“Emily, you’ll spend the evening at Aunt Claire’s today,” Mum said briskly.
“But why? We were supposed to go to art club…” Seven-year-old Emily’s voice trembled with disappointment.
“Your talent isn’t going anywhere!” Julia waved her off. “We’ll go next time. The art club enrolments just started anyway.”
Emily ducked her head, wiping away a tear when her mother wasn’t looking.
She couldn’t understand why Mum came home late every night, why she worked even on Saturdays and Sundays. Emily was used to waiting for her by the window, sketching her portrait. Sometimes, when Mum didn’t come home at all, the little girl would fall asleep clutching the drawing—a picture of a smiling, happy, kind mother who wasn’t really there.
“You want me to be happy, don’t you? And for that, we need a proper family. Wouldn’t you like to have a dad?” Julia asked one evening.
“And then we’d spend evenings and weekends together?” Emily perked up.
“Yes!” Her mother smiled.
“That’s brilliant! Oh, and I also wish you’d get just a tiny bit poorly…”
“What kind of thing is that to say?” Julia snapped. “Don’t you ever think before you speak?”
“D’you remember last year when you were poorly? We drew together, watched cartoons, made crumpets, and drank raspberry tea,” Emily said dreamily. “Those were the best days ever.”
“Don’t be silly, Emily! Grab your bag—off to school with you!”
Soon enough, he appeared—Uncle Michael. At first, Emily eyed the strange man in their house with suspicion. But when her new dad handed her a Barbie doll—one she’d never even dared dream of—she knew he was exactly the father she’d always wanted.
“Wow!” she gasped. “Does she have spare clothes?”
“Of course! Clothes, furniture, the whole set!” Michael grinned, thrilled he’d picked the right gift.
From that moment, Emily understood what a happy life felt like. Uncle Michael, seeing her talent, enrolled her in an art school straight away.
“*You* take her then!” Julia huffed. “I’m too tired from work to fuss over her!”
“Alright,” Michael agreed. “I don’t mind.”
After classes, he and Emily would stroll through the autumn park, sometimes stopping at a café for iced coffee and éclairs. He’d tell her stories about his childhood—how he’d dreamed of being an explorer, gone fishing with his dad, camping with friends…
“Mum, are you happy now? We’ve got a proper family,” Emily asked one day.
“Yes, darling! I’m perfectly happy!” Julia smiled.
“Then why are you still late from work and busy on weekends?”
“Enough!” her mother snapped. “Go to your room!”
“Julia, don’t shout at her! She’s asking a fair question—one I’ve been wondering about too. Instead of explaining, you shut her down!” Michael cut in.
“If you don’t like it, leave!” she yelled.
“Fine, I *will* leave… But I feel sorry for Emily. You don’t make time for her. She’s clever, she’s talented—”
“Not your business! She’s *my* daughter, and I’ll raise her how I like!”
Emily hugged Michael tightly, whispering, “Please don’t go…”
“Grab your things, we’ll be late for class,” he sighed.
One day, Emily came home to find Uncle Michael’s things gone. She hoped it was a mistake—maybe he’d just gone on a trip. But deep down, she knew people didn’t pack *everything* for business trips…
In her room, she found a note:
*”Emily, I’m sorry I had to go. Keep drawing—I know you’ll do amazing things. If life ever gets too hard, call me. You know my mum’s number. Chin up, love. It’ll all work out. —Uncle Michael.”*
Wiping her tears, Emily left for art school. She wouldn’t let him down—he was the only one who’d ever believed in her.
Mum worked late again. Left alone, Emily didn’t despair. She stayed hopeful, just like Uncle Michael said.
“Darling, you want me to be happy, don’t you?” Julia asked one evening.
“I s’pose,” Emily mumbled.
“Well, I’ve met someone wonderful… I think I’m in love.”
“Again? What about Uncle Michael? You loved *him* too,” Emily muttered. “I don’t want anyone else. No strangers in our house.”
“You won’t see him. The thing is… David doesn’t know I have a daughter. You’ll need to stay somewhere else for a bit. Just until I explain—”
“*Where*?” Emily froze. “Aunt Claire’s?”
“No… She can’t take you long-term. You’ll stay at a boarding school. You’ll make friends, show them your drawings. Please understand—I deserve happiness too.”
Emily’s vision swam. She barely heard the rest. Julia rambled about love and fresh starts, but all Emily heard was *boarding school*. She knew only naughty kids got sent away—but she’d *always* obeyed: top marks, cleaning the flat, even making scrambled eggs when Mum worked late. She didn’t understand what she’d done wrong.
Days blurred. Emily sat by the window, sketching the same scene—a family—and waiting for Mum to bring her home.
“Emily, love, you’ve drawn dozens of these,” said kindly old Mrs. Wilkins, the matron. “Who are they, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“My family… And if you look closely, they’re all different. Here we’re in the park, here by the river…”
“Is this your dad and mum?”
“No. Mum and Uncle Michael. He’s lovely. I want to call him, but they won’t let me.”
“Doesn’t he visit?”
“No. He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Don’t fret, pet. Maybe your mum will fetch you soon.”
Emily sighed, gathering her sketches. “Doesn’t matter. When I’m older, I’ll find Uncle Michael,” she told herself firmly.
One rainy afternoon, she was drawing a big, smiling sun when Mrs. Wilkins whispered, “Still here? Everyone’s rehearsing for the Mother’s Day concert…”
“Don’t wanna go.”
Glancing around, the matron winked. “Still need to make that call?”
“*Yes!*”
“Quick then—and not a word to anyone!”
Slipping into the headmaster’s office, Emily dialed the number she’d memorized.
“Hello?” a woman answered.
“Margaret? It’s Emily—remember me?”
“Emily! Of course! How are you, pet?”
“Is Uncle Michael there? I *need* to talk to him!”
“He’s abroad, love. Can I help?”
“I’m at boarding school… I wanted him to know.”
“Oh, sweetheart! I’ll tell him the minute he’s back. We’ll come for you—do you know the address?”
“No…”
“Don’t worry. He’ll find you.”
Mrs. Wilkins gestured—*time’s up*.
“Did you reach him?” she asked after.
“Yes! Thank you!” Emily hugged her.
“Not a peep, mind!”
Days passed. Emily waited, trusting Uncle Michael wouldn’t abandon her. But as time dragged on, hope faded. She stopped drawing, just staring at the ceiling.
“Emily Smith! Visitors!” Mrs. Wilkins called one day.
“Mum? Am I going home?”
“Think it’s your dad and gran.”
Downstairs stood Uncle Michael and Margaret. Emily burst into tears, flinging her arms around him.
“Chin up, remember?” He grinned.
“I thought you weren’t coming!”
“Sorry, poppet. Had to sort things with your mum—legal stuff, custody…”
“Would you like to live with us?” Margaret asked gently.
“And then what? Come back here? Or will Mum take me?”
“You’re *not* staying here. And Julia… well, she’s moved on. Come home with us—for good.” Michael squeezed her hand. “I can’t have kids of my own, but I’d love to be your dad.”
Twelve years later, Katherine was a celebrated artist. For her 20th birthday, Michael gave her a gallery. At the opening, crowds admired her work—until a voice cut through:
“Hello, darling.”
Katherine turned. “*Mum?* What are you doing here?”
“I’m your *mother*! Do I need permission?”
“I don’t have a mother. Just a wonderful dad and gran.”
“They’re *not* your family!” Julia hissed.
“You’re wrong. *You* left me like a stray kitten. Only remembered me when I was successful”You wanted happiness, Mum—but mine didn’t start until you walked away.”