A Mother for Little Ellie.

Margaret raised her daughter Evelyn alone, and as far back as Evelyn could remember, shed always been the unwanted child. That feeling of being unloved clung to her from the earliest days. Nobody ever scolded her without cause; the pantry was never empty, and her wardrobe was always decent. Even the toys she begged for seemed to appear in the cupboard. Yet Margarets indifference was something Evelyn could feel on her skina cold, heavy weight pressing on her heart.

Evelyn grew up a sweet, extremely sociable little girl. As a child she constantly tried to snag her mothers attentionplant a kiss, cuddle, hugonly to have Margaret shrug her away and go on with her own business. Margaret never gave her a hug or a kiss, not once.

To the neighbours and at school the family had a spotless reputation. Margaret dutifully attended PTA meetings, kept an eye on Evelyns health, whisked her off to the Devon coast for holidays and even took her to the circus in London. Yet Evelyn knew the whole affair was a rote duty, devoid of soul, warmth, or a smile. She worked tirelessly to earn praise, topped every class, and behaved impeccably.

But everyone praised herexcept her own mother.

In her naïve childhood Evelyn assumed this was normal, that every family was a bit like that. As she grew older, however, she watched other kids being loved, praised, scolded, and corrected. They received reactions, however small. The contrast made Evelyn start to wonder, to hunt for a cause, and she thought shed found it.

She barely knew her father. The only memory she kept was of a tall man with big hands and a kindly grin. He would fling Evelyn high into the air, catch her, spin her around, and theyd both burst into laughter. Their laughs sounded alike, and they looked remarkably similar. It was as if Evelyn had been copied straight from her dads face. Under her mattress, for years, lay a tattered photograph of the father holding a oneyearold Evelyn. As the years passed, she found herself looking more and more like him. Probably Mums still sore about Dad, Evelyn mused to herself. She looks at me and seethes

Sure enough, Margaret often stared at Evelyn with a long, silent, sorrowful gaze, saying nothing at all. Her husband had left when Evelyn was about three, and ever since then the only reminder of him were the childsupport chequesproof that a man existed somewhere, earning a living, yet never thinking of his daughter. Evelyn had long forgiven him.

It was baffling why she held such a grudge against her mother. Outwardly the girl seemed to accept the cold treatment, but inside the resentment grew, swelling into an icy block that pressed painfully on her heart, filling it with chill.

* * *

The day of the final school bell arrived. Evelyn, in a lacy white pinafore, scanned the crowd for her mother. Margaret had only appeared at the very start, collected a thankyou from the headmaster for raising such a wellbehaved child, and then melted into the sea of parents. Evelyn watched with a twinge of envy as other mothers scooped up their kids, took commemorative photos, and fought back tears of bitterness.

University admissions followed. Evelyn was immensely proudgetting a place on a fully funded spot in such a competitive field was practically a miracle, and shed done it! Margaret received the news with a flat expression, no grin, no hint of pride. She simply asked whether there was a dorm and where Evelyn would be staying.

Having decided shed had enough, Evelyn packed a bag, moved in with a friend first, then hustled for a spot in the university residence.

* * *

Years slipped by and the motherdaughter relationship dwindled to almost nothing, much to the bewilderment of Evelyns husband, Richard, and his mother, Agnes, who had become Evelyns true family. Margaret didnt even turn up for the wedding; she sent a decent sum of money and a card with a dry congratulation.

Agnes, on the other hand, taught Evelyn the ins and outs of running a household and, more importantly, the art of love. They often spent evenings over tea in the kitchen, chatting about everything. Agnes could simply walk over, give a genuine hug, and a heartfelt sigh. Within a month of the wedding, Evelyn started calling her Mum.

Margaret, it seemed, had gone into selfimposed exile, delighted with the peace and solitude it brought. She never made the first call, never visited when Evelyns baby was born, and even ignored the pictures of the newborn that the young mother kept sending her. Evelyn kept quiet, but many nights shed weep softly in the bathroom. Agnes saw it allthe reddened eyes, the swollen cheeks, the heavy sighs.

When Evelyn, her son, and her little grandson went to wish Margaret a happy birthday, she accepted the gift with a curt thank you, then slammed the door shut on the young couples faces, refusing even to let the grandson step inside. Agnes, ever the caring soul, decided enough was enough. She packed a bag and drove straight to Margarets house, determined to sort things out, no matter what.

Thats when the whole truth came spilling out.

* * *

Evelyns father, Thomas, had taken to a life of nighttime revelry almost straight after the wedding. Evelyns new husband, James, cared for his wife deeply and had no desire to break the family. Yet Thomas, after a lengthy binge lasting months, returned one day cradling a baby. One of his mistresses had died in childbirth, and Thomas, feeling a pang of responsibility, brought the child home to his wife.

Trying to describe what Evelyns mother felt is almost impossible. Raising another womans child, a child who bore an uncanny resemblance to the man whod betrayed her, is a torment of its own. She tried, honestly, to love the child, to love it from the heart. She almost succeeded, but James eventually left, vanishing in an unknown direction, leaving behind a daughter hed never needed.

What was the young mother, now alone, supposed to do with that child? Send it to a childrens home and try to rebuild her own life? Have more children of her own? What would the neighbours say? Fearful of judgment, she gave up her own chances, sacrificing her personal happiness.

She spent her whole life trying to love the girl, but every time she looked at her faceso startlingly like the face of the cheating husbandshe realised she still loved James, while the girl was just a pale copy of him.

* * *

When Agnes finally returned home, Evelyn and the baby were already asleep, curled together on the wide family bed. James was away on business, and the little one had happily claimed the parental side of the bed.

Agnes settled quietly on the edge of the mattress, gazing at the family shed come to love. She draped a blanket over her grandson, gently tucked in Evelyns messy hair

Should she spill the whole story? Was it even necessary?

Evelyn, feeling the foreign hands on her, opened sleepy eyes and looked at the woman.

Sleep, my dear, sleep, Agnes whispered, planting a tender kiss on Evelyns forehead before slipping out, closing the door gently behind her.