Auntie Sophie, Ive nowhere else to turn, she sobbed, her voice cracking with raw desperation. Forgive me, I wont do this again.
She gave no clear answer about where she had been or what shed been doing, but she looked so pitiful that Arthur could not refuse her. He let her back in, though his brotherinlaw, Julian, was less than thrilled. She was the mother of little Emily, a wandering orphan.
Arthur had always seemed a child of another worldquiet, steady, a boy who never threw tantrums or caused mischief, preferring instead to tuck himself into a corner with a stack of books.
Arthur, why dont you run around with the other lads in the garden? his grandmother used to say.
Mum, leave him be. Let him read; better than turning into little Tommy from next door, who was already on the police register at twelve, his mother, Margaret Whitaker, would interject.
He kept his mouth shut; hed learned long ago that silence was the easiest way to avoid clashes with the relatives who had raised him singlehanded. Officially, Arthur had never known a father.
Absorbed in biology, he barely noticed the world beyond his microscopes, and women held little interest for him.
Son, do you ever intend to marry? To bring grandchildren into this world? Margaret blurted when he turned twentysix.
Mother, everything in its own time, he waved her off.
His research project at the Cambridge Institute of Biological Sciences was at its peak, and everyone was glued to his work. Romance was a luxury he could not afford.
Margaret sighed heavily. Handsome, brighther sonyet painfully withdrawn. Still, a year later Arthur surprised her by bringing home a woman.
Meet her, Mum, this is my fiancée, the weddings in a month, he announced, his voice flat.
Very well Come in, lets get acquainted, Margaret replied, masking curiosity.
He never mentioned that he was already engaged, that a marriage licence had been filed. The woman, Eleanor, failed to impress Margaret. She was gaunt, hair disheveled with streaks of black and blue, a ring in her nose, a tattoo on her wristhardly the picture of a twentythreeyearold bride.
Eleanor worked as a waitress at the café where Arthur celebrated his projects success with colleagues, and she had no steady job. Yet Margaret, looking past the surface, felt a pang of sympathy for the girls harsh pastparents lost in a tragic accident, a distant relative whod seized the family flat, endless hunger and wandering. She found herself caring for her.
The young couple moved in with Margaret. The household ran smoothly; no shouting matches over the kitchen, no competing matriarchs. Eleanor was indifferent to chores but would obediently fetch a kettle when Margaret asked.
Arthur, as usual, paid little mind to meals or attire, but Margaret made sure he ate and dressed. For six months the picture was contented, until one day Eleanor simply vanished.
Nothing was stolen; her few belongings stayed where they were. Her phone was switched off, and Arthur barely knew anyone she called. Margaret watched her son paniche missed work for two days, scouring every contact for his missing wife.
They rang hospitals, morgues, and finally Arthur filed a police report. The inquiry turned up nothing; Eleanor had disappeared as if swallowed by the night.
A month later she returned, trembling at the doorway.
Im sorry, Arthur, she whispered shyly, and you too, Auntie Sophie, please forgive me. I needed time alone; life had turned too dark for me.
Arthur lunged to kiss her; Margaret stared at her, searching for any sign of abuse or foul play. Nothing showedno bruises, no scars. Perhaps she truly had needed a break. The most important thing was that her son seemed happy again.
Two weeks after that, Eleanor announced she was pregnant. Margaret rejoiced more than Arthur, who was already buried in another grant. Over the following months the bond between motherinlaw and daughterinlaw deepened. Eleanor followed Margarets advice diligently, ate well, walked daily, and kept her prenatal appointments.
When the due date arrived, Eleanor went into labour early. The baby, a tiny girl under three kilograms, was born with health complications and spent two weeks in the neonatal unit. Margaret tended to her night and day; by three months little Emilynamed after the missing auntwas thriving like any other child.
Why didnt Margaret raise the baby herself? Because, two weeks after delivery, Eleanor vanished again. Once more, nothing vanished from the flat, and the birth certificate remained, but Eleanors passport disappeared with her.
This time Margaret and Arthur didnt chase the disappearance. She might return, Arthur was swamped with work, and Margaret needed to focus on Emily. They even applied for statutory paternity leave on Margarets behalf, the allowance easing the household finances.
Margaret adored caring for Emily. She never admitted it aloud, but the joy was palpable.
Mum, you look younger! Arthur remarked, noting her refreshed demeanor.
Of course! Im a mother again, she laughed.
She never complained about her daughterinlaw, lest anyone think otherwise. She told curious neighbours that Eleanor had simply moved abroad; the marriage had simply not worked out. There was no police report this time; the runaway simply called once, muttering about a new crisis. Margaret ignored the call; Eleanor no longer mattered to her.
Four years passed without a word from Eleanor. Then, out of the blue, she reappeared, eyes swollen with tears.
Auntie Sophie, I have nowhere else to go, she sobbed again, pleading.
She gave no details, only a pitiful look. Margaret welcomed her back, though Arthur winced at the thought. She was still Emilys mother, a wandering orphan.
Emily, now six, kept her distance, calling Margaret Mum instead of Grandma. Not a month later, Eleanor announced she was pregnant again.
No! Arthur exploded, we cant have another strangers child!
Son, what do you mean stranger?
Mum, were not husband and wife anymore! In every sense! he snapped. Im planning to marry someone else, and this mess has to end.
Arthurs intent to marry again flew past Margarets head; she was too absorbed in Emilys care to notice. She knew nothing of his love life.
Eleanor, tears streaming, begged to stay until the birth. Arthur, reluctantly, agreed, but only because Margaret, terrified of losing Emily, pushed for it. If Eleanor left, she feared the child would be taken away.
How am I supposed to divorce her now? Arthur muttered. Why didnt I think of this before?
Ill try to convince her to divorce, Margaret promised, silently praying the situation would resolve without a court battle.
And, Mum, Arthur hesitated, I think Emily might not be my blood. I should test it.
Margaret gasped; the thought of a new loverperhaps Mollyseemed absurd. Yet Arthur went ahead with the DNA test.
I knew it! he cursed, thrusting the report at her, Look at this he swore loudly.
Son, thats not right! Margaret shouted.
Its fine, Mum, its fine. Didnt you suspect Emily wasnt yours? Youre a woman she retorted, tears welling.
Arthur stared, baffled, and the argument died. He could not yet accuse his wifeshe was in her sixth month, again on the brink of early labour. Two weeks later he managed a conversation.
I wasnt sure, Eleanor whispered, eyes brimming. But I know Ill never find the father of Emily.
Exactly! Arthur snarled. I wont be a father to anyones child!
He followed through. Emily was legally stripped of his parental rights, but Margaret, swift as ever, applied for full guardianship. Eleanor didnt protest and consented to a divorce.
It turned out she never intended to raise a second child. She left the newborn in the hospital and vanished, effectively easing Margarets path to gain full custody.
Arthur married Molly, moved out of the flat, and now speaks to Margaret only on rare occasions.
