«It’s just a matter of time,» she tells herself.
«Right then. Either you help me strip Vicky of her parental rights, or I walk away, and you lot can sort it out yourselves.»
«Stella, for heaven’s sake! Shes your sister! My daughter!» Her mother clutched her chest, face twisted in distress.
«And what am I? Not your daughter too?» Bitterness laced Stellas voice. «Sometimes I think you dont even see me as a person. Cant you see whats happening? Ive grown to love little Olliehes my world nowand yet you lot Either help me, or Ill do it alone. But I wont let this go.»
Her mother looked away, torn. Her father scowled into his untouched dinner, stabbing at it with his fork. Stella, seeing where things stood, got up and marched to her room.
It was clear. They hadnt chosen her. Not even Ollie.
She packed her thingsthere wasnt muchher chest aching with a grief so deep it threatened to swallow her whole. But she knew this had to be done.
And then came the hardest parttiny hands gripping her legs, a sobbing voice pleading, «Mummy, dont go»
*Mummy.* That word cut deeper every time. Stella knelt, forcing a smile as she wrapped Ollie in her arms.
«Im not leaving *you*, sweetheart,» she whispered. «Im leaving so one day, things will be better for us. Ill come back. For good. Forever.»
Ollie wailed, too young to understand why his auntthe woman he called Mummywas walking away. He clung to her so tightly she couldnt leave until exhaustion finally claimed him. Only then, well past midnight, did she slip out onto the quiet street.
In that moment, she hated Vicky. This was *her* doing.
Vicky had started her reckless streak at sixteenlate nights out, then whole nights «at a friends,» though everyone knew what that meant. Shed stagger home smeared with makeup, sometimes in tears, and their parents would coddle her like she was still a child.
A pregnancy was inevitable. At seventeen, Vicky «got herself knocked up»her wordsby some bloke whose name she couldnt even remember.
Ollie arrived, and almost instantly, Vicky decided motherhood wasnt for her. First, shed leave him overnight. Then she vanished completely.
«Im still young. I wont throw my life away,» she told Stella flatly over the phone when confronted.
So the burden fell to Stella. Granddad barely glanced at Ollie, tossing him the odd toy but nothing more. Grandma tried, but work kept her busy.
Stella was eighteen. She switched to part-time studies, becoming Ollies second mother in every wayeven christening him herself.
It was brutal. Night feeds, snatched sleep, lugging a pram up endless stairs, exams on no rest. She studied when Ollie finally dozed off, juggling housework alongside.
By six months, shed adjusteduntil Vicky slunk back, tearful and repentant.
«Forgive me, I was such an idiot Ill change,» she sniffled.
Everyone believed her. Even Stella *wanted* to. For a month, Vicky played mum, doting on Ollie. Then, once the novelty wore off, she boltedthis time, swiping their mothers jewellery on the way out.
«Shes just struggling,» their mother said weakly. «Shell come round. Give her time.»
Stella stopped believing. Once was chance. Twice? A pattern. Yet what choice did she have? Her parents lived in denial, forever ready to excuse Vicky. But where could *she* go with Ollie?
So she carried on. Studies, nursery runs, doctor visits. Hoping Vicky wouldnt return.
But four years later, there she was againon the doorstep, spinning some sob story about a man whod «used» her.
«Look at you,» Stella scoffed. «Starving, clearly.»
A sharp glare from her mother silenced her. All pity flowed to poor, helpless Vicky.
Then came the worst momentOllie shrinking behind Stella when their grandmother pushed him toward Vicky.
«Go on, love. This is your *real* mummy.»
«I dont *want* her! *Shes* my mummy!» Ollie clung to Stella, wailing.
Her heart shattered.
And history repeated.
Vicky leeched off them for two months, shrugging off job searches.
«Whod hire me with a kid? Im basically on maternity leave,» she told Stella, smirking.
Thengone again. No explanation. Just a social media post with some new, much older bloke.
«Another waster,» Stella thought. Hope died.
Desperate, she confided in her best mate, Nina.
«Easy. Strip her of rights,» Nina said bluntly. «Social servicesll see shes never here. Then you sort it.»
Stella hesitated. «What if they take Ollie?»
«Then wait till she wrecks his head *again*? Shell bleed him dry somedayand wheres *your* life in all this?»
Stella had forgotten she *had* one. Until Liam, a classmate who *knew* about Ollie and still wanted her.
After that talk, she gave him a chance. With him, she felt unburdened.
So when her parents refused to help, she went to him.
«Ive said it beforemove in with me,» Liam said simply.
«But Ollie»
«Well make it work. If hes family to you, hes family to me.»
Something in her thawed.
The next six months were hell. Social workers, paperwork, courses. WorseOllie, waiting, crying.
«Stealing your sisters child!» her mother spat.
«Like she ever *wanted* him,» Stella shot back.
Her parents shut her out. But Liam stayed.
Years later, watching Ollie teach his little sister Lily to kick a football, Liams arm around her, she knewit had been worth it.
Vicky? No word. Not that Stella cared. Some people never change.
Her parents never forgave her. Fine.
*Let them coddle Vicky forever. Ill care for those who need me. The garden gate creaks open, and Lily runs through, grass-stained knees and wild hair, shouting for Daddy. Liam lifts her high, her laughter ringing across the yard. Ollie kicks the ball again, softer now, guiding it gently toward his sister. Stella watches, mug warm in her hands, the autumn sun low and golden. Inside, the kettle whistles. Theres toast burning, just a little, and she smilesthis mess, this noise, this loveits all hers.
