**”This Woman Is My Real Mother. Shell Live with Us Now,”** said Daniel, stepping into the house with a thin, elderly stranger in tow.
Emma froze, a ladle still in her hand. On the stove, the shepherds pie was nearly ready, the table set for dinnerand now this.
“What do you mean, your *real* mother?” she managed. “Daniel, what are you saying? Your mother died ten years ago. We buried her together.”
“That woman was my adoptive mother,” he replied, helping the stranger out of her coat. “This is Margaret Wilsonmy birth mother. She gave me up as a baby.”
Emmas legs felt weak. Twenty-five years of marriage, and suddenly this.
“Sit down, Margaret,” Daniel said, guiding the woman to the table. “Emma, could you set another plate?”
“Wait.” Emma put the ladle down and turned to her husband. “Explain this to me first. Where did she come from? And why didnt you say anything all these years?”
“I only just found out myself,” Daniel muttered, avoiding her gaze. “Margaret contacted me through a tracing service. We met, talked. Shes alone, nowhere to live. No family left.”
“And where *has* she been living until now?” Emma asked, studying the woman.
Margaret stayed quiet, fidgeting with her hands. Her clothes were worn but clean, her face tired, eyes sad.
“In a bedsit,” Daniel answered for her. “But the landlord sold the building. She was evicted. Its my duty to help her.”
“*Your* duty,” Emma repeated. “But you didnt think to discuss it with me? This is my home too.”
“Emma, dont be like that,” Daniel frowned. “Shes my mother. You wouldnt turn an old woman out, would you?”
Emma looked at her husbandthe same man shed spent half her life withbut his expression was different now, as if *she* were the obstacle to his noble act.
“Fine,” she said finally. “Lets eat first. Well talk after.”
Dinner passed in stiff silence. Margaret ate quietly, nodding her thanks to Daniel now and then. Emma picked at her food, turning things over in her mind.
“How *did* you find Daniel?” she asked Margaret.
“Through an advert,” the woman said softly. “In the local paper. I remembered the surname they gave him at the childrens home. And his birth date, of course.”
“Why now, after all this time?”
Margarets head dipped lower.
“Didnt want to die with it on my conscience,” she whispered. “Spent my life regretting what I did. Now Im poorlyknew I didnt have long. Just wanted to say sorry.”
Daniel squeezed her shoulder.
“Margaret, dont talk like that. Whats done is done. Weve found each other now.”
Watching them, Emma felt a knot tighten in her chest. It wasnt about the space or the food. Something about this didnt sit right.
After dinner, Daniel showed Margaret around the house. Emma stayed to wash up, listening as they moved from room to room.
“Thisll be your bedroom,” Daniel said. “Our daughters old roomshes married now, lives away.”
“Daniel, I dont want to be a bother,” Margarets voice wavered. “The sofa would do.”
“Dont be silly,” he insisted. “Youre family.”
Later, alone in their room, Emma tried to reason with him.
“Dan,” she began carefully, “are you *sure* shes who she says she is?”
“Of course I am,” he snapped. “Shes got papers from the childrens home.”
“Have you checked them? Shouldnt we look into records, maybe do a DNA test?”
Daniel turned, looking at her as if shed said something vile.
“Emma, how can you even suggest that? Shes ill, shes sufferedcame all this way to find me. And youre talking about *tests*?”
“I just want to be sure were not being conned,” Emma said. “You hear about these scams all the time. People prey on emotions.”
“Con artists?” He scoffed. “Look at her! Whats she got to steal? Old clothes, battered papers. Shes not after moneyshe wants her son.”
Emma sighed. Arguing was pointless. Hed made up his mind.
The next morning, Emma rose early as usual. Peeking into the spare room, she saw Margaret curled under the blankets, a worn handbag on the nightstand.
Daniel was already at the kitchen table, coffee in hand.
“Morning,” Emma said. “Sleep alright?”
“Fine,” he said, eyeing her. “You look sour.”
“Im fine. Just thinking how well manage with three.”
“Well manage,” he dismissed. “Margarets quiet, wont be in the way. Might even be nicehouse feels empty these days.”
“*Empty?* Weve lived here happily for years!”
“Kids are grown, hardly visit. Now therell be someone about.”
“*Someone*,” Emma echoed. “A stranger.”
“I know what mattersshes my mother.”
A timid voice interrupted:
“Sorry to intrude.”
Margaret stood in the doorway in a faded dressing gown.
“Morning,” Emma said stiffly. “Coffee?”
“Thank you. And Im sorry about last night. I know its awkward.”
“Not at all,” Daniel cut in. “This is your home now too. Right, Emma?”
Emma nodded, sliding a mug toward her.
“Tell me,” she pressed, “what have you done all these years? Worked anywhere?”
Margaret stirred sugar into her coffee.
“Care assistant at a hospital,” she said. “Retired now. Lived modestly, but honest.”
“Any family? Other children?”
Margaret shook her head.
“Never married. After I gave Daniel up… couldnt bear to care for anyone else.”
Daniels eyes softened.
“Why *did* you give me up?”
Margarets hands trembled.
“Was young, stupid. His dad was a soldierpromised to marry me, then left when he heard about the baby. My parents were poor country folk. No work, no money. Thought a childrens home would give him a better chance.”
“And it did,” Daniel said quickly. “I had a good family.”
“I was wrong,” Margaret whispered. “A mother shouldnt abandon her child, no matter what. Took me too long to see it.”
Emma listened, logic lining uppapers, a coherent story. But something still felt off.
Days later, odd things started happening. Food vanished faster. A new box of tea disappeared.
“Dan,” Emma said, “I think your mothers hoarding things in her room.”
“Like what?”
“Food. I saw her take bread. And the teas gone.”
“Emma, dont be ridiculous!” he snapped. “Shes known hungerold habits die hard.”
“Or what if shes *not* alone?” Emma ventured. “What if shes feeding someone else?”
Daniel stared at her.
“Are you hearing yourself? Shes a frail old woman!”
“Frail? She seems strong for her age.”
“You see how little she eats? Probably still shy.”
*Or pretending*, Emma thought.
A week later, her gold earrings went missing. She *knew* shed left them on the dresser.
“Dan,” she said that evening, “my earrings are gone. The gold ones with the stones.”
“Maybe you misplaced them?”
“Everywhere. Theyre *gone*.”
His face darkened.
“And youre implying what, exactly?”
“Just stating a fact.”
Daniel paced.
“If youre accusing my mother, I wont allow it. Shes suffered enough.”
“Im not accusing. Im saying theyve disappeared.”
“You probably lost them,” he muttered, storming out.
But Emma *knew*. Theyd vanished since Margaret arrived.
The next day, Daniel left for work. Margaret stayed homeas did Emma, working remotely. At noon, the doorbell rang.
“Emma, its me,” called their downstairs neighbor, Sarah.
“Come in,” Emma said. “Whats wrong?”
Sarah hesitated.
“I saw your… *guest* this morning. Leaving with a man. Early thirties, dodgy-looking. She handed him something in a bag.”
Emmas pulse spiked.
“When?”
“About two hours ago.”
After Sarah left, Emma sat, thoughts racing. Her suspicions were rightMargaret *wasnt* alone.
That evening, she told Daniel.
“Sarahs lying,” he said flatly. “Or mistaken.”
“Why would she lie?”
“Jealous, maybe. No kids of her own.”
“Jealous of *what*? She was warning me!”
