Years ago, in a quiet village near Bristol, a young woman named Eleanor faced a choice that would change her life.
“Listen carefully,” she said, her voice steady but her hands trembling. “Either you help me strip Victoria of her parental rights, or I walk away, and you deal with this mess yourselves.”
“Eleanor, for heavens sake! Shes your sister! My own flesh and blood!” Her mother clutched her chest as if struck by pain.
“And what am I to you? Not your daughter?” The hurt in Eleanors words was sharp. “Sometimes I think Im nothing to you at all. Cant you see whats happening? Ive grown to love young Oliver as my own, and yet you Either stand with me, or Ill do this alone. But I wont let it go.”
Her mother looked away, torn. Her father only stirred his tea with a grim expression. Understanding their silence, Eleanor stood and retreated to her room.
It was clear they had chosennot her, not Oliver. Only Victoria.
With a heavy heart, Eleanor packed her few belongings. The decision weighed on her, but she knew she had no choice.
Yet how could she steel herself when little Oliver clung to her skirts, weeping?
“Mummy, dont leave” he begged, watching her fold her clothes.
*Mummy.* The word cut deeper each time. Eleanor knelt, pulling him close, forcing a smile.
“Im not leaving you, Ollie,” she whispered. “Im leaving so that one day, we can have a proper life. Ill come back. For good.”
Oliver sobbed, unable to grasp why the aunt he called *Mum* would abandon him. He clung to her until exhaustion claimed him, and only then, under the cover of night, did she slip away.
In that moment, Eleanor despised Victoria. It was she who had forced them all into this wretched situation.
Victoria had always been wild. By sixteen, she was staying out late, then vanishing for days at a timealways with “friends” everyone knew were no such thing. Shed stumble home at dawn, smeared makeup and slurred words, sometimes in tears. And their parents would fuss over her like a prized lamb, soothing and excusing her.
A child was inevitable. At seventeen, Victoria fell pregnantby some lad from a pub, she claimed, though she couldnt recall his name.
Oliver arrived, and Victoria quickly decided motherhood wasnt for her. First, she left him overnight, then vanished entirely.
“Im too young to be tied down,” she told Eleanor over the telephone when confronted.
So the burden fell to Eleanor. Their grandfather barely acknowledged the boy, buying him a rattle now and then. Their grandmother helped when she could, but work kept her busy.
At eighteen, Eleanor switched to evening studies to care for the baby. She became his mother in all but bloodeven stood as his godmother at the christening.
It was grueling. Nights spent soothing Olivers cries, days hauling his pram up narrow staircases, exams taken on scant sleep. She juggled studies and housework, her parents too wrapped up in their own lives to notice.
Just as she adjusted, Victoria returnedweeping, repentant, begging forgiveness.
“I was such a fool,” she wailed. “Ill change, I swear!”
They believed her. Even Eleanor wanted to hope. For a month, Victoria doted on Oliver, earning praise from neighbours and friends. Thenshe vanished again, this time with their mothers jewellery box.
“Shes just overwhelmed,” their mother insisted. “Shell come round. Give her time.”
But Eleanor no longer trusted time. Once was misfortunetwice was a pattern. Yet what choice had she? Her parents lived in a fantasy where Victoria deserved endless chances. Could she really take Oliver and vanish into the night?
So she endured. Studied, raised Oliver, took him to nursery and doctors visits. She prayed Victoria wouldnt return.
But four years later, she did.
“I thought he loved me,” Victoria sniffled, spinning tales of woe. “He used me, left me penniless in ManchesterI had to survive somehow.”
“Survive? Youve clearly not missed many meals,” Eleanor muttered.
A sharp look from her mother silenced her. All sympathy flowed to poor, wronged Victoria.
The worst came when Eleanor brought Oliver home from nursery. Their grandmother nudged him toward Victoria. Oliver, bewildered, burst into tears and hid behind Eleanor.
“Dont be silly,” their grandmother cooed. “This is your *real* mother.”
“Shes *not*! *Shes* my mummy!” Oliver clung to Eleanor.
“Eleanors just your aunt. Victorias your mother by blood.”
The words shattered Eleanor. History was repeating.
And repeat it did.
For two months, Victoria lived off them, jobless.
“Whod hire me with a child?” she scoffed. “Consider me on maternity leave.”
Thenshe vanished again. No explanation. Only later did photos surface with a new “beau”a man twice her age.
*Another drunkard*, Eleanor thought. Hope of peace died. But what to do?
She confided in her friend, Margaret, seeking solace.
“Honestly, just have her rights stripped,” Margaret shrugged. “Its not so hard these days. Theyll see shes no mother, and you can sort the rest.”
Eleanor hesitated. “What if they take Oliver? And my parents”
“Then wait for Victoria to wreck his life again. Is that what you want? What about *you*, Eleanor? Wheres *your* life in all this?”
She had none. Once, shed dateduntil boys fled at the mention of a child. Only Thomas, a classmate, stayed despite knowing the truth. But Eleanor, buried in duty, had pushed him away.
After Margarets words, she reconsidered. With Thomas, she felt lightheard, valued.
So when her ultimatum failed and she fled to him, his response stunned her.
“Ive always said we should live together,” he said calmly. “Maybe nows the time.”
“But Oliver”
“Whats the trouble? Well make it work.”
Eleanor gaped. “Hes not even yours”
“Listen,” Thomas cut in. “Im not a fool. If hes family to you, hes family to me.”
For the first time, hope flickered.
The next six months were hellsocial workers, paperwork, courses. Worse, she couldnt take Oliver at once. He cried, begged for her.
“Youve stolen your sisters child!” her mother accused.
“As if she ever wanted him,” Eleanor shot back.
Banished from her family, only Thomas and friends stood by her.
But after the storm, calm came.
Years later, Eleanor watched Oliver teach his little sister, Charlotte, to kick a football. Thomas sat beside her, his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, certain every hardship had been worth it.
Of Victoria, she heard littlenor cared to. Her sisters life remained a blur of parties and strangers. Losing Oliver had likely just been another sob story for their parents.
And her parents? They never forgave her. So be it.
*Let them fuss over Victoria forever*, Eleanor thought. *Ill care for those who truly need me.*
