**Diary Entry 12th March**
*”This woman is my real mother. Shell be living with us,”* said Edward as he stepped through the door with a frail stranger in her seventies.
Helen froze, the ladle still in her hand. On the stove, the shepherds pie was nearly ready, the table set for supperand now this.
*”What do you mean, your real mother?”* she managed. *”Edward, what are you saying? Your mother died ten years agowe buried her together.”*
*”That woman was my adoptive mother,”* he replied, helping the stranger out of her coat. *”This is Margaret Whitmoremy birth mother. She gave me up to an orphanage.”*
Helens legs turned weak. Twenty-five years of marriage, and suddenly, this.
*”Sit down, Margaret,”* Edward said, guiding her to the table. *”Helen, set another place, will you?”*
*”Wait,”* Helen put the ladle down and turned to him. *”Explain this to me first. Where has she come from? Why didnt you say anything all these years?”*
*”I only just found out myself,”* Edward avoided her gaze. *”Margaret tracked me down through a tracing service. We met, talked. Shes all alonenowhere to go. No family left.”*
*”Where was she living before?”* Helen studied the woman.
Margaret stayed silent, fidgeting with her hands. Her clothes were worn but clean, her face weary, eyes sad.
*”In a council flat,”* Edward answered for her. *”But the new owners sold it. She was evicted. I owe it to her to help.”*
*”You owe it to her,”* Helen repeated. *”And you didnt think to discuss it with me? This is my home too.”*
*”Helen, dont be like that,”* Edward frowned. *”Shes my mother. Surely you wouldnt deny an old woman a roof over her head?”*
Helen looked at himthe same Edward shed known for a quarter of a centuryyet his expression was different now, as if she were standing in the way of his noble duty.
*”Fine,”* she said at last. *”Lets eat first. Well talk later.”*
Dinner passed in heavy silence. Margaret ate quietly, occasionally nodding thanks to Edward. Helen pushed her food around, wondering how things had come to this.
*”How did you find Edward?”* she asked Margaret.
*”Through an advert,”* the woman murmured. *”In the newspaper. I remembered the surname they gave him at the orphanage. And his birthday, of course.”*
*”Why now, after all this time?”*
Margaret lowered her head.
*”Shame,”* she whispered. *”Ive carried it all my lifeleaving my son. But now Im poorly, times running out. I just wanted to say sorry.”*
Edward placed a hand on her shoulder. *”Margaret, dont say that. Whats done is done. What matters is weve found each other.”*
Helen watched them, a knot tightening in her chest. It wasnt about space or foodsomething about this didnt sit right.
Later, Edward showed Margaret around the house while Helen washed up, listening as they moved from room to room.
*”This will be your bedroom,”* he said. *”Our daughters old roomshes married now, lives away.”*
*”Edward, perhaps I should just sleep on the sofa,”* Margaret suggested timidly.
*”Dont be silly,”* he insisted. *”Youre familyyou deserve your own room.”*
That night, Helen tried to reason with him.
*”Ed, are you sure shes really your mother?”*
*”Of course,”* he snapped. *”Shes got papers from the orphanage.”*
*”Have you checked them? We could look up records, even do a DNA test”*
Edward turned on her, disgusted. *”How can you even suggest that? Shes an old, sick woman whos travelled the country to find me. And youre talking about tests?”*
*”I just want to be sure were not being tricked,”* Helen said. *”You hear about scams all the timepeople preying on emotions.”*
*”A scam?”* He scoffed. *”Look at her! Whats there to steal? Old clothes, worn-out papers. Shes not after moneyshe wants her son.”*
Arguing was useless. His mind was made up.
The next morning, Helen rose early as usual. Peering into the spare room, she saw Margaret curled up asleep, a shabby handbag on the nightstand.
Edward was already at the kitchen table with his tea.
*”Morning,”* she said. *”Sleep well?”*
*”Fine,”* he replied. *”Why the long face?”*
*”Just thinking how things will be with three of us.”*
*”Well manage,”* he waved her off. *”Margarets quiet. Itll be nice having someone else around.”*
*”Nice?”* Helen echoed. *”A stranger in our home?”*
*”Shes not a strangershes my mother.”*
A soft voice interrupted.
*”Sorry to intrude.”*
Margaret stood in the doorway, wrapped in a faded dressing gown.
*”Morning,”* Helen forced a smile. *”Tea?”*
*”Thank you,”* Margaret replied. *”And Im sorry for arriving so suddenly. I know its awkward.”*
*”Nonsense,”* Edward cut in. *”This is your home now too. Right, Helen?”*
She nodded stiffly, passing Margaret a cup.
*”Tell me,”* she asked, *”what have you done all these years? Where did you work?”*
Margaret stirred sugar into her tea.
*”A hospital cleaner, then retired. Lived modestlynever took handouts.”*
*”Any family? Other children?”*
*”No,”* she shook her head. *”Never married. After I gave Eddie up, something broke in me. Couldnt bear to care for anyone else.”*
Edwards eyes softened. *”Why did you give me away?”*
Margarets hands trembled. *”I was young, foolish. Your father was a soldierpromised marriage, then vanished when I fell pregnant. My parents were poor, no work, no money. Thought the orphanage would give you a better lifeeducation, maybe a family.”*
*”Well, they did,”* Edward said. *”So you did the right thing.”*
*”No,”* she whispered. *”A mother should never abandon her child. I realised too late.”*
Helen listened, the story plausible enough. Yet something still felt off.
Days later, odd things began happening. Food vanished faster from the fridge. A new box of tea disappeared from the cupboard.
*”Ed,”* Helen said, *”I think your mothers hiding things in her room.”*
*”What things?”*
*”Food. I saw her take bread. And the teas gone.”*
*”Helen, dont be ridiculous!”* he snapped. *”Shes known hungerold habits die hard. Its normal for people whove struggled.”*
*”Or maybe shes not alone,”* Helen ventured. *”Maybe shes feeding someone else.”*
*”For Gods sake!”* Edward stared at her as if shed gone mad. *”What someone else? She can barely walk!”*
*”Barely walk?”* Helen frowned. *”She seems quite spry to me.”*
*”Youre imagining things.”*
A week later, her gold earrings went missing. Shed left them on the dressernow they were gone.
*”Ed,”* she said that evening, *”my earrings are missing. The gold ones with stones.”*
*”Maybe you moved them?”*
*”Ive looked everywhere. Theyre gone.”*
His face darkened. *”What are you implying?”*
*”Just stating a fact.”*
He paced angrily. *”If youre accusing my mother, I wont allow it. Shes suffered enough guiltand now you call her a thief?”*
*”Im not accusing anyone,”* Helen said evenly. *”But theyve disappeared since she arrived.”*
*”You probably lost them,”* he muttered, storming out.
But Helen knew better.
The next day, their downstairs neighbour knocked.
*”Helen, I dont know how to say this,”* she hesitated. *”This morning, I saw that womanyour guestleaving with a man. Mid-thirties, unsavoury-looking. She handed him something in a bag.”*
Helens stomach dropped.
When Edward returned, she
