The stepmother banned Blythe from visiting her ailing mother in the hospital. And when she finally slipped into the ward
Blythe was only twelve when her mum ended up in the NHS hospital. Just a cold, they said. Shell be out of it in a week. A week turned into two, then three and then the stepmother arrived.
Dad remarried quickly, as if he feared loneliness. Natalie Brooks was tidy, strict and utterly unfamiliar. From the first day she set foot in the house, laughter seemed to vanish.
Children arent allowed in the hospital, Natalie said coldly when Blythe clutched her sleeve. Your mother isnt in a state to see you. Its a tough place. She needs rest.
Dad stayed silent, only frowning whenever Blythe asked questions. Each time Natalie glanced at her as if she were an inconvenience.
But Blythe felt her mum calling. It wasnt just an illness it felt like a farewell.
Wait for me, Mum she whispered into her pillow at night.
One dawn, while Natalie slept, Blythe slipped on an old coat, tucked a soft plush rabbit a gift from her mum beneath it, and set off.
The hospital was a sprawling, intimidating place, full of security guards, endless stairs, and the sharp smell of medicine. Blythe ducked behind nurses, hunting for the right ward, until a passing nurse called out a familiar name. Blythe lunged after her.
Who are you? the nurse asked, spotting the thin girl at the bedside.
I Im her daughter. May I just have a look?
The woman froze, then nodded.
Quickly. She shes been waiting.
The ward was dim, the air heavy. Her mum lay almost motionless, translucent as smoke, but her eyes lit up instantly.
My sunshine
Blythe fell to her knees and pressed her face into her mothers hands.
Sorry Im sorry, I couldnt I wanted to, but
Mums hand brushed Blythes head, slow and weak.
I knew youd come I couldnt leave without saying goodbye
Blythe placed the rabbit beside the bed.
Youll always be with me, Mum?
Always. Im inside you.
At that moment Natalie burst into the room, fury in her eyes. But when she saw Blythes mother smile the first smile in weeks she stopped. For once she looked at Blythe not as a problem, but as a girl whod lost the most precious thing.
When Mum finally passed, Natalie didnt scream anymore. She started making Blythe breakfast, braiding her hair, all quietly, all gently.
One afternoon Blythe asked, Did you were you ever a daughter yourself?
Natalie glanced away. I was but I never got a chance to say goodbye.
Blythe took her hand, stayed silent, and never called her just Natalie again. From then on, she called her Mum.
Months drifted by. The house felt quieter, but not gloomier. Blythe still whispered to her mum at night, but by day she no longer flinched when Natalie slipped an apple into her schoolbag or tucked a blanket around her at bedtime.
Something in that new mum cracked that day in the ward, when she watched another woman leave, not pushing a child away but holding the strangers child close as if it were her own. Natalie realised a lot about herself, about childhood, about the importance of giving warmth, especially when youve spent a lifetime hunting for it.
One rainy afternoon, while rummaging through the attic, Blythe uncovered a dusty box filled with yellowed photos and notes. One picture showed a little girl in a sundress and a woman who looked a lot like a younger Natalie.
Whos that? Blythe asked, descending the stairs.
Natalie stared at the photo for a long moment, then sat beside Blythe.
Thats me and my mum. She died when I was eight. No one told me; they said shed gone away. I waited and I was terrified that maybe Id been the reason she left.
Blythe quietly squeezed her hand. But you never left me. Thank you
That evening they lit two candles: one for Blythes departed mum, one for Natalies.
Were both daughters, Blythe said, and now were mums to each other.
Natalie wept, not from sorrow but from a bright, new feeling. Real families, she realised, arent always bloodbound; theyre chosen.
A year later, Blythe had grown not just in years but in the look of her eyes. The childlike bewilderment had gone, leaving only a warm melancholy and cautious hope.
Natalie was no longer the icy woman who once locked cupboards, scolded over scattered toys, and demanded to be called Mrs. Brooks. She now attended parentteacher evenings, kept the plush rabbit on the dresser, and taught Blythe how to tie a bow on her school uniform for the first school bell.
Your mum would be proud of you, she said one day, ruffling Blythes hair.
Blythe nodded, then hugged her tightly. I know. Shes watching. And she isnt scared for me, because I have a mum again.
That night Natalie lay awake, pulling out a box of letters the ones shed never sent to her real mother. For the first time she dared to write a new one, not about pain but about forgiveness, about love, about the daughter who had saved her.
In spring, on Blythes birthday, they drove together to the grave of Blythes first mum. Natalie clutched a bouquet, Blythe held a photograph.
Mum, thank you for giving me life and thank you for giving me another mum. Look, were together now, Blythe whispered.
A gentle wind brushed the cemetery, as if someone had drifted silently through the trees, light and painless. Both women the grownup Natalie and the little Blythe lifted their eyes. In the clouds above, a fleeting shadow passed, like a wing.
Mum had gone, but she remained in every step they took, in the fact that Blythe now had two mums one in her heart, the other beside her.
More years slipped by. Blythe finished school, appeared at graduation in a light dress, her hair in a braid just like her first mums, eyes reflecting a whole life of loss, forgiveness and genuine love.
At the parents dinner, Natalie sat in the front row, clutching a bouquet and discreetly wiping tears. When the MC announced, Now the thankyou words from the grateful pupils, Blythe walked onto the stage.
Ive had two mums in my life. One gave me life and taught me love. The other stayed when she could have walked away and taught me how to live. I thank them both, because without them I wouldnt be the person I am today.
The hall fell silent. Someone sniffed. Natalie covered her face, trembling. Shed heard Mum, thank you, I love you so often over the years, but those words, spoken in front of everyone, felt like a final release, a supreme reward.
After the ceremony they walked together in the twilight, a warm breeze blowing. Natalie finally said, You know I was always scared youd compare us. Im the stranger, shes the real mum
Blythe stopped, gripped her hand tightly. Youre not a stranger. She lives in my heart, you live in my life. With you, Im a daughter again. Thank you, Mum.
They embraced, and in that hug there was no loss, only a whole new finding. Because family isnt always about blood; sometimes its about choice. And love, after all, is the strongest thing of all.
Somewhere up in the sky, a woman smiled, because her little girl was no longer alone.
