“Lucy, please come home, Im begging you…”
“Mum, you know I wont!”
“Lucy, love, hes not well at all…”
“Dont ask me. Im not coming.”
“I hate this!” Lucy slammed the phone down in frustration. She marched to the fridge, yanked the door open, and pulled out a bottle of vodka. Pouring a shot, she hesitated before tipping it down the sink. Sinking onto a stool, she burst into tears.
It had been ten years since shed set foot in her parents house.
Back in sixth form, Lucy had fallen in love. Her classmates often sneaked off to university parties near their school. One night, swayed by her friends, she went to a disco. There, she met *Him*. He played in a band, sang beautifully, and was a diplomats son. Girls trailed after him, each dreaming of a date. Lucy never understood why he chose *her*. But she fell hardskipping classes, neglecting chores, lying to her parents just to see him.
Their whirlwind romance ended when she got pregnant. He started avoiding her, then vanished completely. His mother appeared instead, offering to arrange an abortion. “Wed never accept a girl like you,” shed sneered. “Our son deserves better.”
Lucy hid her pregnancy for months. When she couldnt conceal it any longer, she confessed.
“You disgraceful little slag!” her father roared. “Is this what we raised? A drunken tart? Get out! I wont have you under my roof!”
Her mother wept silently. Shed long surrendered to her husbands tyrannyhis temper, his control. Her opinion hadnt mattered in years.
With a handful of clothes stuffed into a rucksack, Lucy walked out.
She crashed with friends at first, but no one wanted a pregnant girl around. Borrowing money, she took a train to Manchester, where an aunt supposedly livedsomeone her mother rarely mentioned thanks to her fathers isolation. But when she arrived, neighbours said her aunt had married and moved away years ago.
Starving and lost, Lucy trudged back to the station. Elderly women sold homemade pasties to travellers. Lucy eyed one, desperate. She tried to snatch it clumsilythe woman saw, raising a hand to strike, then froze at the sight of Lucys belly.
Between hungry bites, Lucy spilled her story. The woman, living alone, took her in.
Until the baby came, Lucy sold pasties at the station, dreaming of earning enough to return home. She still hoped for her fathers forgiveness.
But Manchester trapped her for ten long years.
She had a daughter. The kind woman became the childs “grandma,” babysitting while Lucy workedfirst as a shop cleaner, then filling in as a cashier. She proved herself, climbing to supervisor. When the shop was replaced by a hypermarket, she rose further: department manager, then head of multiple sections.
After the birth, shed called her mother, begging to come home. But her mother refusedher father had cut her off completely.
When her saviour died, leaving Lucy the house, she called again. She needed help balancing work and her daughter. “Mum could escape that tyrant for a while,” shed thought. But again, her mother said no. Contact faded.
And now, this call.
Ten years of waiting for *”Im sorry. Come home.”* Or just *”Come back, love.”* But now? *Why now?*
What did he want? An apology? *”Sorry, Dad, I was wrong”?*
The anger had dulled with time, but the ache remainedthe unfairness, the loneliness, the struggle. Thered been nights she wanted to give up.
Yet here she was: respected, successful. Her house was stylish, her daughter at a top grammar school. Shed even been proposed to.
*”Would I be this strong if he hadnt thrown me out?”*
Forgive. Say goodbye. Move onfor her sake.
Lucy phoned work, explained, then reached for her suitcase.
