Emily and William divorced when their daughter Lily turned two years old. William simply couldnt bear living with his wife any longer. She was perpetually discontent, seething with angersometimes because he earned too little, other times because he was never home enough and never helped with their child.
William tried desperately to make her happy. Nothing worked. Friends whispered that Emily had postnatal depressionperhaps she needed a doctor, perhaps pills.
But William wasnt convinced. She had never been gentle, even before Lily was born. Now, it was as if shed lost her mind entirely.
He couldnt recall the last time hed seen Emily smile. Even when she was with Lily, her face was twisted with irritation, so much so that William often fought the urge to snatch their daughter away and hide her somewhere safe.
Still, he suggested therapy. The response was a torrent of venom.
*”What, you think Im mad? You think Im some hysterical fool? How could I not be, living with you?!”*
That was the final straw. William filed for divorce. In retaliation, Emily took Lily and vanished to another townno child support, no forwarding address.
William searched for a while, then gave up. He loved Lily, would have been her father gladly. But the thought of facing Emily again, of enduring her vitriol, made him accept defeat.
Emily, meanwhile, festered in bitterness. She blamed William for everythingconvinced hed left her for another woman. That it had nothing to do with her.
And in time, that bitterness poisoned Lilys world.
She was never struck, never outright abusedbut the girl grew up steeped in a kind of quiet cruelty few could fathom.
There were no birthdays in their home. Lily only learned people celebrated them when she started nursery.
*”Mum, guess what? Tommy had a birthday todayeveryone sang for him! And he got a present! Will I get one?”*
*”No. Ridiculous. You didnt do anything worth celebrating. *I* didI gave birth to you. And stop asking. Its a waste of money.”*
They didnt mark Christmas either. At least Father Christmas visited the nursery, so Lily had that one small joy. On Christmas Day itself, they ate plain meals and went to bed as if it were any other night.
Emily despised laughterperhaps because shed forgotten how. When Lily giggled at cartoons, shed snap:
*”Why are you cackling like a fool? Theres nothing funny about it!”*
So Lily learned smiles were wrong. Laughter was wrong. To be good, she had to be solemn, silentjust like her mother.
Whether Emily was ill, no one knew. She refused therapy, called it a con. Life wasnt meant for joy, she believed. Happy people were just empty-headed.
Lily tasted her first sweet at nursery during another childs birthday party. It was glorious.
That night, she dreamed of growing up and buying herself a whole bag of sweets. The thought lit something warm inside herand for once, she let herself smile.
Who knows what would have become of her if shed stayed. Every year, Emily grew more venomous, more consumed by resentment. Even neighbours avoided her, old women muttering prayers as she passed. *Devils in that one,* theyd say. *No soul could be so cruel.*
But rage, it seemed, eroded her body as much as her spirit. Cancer took her. She distrusted doctors, so by the time the ambulance came, it was too late.
A neighbour took Lily in while Emily was hospitalised. Before the end, Emily gave the woman Williams name, his town. Even she, in her own way, cared.
Emily never came back. Lily wasnt told at firstjust left waiting, terrified to ask.
Social services tracked William down. By then, hed been married six months. When they called, he told his wife, Charlotte, he wouldnt abandon his daughter. Hed searched for her oncehed do it again.
Charlotte, kind-hearted, urged him to bring Lily home.
Lily didnt remember him. She braced for worse than shed known.
William arrived with a giant stuffed rabbit and a bag of sweets.
The moment she saw them, something shifted. People who brought sweets couldnt be badFather Christmas brought sweets. No one else ever had.
As Lily clutched the rabbit, the neighbour filled William in.
*”God rest her, but that woman was a piece of work. Never a kind word, never a smile. Poor Lily was scared of her own shadow.”*
Williams chest ached. He should have fought harder. His fear had condemned his daughter to this.
Once the paperwork was done, the funeral over, they left for his home.
*”Your birthdays soon,”* he said gently. *”What would you like?”*
Lily blinked. *”We dont do birthdays. Mum said they were stupid. That I didnt deserve them.”*
Williams breath caught. *”Thats… not true. Birthdays are special.”*
*”Can I have sweets, then?”* she whispered. *”Lots of them?”*
He could only nod, throat too tight to speak.
Later, after Charlotte tucked Lily in, William poured a whiskey, downed it in one.
*”No birthdays,”* he rasped. *”She asked for sweets. Justsweets. What kind of life…?”*
Charlotte held him. *”Dont hate Emily. Life punished her enough.”*
*”I dont hate her. I hate myself. I let myself believe they were fine. And now Ive got a child whos afraid to be happy.”*
Charlotte kissed his temple. *”Then well give her the best birthday ever. For all the ones she missed.”*
They had a week. In that time, Lily learned wondrous thingsthat adults could laugh, that breakfast could be pancakes with syrup, that sweets were always in the cupboard. (*”Just dont eat too many,”* William warned, half-laughing.)
On her birthday, Lily woke to a room full of balloons. Cake for breakfast! Candles to blow out!
Then the fairgroundrides, games, laughter. Seven presentsone for every lost year.
Children adapt quickly to joy. Within a month, Lily laughed freely, hugged without hesitation. (Emily had hated being touched.)
School came. Life softened. Some memories blurredhad it really been so bleak? But she knew one truth: she was lucky.
And a year later, for the first time, she called Charlotte *Mum*. Because, cruel as it felt to admit, she was.
