My Dad’s Partner Became a Second Mum to Me

My mother passed away when I was just eight. Dad would drown his sorrow in pints of ale, and sometimes our cupboards were bare. I begged quietly at school and wore clothes with frayed hems, my marks slipped and the teachers took notice.

Social services visited our tiny red-brick house more than once, and soon Dad was given strict rules he had to follow, otherwise hed lose his rights as a parent. Luckily, Dad shook himself awake; he stopped drinking and the following home visits went calmly.

Some time later, Dad told me he wanted to introduce me to a lady he fancied. We went to Aunt Janes cottage. I was nervous about meeting her; memories of my mum still lingered like the scent of her old perfume, and I wasnt thrilled about Dad moving on with Aunt Jane.

When we started talking, I felt a soothing glow radiate from her. I made friends with her son, Thomas, a year older than me, and together we joined the local football club. Dad was relieved I embraced his new sweetheart; a month later, we moved in with Aunt Jane, and our own house was let out to tenants for some extra pounds.

Dad hadnt had the chance to marry Aunt Jane before tragedy struck: he was killed by a carits driver drunk and reckless. Legally, I was nothing to Aunt Jane, so the council took me to a childrens home. As I left, Aunt Jane whispered that shed bring me home as soon as she could.

True to her word, two months later I returned. Those two months were enough to taste the chill and echoing loneliness of the orphanage. I was deeply grateful that Aunt Jane didnt forget me; she became, in every way, a true second mother. When I called her mum, I often saw her eyes glisten. Aunt Jane is an extraordinary woman, and her son is like a real brother to me.

Now were grown with families of our own, but Mother Jane remains the heart of both mine and Toms lives. Twice a mother-in-law, shes never argued with our wives, and none of them ever call her mother-in-law. Both my wife and Toms wife affectionately call her Mother Jane, admiring her gentle ways and understanding. And whenever I hear them call her name, the spark of joy in Janes eyes is as real as rain on cobblestones.