Sarah had spent her entire life in a small village on the outskirts of Greater London. Few people knew of this place, but Sarah was a creative and ambitious young woman. Naturally, she dreamed of moving to the capital, but how? She had no plan… and to make matters worse, her parents were growing anxious that, at 24, Sarah was still unmarried.
— Sarah, have you considered James? What a man! — her mother said, bustling about the kitchen while offering advice. — A huge house, his own livestock, and that garden of his is something else!
— Mum, he’s got three kids already, — Sarah replied, sifting through lentils to separate the husks.
— And what’s wrong with that? A big family is wonderful. You’re an only child—don’t you ever wish you’d had siblings? — her mother said matter-of-factly.
Sarah sighed and returned to her task, but her mother wasn’t ready to let the topic slide.
— Alright, forget James. What about George? Now there’s a catch! Handy, fixes everything around the house himself! Makes his own furniture! Mark my words, soon he’ll have city folk ordering his tables and cabinets.
— George’s wife ran off for a reason, I reckon, — Sarah scoffed.
— Hmph! — Her mother shot her a disapproving look. — Fine, fine… What about Alex, then? The son of our local police chief, or whatever he is. His dad’s in the force, and the boy will likely follow in his footsteps.
— Mum, enough! — Sarah slammed the bowl of lentils on the table. — I’m not marrying any of your picks! I want love, romance, and what’s here? The closest thing to romance is a pint in the barn and the cows mooing in chorus. No, Mum, I don’t want that.
— So what do you want?
— I want to move to London, — Sarah said dreamily. — That’s where I’d truly live. There are courses I could take, learn a trade, get a job, and then… A cultured life, theatres, restaurants… Have you ever been to a proper restaurant?
— Pfft, what’s there to see? — her mother laughed, clattering pans. — Your dad took me to a chip shop once, and let me tell you, that food had me queasy for a week. No, I’d rather cook at home and eat what I know.
— Oh, Mum, — Sarah waved her off. — A chip shop’s not the same. Once I’m in London, I’ll take you to a real restaurant.
— Get married first, then move wherever you like, — her mother said, circling back to her main point.
Nearly a year passed since that conversation. Despite her parents’ efforts, Sarah still hadn’t found “the one.” The village girls, most of whom had at least one child by her age, openly teased her. But Sarah didn’t let it get to her. Truth be told, she was starting to think she didn’t want a family at all. A husband to pamper, waiting by the window, sighing wistfully? And kids weren’t much easier.
Meanwhile, in London, a rising star was beginning her career. Emily had been singing beautifully since childhood. Her mother, noticing her talent, nurtured her vocal skills, leading Emily to perform on stage by her 25th birthday. Producers didn’t predict global fame—she wasn’t one for scandals—but her talent ensured some recognition. One foreign producer who attended her concert disagreed entirely.
— You are magnificent! Divine! — He grabbed Emily’s trembling hands, overwhelmed with emotion, and kissed them fervently. — Oh, mon chéri! I could listen to you forever!
— Thank you for such kind words, — Emily smiled.
— Ah! — The Frenchman clutched his heart. — Even your speaking voice… sublime! Allow me, mon chéri, to invite you to dinner after such a performance. I simply must express my… how do you say… gratitude.
— I’d be delighted, — Emily smiled, sending the producer into a state of ecstasy.
— I’ll reserve a table at once! — He gestured to his assistant, who nodded and hurried off.
— You speak English remarkably well, — Emily noted.
— Yes, yes, my mother is English. She instilled in me a love for this splendid language, — he said with a charming accent that Emily found endearing.
Their dinner sparked a romance that soon blossomed into what Emily believed was true love. She adored Philip and subtly dedicated much of her work to him. Philip showered her with compliments, gifts, and introductions to fascinating people, showing her the high life.
They soon moved in together, settling into a decent flat once owned by Philip’s late mother, where he stayed during his visits to England.
One dreary February morning, Emily woke feeling dreadful. Nausea, shakiness, and weakness plagued her, yet she had rehearsals to attend.
— What’s wrong, mon chéri? — Philip watched with growing concern as Emily, unsteady on her feet, tried to pour herself coffee.
— I feel awful, — she managed, pressing a hand to her mouth to fight the urge to vomit.
— My God! — Philip exclaimed, catching her as she swayed.
— Right, you lie here. I’m getting a doctor…
He settled her on the sofa and rushed out. Mobile phones weren’t common then, and their landline had broken days earlier.
While Philip was gone, Emily’s dizziness and weakness began to fade. Perhaps it was just low blood pressure? Her career was stressful, after all. By the time Philip returned with a doctor, Emily was sipping coffee and nibbling sandwiches, looking vibrant.
— Where’s the patient? — the portly doctor asked, adjusting his glasses.
— That’s… her. Mon chéri, are you feeling better? — Philip scratched his head, bewildered.
— Yes, I’m fine now. Probably just low blood pressure this morning, — Emily smiled. — Sorry for dragging you away, Doctor. Care for some coffee? I added a pinch of salt to enhance the flavour. I heard they do that in Turkey.
— Perhaps they do… But since I’m here, I’ll examine you. Your husband described you as practically at death’s door, — the doctor chuckled, accustomed to anxious partners exaggerating.
After the exam, the doctor seemed puzzled. Emily showed no signs of her earlier ailment.
— Come to my clinic tomorrow for some tests. We should figure out what happened, — he said, shrugging. — You seem fine now.
— Thank you, — Emily smiled. — I’ll stop by.
She arrived late to rehearsal and tired quickly, souring her mood. That night, she barely slept, constantly thirsty or needing the bathroom. Fetching another glass of water, she resolved to visit the doctor and describe her symptoms. Initially, she’d agreed to the appointment just to appease him, but now her health worried her.
The next day, an exhausted Emily went to the clinic. A few days later, the results were ready. The new phone Philip had installed rang in the living room.
— Hello? — Emily answered.
— Emily? This is the doctor. You came in for tests a few days ago.
— Yes. Are the results okay? Nothing bad, I hope? — she asked anxiously.
— Oh, no! — the doctor said cheerfully. — Congratulations to you and your husband! You’re going to be parents. Come back for a follow-up, and I’ll guide you on the next steps. Congratulations again!
He hung up, leaving Emily stunned, listening to the dial tone. Parents?
Her face flushed. She and Philip weren’t married—a scandalous situation. How would she tell her mother? Or Philip? What now? Philip found her standing by the phone, her face cycling from pale to red.
— Something wrong, mon chéri? — he asked.
Emily flinched, as if snapping out of a trance, and hung up.
— Well… something’s happened, yes, — she sighed, pressing a hand to her burning cheek.
— Don’t keep me in suspense! Who was that? — Philip pressed.
— The doctor… I’m pregnant, — Emily whispered.
Philip stared, confused, for a moment.
— So, we’re having a child? — he clarified. When she nodded, he beamed. — That’s wonderful! We’ll be a real family, mon chéri! I adore you!
He was ecstatic, kissing her and thanking God in French. But Emily’s mind raced. First, she hadn’t planned on motherhood so soon. Her career was just taking off—how could she manage with a baby? She’d be stuck at home, buried in laundry, cooking, and childcare. No more theatre or stage. Second, the lack of a marriage loomed large. A well-known singer having a child out of wedlock? The gossip would be relentless.
— You seem troubled, mon chéri, — Philip said as his excitement waned.
— We should marry to avoid rumours about the baby, — Emily said bluntly, though the words were hard to say.
— Ah, these English formalities, — Philip chuckled. — I already consider you my wife. If papers matter to you, let’s go now!
— That’s great, — Emily smiled faintly. — But here, we have proper weddings, with planning… And I don’t have much time before my figure gives me away.
— I’ll do whatever you want, — Philip smiled.
And he did. In under two months, he organised a splendid wedding. A live orchestra played, top chefs served exquisite dishes, and guests marvelled at how it came together so quickly.
The wedding was a triumph. Soon, Emily wore looser clothing, then paused her career for months. She gave birth to a son, named Oliver. After recovering, she dove back into singing. But she felt little attachment to Oliver—perhaps she wasn’t ready for motherhood. Philip, too, grew bored with the baby and his slightly fuller wife, who was rarely home. One day, he broached the subject.
— Emily, don’t you think the spark’s gone since Oliver arrived? — he asked.
— What did you expect? — Emily replied, wiping Oliver’s chubby cheeks, smeared with porridge.
— But we leave him with nannies. Why have we cooled toward each other?
— I don’t know. Maybe we just need time, — Emily said, though she’d grown indifferent to Philip, who seemed self-absorbed and uninvolved.
— I can tell waiting won’t help, — Philip sighed. — I want to do this right, Emily. I’ve bought you and Oliver a three-bedroom flat. The deeds are in your name, — he slid a folder toward her. — Please accept it. And I’ll help financially if needed.
— And you? — Emily asked, though she knew the answer.
— I can’t live like this, — he shook his head. — I need passion, feelings… I thought a child would make us a family, but it didn’t.
— No, it didn’t, — Emily agreed.
— I’m leaving for Paris next week… Au revoir, mon chéri, — Philip sighed.
— Goodbye, — Emily replied.
After Philip left England, Emily and Oliver moved into the gifted flat. It was spacious but needed work. She redecorated, replaced curtains, and bought new furniture, investing heavily. She needed to resume her career, but Oliver demanded constant attention. Her mother, overwhelmed and upset about the divorce, couldn’t always help. Nannies were costly, and singing earned less now. Exhausted, Emily resolved to find an affordable nanny. She discussed it with her mother over the phone.
— Oh, Emily, how could you let such a husband slip away? — her mother tsked.
— Mum, it didn’t work out, — Emily said for the umpteenth time. — Help me figure out what to do. I’ve got a tour soon, and no idea where to leave Oliver.
— Worst case, I’ll watch him. Can’t leave my grandson on the street… But I have an idea, — her mother said thoughtfully.
— What?
— Remember Aunt Clara?
— Your second cousin or something? — Emily asked uncertainly.
— That’s her. She’s got a daughter, Sarah, about your age.
— Okay… — Emily wasn’t following.
— For heaven’s sake, Emily, think! Invite Sarah to be a live-in nanny. You won’t need to pay her much—Clara says Sarah’s obsessed with moving to London. She can sort herself out there, as long as she looks after Oliver.
— Hmm… What about her family? Husband, kids? — Emily liked the idea.
— She’s got no one. Clara says she refuses every man in the village. You’re both stubborn, free spirits.
— Mum, give me her address, — Emily said, straightening up.
The next day, Emily and Oliver drove to the village, courtesy of a car and driver from the theatre. At Clara’s sturdy house, a cheerful woman greeted them.
— Emily! Hello! — she beamed.
— Hello, Aunt Clara, — Emily smiled, hugging her.
— What brings you here? Come in, quick! Oh, who’s this? — Clara spotted Oliver in the car.
— My son, — Emily said. — I wanted to talk about him. You have a daughter, Sarah, right?
— Yes, but Sarah’s out in the fields, harvesting before winter.
— Then I’ll talk to you. I’m divorced, and my work leaves no time for childcare. I need a live-in nanny, and Mum mentioned Sarah wants to move to London. I can offer her a room in my flat and a salary if she helps with Oliver, — Emily explained directly, disliking drawn-out negotiations.
— That’s… sudden, — Clara tried to laugh, but worry flickered in her eyes. Her daughter, caring for someone else’s child? What about her own future? Still, Sarah had rejected every suitor. Maybe London would change her luck?
— Think it over, — Emily said, handing her a note. — My address and number are here. If Sarah agrees, I’ll meet her at the station and take her to her new home. I must get back to London for rehearsals.
— Alright… — Clara clutched the paper as Emily drove off.
Days later, the phone rang as Emily was about to leave. She hoped Sarah had decided to come, as Oliver’s demands made preparing for her tour impossible.
— Hello? — Emily answered.
— Emily? — a hesitant voice asked. — I’m Sarah, Clara’s daughter. You said to call if I decided to come… I’m in London, at the station.
— Oh… Great! Stay near the information desk. I’ll be there soon, — Emily said.
She was thrilled to have help but wished Sarah had called ahead. As an artist, her schedule was tight. Sighing, she informed her producer she’d be late. At the station, she quickly spotted Sarah—fresh, robust, a bit pale from the big city but clearly excited. They introduced themselves, and Emily took Sarah to the flat, showed her her room, and introduced her to Oliver. Time was short. Emily left some cash on the table.
— Sarah, this is for groceries. You’re probably hungry. There’s a shop on the corner. I’m no cook, so the fridge is empty, — Emily smiled.
— Oh, no worries. I brought some things from home, — Sarah said, rummaging through her bags. — Help yourself!
— I’d love to, but I have to run, — Emily declined, eyeing a greasy parcel suspiciously. — Keys are on the shelf. Make yourself at home. See you tonight!
— Have a good day, — Sarah smiled, waving.
While Emily rehearsed, Sarah tidied up, cooked dinner, bathed Oliver, read to him, and played games. By the time Emily returned at 11 p.m., exhausted and upset, she’d forgotten about Sarah. Expecting chaos, she was stunned to find the flat spotless, Oliver quiet, and enticing aromas wafting from the kitchen.
— Hello, Emily, — Sarah greeted. — How was your day?
— I… think it’s good now, — Emily admitted.
— Wonderful! Hungry? Shall we eat? — Sarah beamed.
— Wow… I won’t say no, and I’m shocked. Why’s it so quiet?
— I wasn’t sure when you put Oliver to bed, but I figured 10 or 10:30 was good. He’s been asleep for about 40 minutes.
— Wow… — Emily checked on Oliver, finding him clean and sleeping soundly. — Wow!
On the kitchen table were meat, pancakes, dumplings, potatoes with cabbage, and a charcuterie spread—far too much for a simple dinner.
— I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said ‘wow,’ — Emily laughed. — Sarah, you’re a treasure!
— Oh, stop, — Sarah brushed it off modestly.
— Did you make all this? How? Where’d it come from? — Emily marvelled.
— I bought some things, as you said, and Mum packed some, like our homemade cured meat.
— Sarah, you’re priceless, — Emily said, inhaling the aroma.
Thus began their life together: Emily, Sarah, and Oliver. They lived as a trio for 12 years, through many changes. Sadly, Emily’s singing career faded, and she became a vocal coach. Money grew scarce; salaries went unpaid. The family nearly starved. Desperate, Emily called Philip, who’d left his contact details. Blushing with shame, she dialled.
— This is Emily, the singer from London. Remember me? — she sighed.
— Of course, — Philip replied. — How are you?
— Not great. I lost my job and teach vocals now, but money’s tight. Oliver’s growing fast, needing food and clothes. Can you help? — she asked, tears welling.
— I’m sorry, but I’m abroad. How can I help? Besides, you divorced me…
— But you could visit! And divorce doesn’t erase Oliver. I never sued for child support because you promised to help!
— I don’t recall that, — Philip said. Emily was speechless. — If that’s all, au revoir.
— Philip! We’re starving! — she cried.
— Figure it out. Sell the flat I gave you, downsize. You’re just two. I’m busy. Au revoir, — he hung up.
Fortunately, Emily took up private tutoring, avoiding selling the flat. Oliver grew into a bright, obedient boy. Sarah trained as an accountant and found steady work. They weren’t rich but got by.
Then Philip reappeared, unannounced, knocking on their door. Emily had no warmth left for him—he’d never called or helped. She locked herself in the kitchen with him to hear him out, while Oliver was at school and Sarah in her room.
— Here’s the thing, Emily, — Philip said, sipping tea and devouring Sarah’s biscuits. — I’ve got a few businesses and met a wonderful woman—not like you, but still. We had a child. I played the happy family man, but something felt off. Science moves fast, you know. A DNA test showed the boy isn’t mine. At 57, I could still be a father, but I’m done with that. I’m here to offer Oliver a chance to move to France. I’ll show him everything, teach him to be my heir. Understand?
— So you ignored your son for 12 years, and now you want to take him? — Emily smirked. — I don’t know what to say.
— Yes, we had issues. I didn’t send money, but you’re a singer! Surely you managed?
— There were times we nearly starved, — Emily said calmly, though the memory stung. — You didn’t call or write. You told me to sort it out when I begged for help.
— And you did splendidly, — Philip nodded, checking his watch. — I’m short on time. I fly back tomorrow. Talk to Oliver. He might want to see another life.
Emily resisted the urge to throw something at him. She told Oliver about his father’s neglect and sudden desire to whisk him away to a life of wealth. At 14, Oliver was unusually mature.
— If I go, will we stay in touch? — he asked.
— I don’t know, — Emily said honestly. — If your father allows it.
— Hmm. Will I finish school there?
— Probably.
— But I don’t speak French.
— Your father might arrange lessons, but I’m not sure.
— Has he done anything good for you in the last 10 years? — Oliver asked.
Emily shook her head, recalling the humiliation of Philip’s refusal to help.
— Then let him come. I’ll tell him myself.
The next morning, Philip expected Oliver to be packed. Instead, Emily, Sarah, and Oliver greeted him at the door.
— Oliver? — Philip said, surprised. — Not ready?
— First, nice to meet you, Dad, — Oliver said gruffly. — Second, I’m not going. You’re leaving alone. Hope you stay that way forever.
— Why? Who taught you such rudeness? — Philip exclaimed. — Do you know the luxury you could have?
— You taught me rudeness, — Oliver scowled. — I know Mum begged you for help, and you brushed her off for your new family, forgetting us. I know Sarah scraped flour from shelves to make soup. I know Mum and Sarah cut their budgets to buy me a school uniform! Do you know any of that? No. You know nothing about me or my life. I’d rather stay with Mum and Sarah than become someone who ignores their family. Honestly, I don’t even see you as my father. This is the first time we’ve met.
— But… but… — Philip stammered, lost for words.
— You should go, Philip, or you’ll miss your flight, — Emily smirked. — Oliver’s made his choice.
— You’ll regret this, — Philip sighed. — You could’ve had everything…
He waved dismissively and left.
Emily never heard from him again and felt no regret. She passed away peacefully in her sleep. Sarah and a grown Oliver arranged her funeral. Afterward, they sat together, looking through old photos.
— I should probably move out, — Sarah said.
— What are you on about? — Oliver asked.
— I helped your mum with the house, but now there’s no one to help, — Sarah sighed. — I never got my own place, so I’ll go back to the village. My parents left me their house.
— Sarah, stop talking nonsense, — Oliver waved her off. — Mum loved you like a sister. We discussed it, and she willed the flat to you. Don’t even think about leaving. Plus, my wife and I are expecting. Your experience will come in handy.
He smiled faintly, while Sarah sat in shock. The three-bedroom flat, left to her by Emily, a distant relative turned dear friend? Before she could respond, the doorbell rang.
— Who’s that now? — Oliver muttered, opening the door. — You?
— Who is it? — Sarah joined him, staring at an aged Philip.
— Good afternoon, — Philip sighed. — I called, but no one answered. Can I speak to Emily?
— You can’t, — Oliver said. — She died three days ago.
— Died? — Philip’s eyes widened, but his tone quickly turned businesslike. — Then with you, son. My businesses are bankrupt, and I need to go to Canada to rebuild connections. I need money. Since Emily’s gone, I need you to come with me to a notary to return the flat to me so I can sell it.
— Wow, — Oliver laughed despite the sombre day. — No way. First, the flat’s not mine anymore. Second, you’re a stranger to us. You never helped—why should we help you?
— Wait… Not yours? Whose is it? — Philip asked, ignoring the rest.
— Sarah’s, — Oliver nodded toward her.
— What? Your maid? Emily left the flat to a maid? — Philip fumed.
— Hold on… — Oliver began, but Sarah cut in.
— I’m not a maid. Never was. I helped Emily, but we were close friends, and I helped willingly. She chose to thank me this way. The legal heir, Oliver, didn’t object. I’d have considered helping you, but since I’m just a ‘maid’… why should I care about a ‘master’? — Sarah smirked.
— Wait, mon chéri, I didn’t know the details! — Philip backtracked.
— Goodbye, — Sarah said firmly. — Or I’ll call the police. Maybe the tax office too…
Philip cursed but left quickly. He never bothered them again. Sarah sold the large flat, bought a one-bedroom, and used the proceeds to help Oliver build a country house where they could gather as a family: Sarah, Oliver, his wife Sophie, and their daughter, Lily.
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