At the wedding, the son insulted his mother, calling her a lowlife and a beggar, and told her to leave. But she took the microphone and gave a speech
Margaret stood in the doorway, barely opening itjust enough not to disturb but not to miss the moment. She watched her son with a gaze full of pride, tenderness, and something sacred. James stood in front of the mirror in a sharp suit with a bow tie, his mates helping him adjust it.
It was like something out of a filmhe looked polished, handsome, composed. But something twisted inside Margaret, a sharp pain. She felt invisible, like she didnt belong in this moment, like she hadnt been invited at all.
She smoothed the hem of her old dress, imagining how itd look with the new blazer shed saved up forbecause shed already decided she was going to that wedding, invitation or not. But the second she stepped forward, James turned, as if sensing her, and his expression darkened. He shut the door behind him.
Mum, we need to talk, he said, calm but firm.
Margaret straightened. Her heart hammered.
Of course, love. II got those shoes, the ones I showed you? And
Mum, he cut in. I dont want you there tomorrow.
She froze. At first, the words didnt register, like her mind was shielding her from the hurt.
Why? Her voice shook. II
Because its a wedding. Because people will be there. Because you look well a bit rough. And your job Mum, come on, I dont want them thinking Im from some dodgy background.
His words hit like sleet. Margaret tried to interrupt:
I booked a hairdresser, a manicure Ive got a dress, simple but
Dont, he snapped. Dont make it worse. Youll stick out. Just dont come.
He left without waiting for a reply. Margaret stood alone in the dim room. Silence swallowed her, muffling even her breath, even the clocks tick.
She sat motionless for ages. Then, as if something inside shoved her forward, she got up, pulled an old dusty box from the wardrobe, and opened it. Inside was an album, smelling of yellowed paper and forgotten days.
The first page held a faded photo: a little girl in a wrinkled dress beside a woman clutching a bottle. Margaret remembered that dayher mum yelling at the photographer, then at her, then at strangers. A month later, social services took her away. Thats how she ended up in care.
Page after page stabbed at her. A group photo: kids in identical jumpers, no smiles. A stern carer. Thats when she learned what it meant to be unwanted. She was hit, punished, left without supper. But she never cried. Only the weak cried. And the weak werent spared.
Next sectionher teens. After school, she worked at a roadside café. Hard, but not scary. She had freedomand that was everything. She learned to dress neat, sewed skirts from cheap fabric, curled her hair old-school. At night, she practiced walking in heelsjust to feel pretty.
Thenthe accident. Chaos in the café. She spilled tomato juice on a customer. Panic, shouting, the manager demanding answers. She tried to explain, but everyone was furious. Then Danieltall, calm, in a crisp white shirtsmiled and said:
Its just juice. An accident. Let her work.
Margaret was stunned. No one had ever spoken to her like that. Her hands shook as she took his keys.
The next day, he brought flowers. Just left them on the counter and said, Fancy a coffee? No pressure. He smiled in a way that made her feel, for the first time in years, not like that girl from care, but like a woman.
They sat on a park bench, drinking from paper cups. He talked about books, travelling. She talked about care homes, dreams, nights spent imagining a family.
When he took her hand, she couldnt believe it. In that touch was more kindness than shed ever known. From then on, she waited for him. And every time he showed upsame shirt, same eyesshe forgot what pain was. She was ashamed of her poverty, but he never seemed to notice. Hed say, Youre beautiful. Just be you.
And she believed him.
That summer was golden. Margaret would always remember it as the brightest time of her lifea chapter written in love. She and Daniel went to the beach, walked through forests, talked for hours in cafés. He introduced her to his matesclever, funny, posh. At first, she felt out of place, but Daniel squeezed her hand under the table, and that was enough.
They watched sunsets from his flats rooftop, wrapped in a blanket, sharing a flask of tea. Daniel talked about working abroad but said hed never leave England for good. Margaret hung on every word, terrified itd all vanish.
One day, he jokedbut not reallyabout weddings. She laughed, hiding her blush, but inside, her heart screamed: *Yes. A thousand times yes.* She was too scared to say it aloudtoo scared to jinx it.
But the fairy tale ended anyway.
They were in that same café when it started. Loud laughter, then a slapsomeone flung a cocktail in Margarets face. Liquid dripped down her cheeks, her dress. Daniel jumped up, but it was too late.
At the next table sat his cousin. Her voice dripped with disgust:
This is her? Your *girlfriend*? A cleaner? From a care home? *This* is love?
People stared. Someone laughed. Margaret didnt cry. She stood, wiped her face, and walked out.
Then the real nightmare began. Phone callswhispers, threats. *Leave before it gets worse. Well ruin you. Disappear.* Lies spread: she was a thief, a junkie, worse. Once, an old neighbourMr. Thompsonknocked on her door. Said theyd offered him cash to lie about her. He refused.
Youre decent, he said. Theyre the rotten ones. Stay strong.
She stayed strong. She told Daniel nothingdidnt want to wreck his big break: he was heading to America for work. She just waited, hoping theyd survive it.
But not everything was up to her.
Before he left, Daniels dad summoned her. Richard HarringtonMP, powerful, ruthlesssat across from her in his office.
You dont know who youre dealing with, he said. My son is this familys future. Youre a stain. Leave. Or Ill make sure you do. Permanently.
Margaret clenched her hands.
I love him, she said softly. He loves me.
Love? Richard scoffed. Loves for equals. Youre not equal.
She walked out, head high. Said nothing to Daniel. Believed love would win. But on his last day, he flew off, clueless.
A week later, her bossDavecalled. Accused her of stealing stock. She was baffled. Then police came. The trial was a farce. The lawyer barely tried. Evidence was flimsy, but witnesses lied convincingly. Richard pulled strings. Verdict: three years.
When the cell door slammed, Margaret knewit was over. Love, hope, her futureall locked away.
Then, weeks later, nausea hit. The test was positive.
Pregnant. With Daniels child.
At first, the pain stole her breath. Then came silence. Then resolve. Shed survive. For the baby.
Pregnancy in prison was hell. Mocked, humiliated, she stayed quiet. At night, she whispered to her bump. Thought of namesJames. After her granddad. A fresh start.
The birth was brutal, but the baby was healthy. When she held her son, she cried. Silently. Not from despairfrom hope.
Two inmates helped herone in for fraud, another for assault. Tough but kind to the baby. They taught her, swaddled him, kept her going.
After eighteen months, parole. Mr. Thompson waited outside, holding an old baby blanket.
Here, he said. Come on. New life.
James slept in his pram, gripping a stuffed bear.
She didnt know how to thank him. Didnt know where to start. But she had toright then.
Days blurred. Up at six: James to nursery, her to clean offices. Then the car wash, evenings stacking shelves. Nights sewingtea towels, aprons, anything. Her body ached, but she pushed on.
One day, she bumped into Lisaa girl from the old café. Lisa gasped:
Bloody hell Youre alive?
Was I supposed to die? Margaret said flatly.
Sorry Its just years, you know? Dave went bust. Lost the café. And Richard Harrington
