“You’re a monster, Mum! People like you shouldn’t have children,” Vera whispered under her breath. She had dreamed of studying in London, but one night out with friends changed everything. She met Jake—a handsome bloke from the city, whose parents were away on a year-long business trip. Head over heels, she moved in with him within weeks.
Life was lavish, funded by his parents’ cheques. Clubs, house parties—Vera loved it at first. But soon, she was drowning in debt and missed lectures, barely scraping through her winter exams. Threatened with expulsion, she swore to buckle down and retake them. She buried herself in books, locking herself in the bathroom when Jake’s mates came over. She passed—barely—but when she begged Jake to grow up, he just laughed.
“Lighten up, Vera. We only live once. Youth doesn’t last—why not enjoy it while we can?”
Too ashamed to tell her mum she was living unwed, she lied, saying they’d eloped and would have a proper wedding when his parents returned. Then, one lecture, the room spun. Queasy, she counted the weeks—her stomach dropped. The test confirmed it.
Jake urged her to “sort it out.” They fought—the first real blowout—and he vanished for two days. When he returned, a drunk blonde clung to him. Exhausted, Vera screamed at her to leave.
“She’s staying. If you don’t like it, *you* piss off!” He slapped her. Hard.
She fled to her old uni halls, tears smudging her mascara. The porter took pity and let her in. Next day, Jake begged forgiveness, swore he’d never touch her again. For the baby, she believed him.
She scraped through first year, dreading her mum’s reaction. Then Jake’s parents returned. His father’s lip curled when he learned she was from up north. “Take this,” he said, sliding an envelope across the table. “Leave. What kind of father would Jake be? Might not even be his.”
Humiliated, she refused—though later, she wished she hadn’t. She packed up and went home.
Her mum took one look at her belly and sneered. “Where’s your husband? Got your fun and dumped you, did he? At least take his money.”
“Mum, please—”
“Don’t ‘Mum’ me. Thought you’d landed a posh life. Now you’re back with a belly. And where’s *my* space? I’ve got a boyfriend now—younger. I won’t have him eyeing you up.”
Vera’s voice cracked. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“Back to the father. *His* mess.”
No pity. No warmth. Just the door shutting behind her.
She sat on a bench, sobbing. A voice cut through—Sophie, an old schoolmate. “Vera? Blimey, what’s happened?”
Minutes later, she was spilling everything in Sophie’s flat. “Stay here,” Sophie said. “Parents are at the cottage till autumn.”
Two days later, Sophie burst in. “There’s a job—care for an old lady. Stroke patient. Her daughter won’t take her. Pays in room and board.”
Vera balked. “How? I’m due soon!”
“We’ll manage,” Sophie insisted.
The daughter—a woman drowning in garish sequins—barely glanced at Vera. “No wages. Just her pension for expenses. Screw up, and you’re out.”
The flat smelled of antiseptic. The old woman—Margaret—watched Vera’s belly with watery eyes.
“I’ll cope,” Vera lied.
She did. Barely. When labour hit, Sophie covered for her. Baby Alice arrived, wailing. Margaret, though mute, hummed her to sleep.
A year passed. Alice toddled; Margaret faded. The daughter returned only for the funeral. “Pack up. I’m selling.”
Then—a will. The flat was Vera’s. The daughter shrieked, threatened court. “No judge’ll throw you out,” Sophie said. “Not after you cared for her.”
She was right.
Vera rebuilt her life—nursery, admin job, shifts as a carer. Then, one sunny day, her mum reappeared, whimpering about an operation, selling her flat. Vera’s heart thawed—until she forgot her phone and overheard the truth: no illness, no sale. Just savings for some bloke’s debts.
“You lied!” Vera screamed. “After throwing me out pregnant? You’re vile!”
Her mum left. But years later, when illness *really* came, Vera nursed her anyway.
Hate breeds hate. But sometimes, mercy slips through.
