointed to James being the father. Lucy confirmed it.
Margaret prescribed the best medication, monitored her closely. She was overjoyed at the thought of a grandchild and did everything to ensure its safe arrival. A boy would’ve been nice, but she’d cherish a granddaughter too—James’s child.
Before discharge, Margaret asked if Lucy’s mother would be meeting her.
“Mum doesn’t know,” Lucy admitted sheepishly.
“What? Why not?”
“She raised me alone. Always feared I’d end up a single mum. And now…”
“But James proposed. You were getting married! Had we known you were pregnant, we’d never have delayed the wedding,” Margaret argued.
“I wasn’t sure myself. Thought I’d tell her once I knew for certain. Then I ran out of time. Guess I’ll be raising the baby alone too,” Lucy said sadly.
“You’ve got us. You’re carrying James’s child—our grandchild. We’ll help. Did you even tell your mum you were in hospital?” Margaret guessed.
Lucy nodded, head bowed.
“Maybe you shouldn’t rush home just yet. Stay a few more days?” Margaret softened.
“No. I want to go. I *will* tell her. Thank you, Mrs. Thompson. I thought… after James died, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Don’t be daft. Promise you’ll call and visit.”
“I promise,” Lucy said lightly.
Margaret didn’t like that Lucy had hidden the pregnancy. Someone who lied about one thing could lie about others. They were nothing alike, her and James. Again, she wondered how her son had fallen for her.
For days, Margaret tried calling, but Lucy didn’t answer. She went to her flat. No one came to the door.
Lucy never called or visited. Margaret fretted for her and the baby. Then, two days later, she returned from a late shift and heard laughter in the kitchen. She kicked off her heels and walked in. Lucy sat at the table, while Margaret’s husband, David, stood nearby, chatting animatedly.
Lucy didn’t look grief-stricken. If anything, she seemed cheerful. She spotted Margaret first, freezing mid-laugh.
“Didn’t hear you come in. I was just making Lucy some tea. Why are you barefoot?” David glanced at Lucy. “Oh—right.” He flushed.
Lucy was wearing Margaret’s slippers.
“Hello, Lucy. I’ve been calling,” Margaret said evenly, relieved she was okay.
“I lost my phone. Thought I’d drop by so you wouldn’t worry. I told Mum everything.” Lucy’s eyes glistened.
“Margaret,” David looked helplessly between them, “her mum blew up at her. Kicked her out.”
Margaret sat opposite Lucy. “Don’t cry. You can stay with us. You’re family.” She sighed, bracing for trouble.
“Of course, stay as long as you need,” David urged.
Margaret showed Lucy to James’s old room. She lay awake half the night, debating whether to speak to Lucy’s mother. On the other hand, having Lucy under their roof meant keeping an eye on her.
The next day, after work, Margaret went to Lucy’s mother’s house. A striking brunette answered—around Margaret’s age, the kind of woman who’d been a heartbreaker in her youth. Hard to believe plain Lucy was her daughter.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked.
“You’re Lucy’s mother?”
“Yes. She’s not here.”
“I came to see *you*. I’m her doctor. She said you threw her out. Is that true?”
“Since when do doctors make house calls?” The woman smirked.
“I *am* her doctor. And I’m James’s mother—the boy she was engaged to.”
“Ah. Never met him. Sorry for your loss.” She folded her arms. “What do you want?”
“Lucy’s carrying his child. She’s staying with us now.”
“I didn’t *throw* her out. We argued, I said things—heat of the moment. I’m a mother too. Raised her alone, no help from anyone. Didn’t want this life for her.”
“We’ll take care of her. She needs your support.”
“She’s sly. Not as fragile as she looks. Trust me, I know my daughter better than you.”
On the way home, Margaret mulled over those words. Lucy’s mother hadn’t seemed cruel. Then she remembered how Lucy’s expression shifted when she’d spotted Margaret in the doorway. *Not as fragile as she looks.* Time would tell.
Lucy settled in, sleeping in James’s room, watching telly, taking walks. Occasionally, she’d fry up some potatoes. The one time she made soup, it was oversalted, and Margaret didn’t ask her to cook again.
Two weeks later, Margaret left for a conference. Her presentation went well, and a reception was planned for that evening. Yet unease nagged at her till she called home. Lucy answered cheerfully, saying she was roasting chicken for David.
*Chicken?* Margaret frowned. In all the time she’d stayed, Lucy had barely cooked.
The next day, she skipped the evening drinks and caught an early train home. She crept in atMargaret turned the key quietly, stepped inside, and paused—the faint sound of laughter from upstairs wasn’t Lucy’s alone.
