The bitter cold was pounding at the door when a barefoot, pregnant woman knocked. Inside the cottage it was warm and snug, the fire crackled softly in the stove, a favourite TV drama was playing, and outside the snowstorm howled. Margaret, an elderly lady who used to work as a district nurse, was settled in a wellworn armchair, watching a film and stroking her cat Morris, who was curled up like a little loaf on her lap.
Suddenly there was a rattle at the window, then a thud at the front gate. The dog Rex let out such a bark that the whole house seemed to shiver, and then everything fell silent.
Who could possibly be out in this weather? Must be a prank, Margaret muttered, slipping on her rubber slippers and wrapping her coat around her before heading out, partly to see what was happening and partly to fetch more firewood.
She trudged through the drifts to the gate, opened the door and froze, unable to believe her eyes. Standing on the icy curb, clutching the fence for support, was a young woman in nothing but a nightshirt and a knitted shawl thrown over her shoulders. Her swollen belly gave away her pregnancy.
With barely a whisper she pleaded, Please, dont turn me away! They want to take my baby away!
There was no time for hesitation. Margaret ushered the shivering woman inside, draped her coat over her shoulders and said, Bless my soul! Who in their right mind would cast a pregnant lady out into a blizzard?
As a former nurse, Margaret knew how dangerous a walk in the frost could be for a expectant mother. She boiled water, warmed the womans feet, swabbed them with a bit of spirit, wrapped her in blankets, served a hot cup of tea with raspberry jam, and tucked her into bed. She asked nothing, saying only, Mornings wiser than night.
The woman fell asleep almost at once, managing only a whispered Thank you. Outside, the night was restless: people shouting, cars circling, voices raised.
Blythe awoke to the scent of fried eggs on the hob and fresh scones. Her unborn child twitched restlessly. She slipped out of the covers, found a warm robe and slippers waiting by the bedside, and felt a rush of comfort that reminded her of afternoons spent at her grandmothers cottage in the countryside. She didnt want to face the harsh world outside.
Margaret bustled into the kitchen, plating golden pancakes. Looking at the young woman, she said gently, Alright, runaway, go wash up and have a proper breakfast. Your little ones probably hungry, and after that you can tell us who you are and whats happened.
Over a hearty meal Blythe sighed and began her story:
Im an orphan. I grew up in a childrens home; I never knew my parents. Until I was five, I was raised by my gran, Aunt Vera, who loved me dearly but then passed away, and I went back to the home. After I left, I got a council flat and trained as a teacher. At a disco I met a very wealthy lad, Simon. He was the sort of guy all the girls swooned over, but he chose me. He was ten years older, owned a house in a nearby village, and his father was a bigshot. He courted me with flowers, cinema trips, the whole romantic package, and I fell head over heels. Everyone envied me, thinking Id snagged a prize catch.
She continued, We lived together in his house. Everything was fine until I discovered I was pregnant, and then Simon changed. He started drinking early, saying hurtful things, and would come home drunk. Two weeks ago he brought another girl home and made a fool of me in front of her. I was devastated. I packed my things, planning to leave, but he stopped me, shouting, Where do you think youre going? Youll have my child, then Ill throw you out. Youll never see your son! He locked me in a room, fed me through a neighbour, and kept me under watch. Yesterday the housekeeper, Inga, finally opened the door for me. I ran, ran as fast as my legs could carry me, and ended up at your doorstep. Thank you
Margarets eyes widened. Good heavens! Does this really happen? What will you do now?
Honestly, I dont know. Please dont turn me away. Simon will take the baby after its born and then discard me. Im nobody not even his wife, just an orphan with no one to protect me. I could end it all, God help me, Blythe sobbed again.
Enough of that, Margaret said firmly. My son, Greg, is the local police constable. Hell be on his way home soon. Maybe he can help.
Greg, who had just finished a night shift, was still mulling over how unfair life could be. Hed recently split with his wife, Irene, after she criticised his modest police salary and demanded he quit and become a businessman, whisking her off to fancy resorts. Shed later found a rich man and left the country, while Greg moved back into his mothers house, convinced that women were hopelessly selfserving.
He entered the cottage, shouted, Hey, Mum! and headed to the kitchen, where the smell of something tasty greeted his rumbling stomach.
Son, meet our guest, Blythe. Shes in a terrible spot. Could you listen to her and maybe think of a way to help? Margaret asked.
Greg glanced at Blythe, who looked like a startled fawn: large, watery blue eyes framed by thick lashes, long wheatcoloured hair tied back, and a protruding belly that made her look both fragile and oddly endearing.
Please, dont hand me over, she whispered.
Greg was stunned. What a scoundrel! he thought. He didnt know exactly what to do, but he vowed not to abandon her.
What about your documents and clothes? he asked.
Theyre all at Simons cottage. Hes taken my passport and the keys to my flat so I cant leave. Im terrified to go back, Blythe replied, tears glistening like pearls.
Greg thought for a moment. Stay here for now. Ill go into town, get you some clothes and what you need. Then Ill find out who this Simon fellow really is and try to retrieve your things. Deal?
Its dangerous, Im to blame for all this, Im sorry for dragging you in, she protested.
Dont fret! Helping people is what I do, Greg said resolutely.
Through a few contacts Greg discovered that Alexander Malley, Simons father, was the son of a wellknown local businessman whose dealings werent entirely above board. Rumours of drug links floated around, but evidence was scarce. Greg decided to confront Simon directly.
Knocking on the cottages gate, a handsome, wellkept young man answered with a smug grin. Who are you and what do you want?
Detective Constable Greg Hargreaves, here on official business, Greg replied.
Simon sneered, Make it quick, Ive guests.
Greg stated flatly, I know youve kept Blythes documents and belongings. Shes terrified and wants them back.
Simons eyes narrowed. Ah, the little whimpering girl. Shes not worth my time. Ill keep her baby, thats all.
Gregs temper flared. You have no right to take a child from its mother without consent!
Simon laughed. My father runs this whole neighbourhood. She wont get anything unless she hands over her son.
Furious, Greg decided to use the information hed gathered on Alexander. He visited the businessmans office, presented the incriminating papers, and warned that any further abuse would be made public.
The businessman, after a moment of stunned silence, said, Youve got my attention. Ill sort out the documents and ensure Blythe gets whats hers. Ill also talk to my son.
Greg rushed back, heart pounding, to find Blythe in the kitchen, joyfully kneading dough for pastries. Flour dusted her nose, her hair escaped the knot, and she looked like a picture of pure innocence.
Blythe, youre safe now. You can move back to your own place tomorrow, Greg announced.
She let out a delighted squeal and threw her arms around him. Thank you, Greg, Ill be grateful forever!
Margaret, still in the living room, interjected, Tomorrow? Ive grown fond of her. What will happen to her and her baby?
Greg replied, Maybe we can trace her family? See if she has any siblings or relatives.
Blythe, eyes wide, said, Id love that, but I have no idea where to start.
Together they dug through old records, finding a former caretaker from the childrens home, the name of Blythes grandmother, and eventually a trail leading to a distant aunt in Manchester.
When they finally uncovered the truth, everyone was stunned. Margaret, holding an old photograph, exclaimed, You look just like my sister, Vera! She was pregnant too, but her baby died in the hospital and she ran away, leaving a note at a neighbours door. She never got a chance to explain.
Greg, humbled, whispered, So were halfcousins? That explains a lot.
Margaret, tears welling, said, I had no idea. Im sorry, love, I never meant to keep this from you.
Greg lowered his head, choking back emotion. It seems were related after all.
Life slowly settled back into a normal rhythm. Blythe gave birth to a healthy baby boy, Sam, and moved into a modest flat of her own. Weekends they visited Margaret, who delighted in rocking the infant and singing lullabies.
Greg, however, grew quieter, his oncecheerful demeanor dimming. He started drinking more, avoiding Blythes gaze, tormented by the impossible feelings he still harboured for her. Blythe, whenever she caught his eye, blushed and looked away, knowing the situation was wrong but unable to command her heart.
Margaret watched it all, praying silently, Lord, give me strength to tell the truth, to free them from this misery. She had kept the secret for decades, but now could no longer stay silent.
During another visit, Margaret placed baby Sam on the garden swing, called Greg and Blythe into the house, and, after a long rummage through an old chest, began to speak.
Greg, my dear boy, I thought Id never have to reveal this, but I cant watch you both suffer any longer. My husband died young, I never loved anyone else. Years ago a girl was abandoned in the maternity ward; I took her in, raised her as my own, and kept it hidden. That girl was Blythe.
Greg stared, stunned. Mum, are you saying were?
Yes, Margaret replied, her voice trembling. Youre my son, and Blythe is your halfsister. I was terrified youd reject me if you knew.
Greg fell to his knees, embraced his mother, and whispered, Thank you, Mum. I love you for everything youve done.
Blythe, speechless, could only watch the scene unfold.
Greg, regaining his composure, turned to Blythe and said, Ive loved you from the moment I saw you. Even if we cant be together, I want you to be happy. Will you marry me? Ill raise Sam as my own, and well build a life together, whatever form that takes.
Blythes eyes filled with tears. Yes, Ill marry you.
The horrors of the past faded, replaced by a hopeful future. They married, Sam grew up surrounded by love, and Margaret finally felt peace, knowing the secrets that had haunted her for years were finally out.
