Their mother sent them to an orphanage right after New Years Day…
The girls cried. They had been raised at home. Whenever their mother was sorting out her love lifewhich she did oftenthe sisters, Emily and Poppy, stayed with their grandmother. But when their grandmother passed away on Boxing Day, their mother sent them away. No, she wasnt irresponsibleshe didnt drink or even smoke. But wasnt it unfair that her ex-husband lived as he pleased while she was left alone to raise two children?
As their mother undid Poppys coat, she muttered, «Stop crying. Its just how things turned outam I to blame? Youll be fine here. Youll thank me later!» Poppy, just three years old, was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. She didnt fully understand what was happening, but the frustration in her mothers eyes and the fear on her older sister Emilys tear-streaked face told her everything was wrong. Their mother hissed, «Dont embarrass me. Im not abandoning you. Once Im settled, Ill come back. Ill fetch you at Easter!» The girls quieted, snifflingtheir mother had promised.
Adjusting to the childrens home was hard, though the carers adored them for their quiet cleverness and the way they clung to each other. Emily, with her serious dark eyes, charmed everyone, while Poppy was a sweet, round-faced little thing. Poppy tugged at Emilys sleeve. «Whens Easter coming? Will Mum take us home then?» Patiently, Emily explained again, «Easters a holiday in spring. Remember how Gran used to paint eggs?» Poppy nodded solemnly, but at the mention of Gran, tiny tears welled up. Emily wished she knew when Easter really was. She asked their carer, Miss Eleanor, who was surprisedmost children counted down to Christmas or birthdays. Still, she gave Emily a small calendar. «See this circled date? Thats Easter. Every number is a day. When I was in school, I used to cross off days till summer break.» So Emily did the same, watching the chain of numbers shrink.
On Easter morning, Poppy ran to Emily, clutching a red egg. «Lily! Lily! Mums coming today! Im so happyare you happy?» Emily could hardly wait either. At first, the waiting was joyful, but after naptime, she felt like crying. Poppys constant whining didnt help. By evening, when it was clear their mother wasnt coming, Emily soothed her sister. «Her bus mustve got stuck. The roads are awfulall the carers say so! Dont cry. Theyll dig it out, and Mum will come tomorrow. Shell stay in the village overnight!» Poppy nodded, swallowing her tears. But their mother never came, though the girls invented new excuses for her every day.
One morning, Emily couldnt find Poppy. The carers explained their mother had taken her. Years later, Emily learned shed been formally relinquished. But luck found hertwo years on, her fathers sister, Aunt Margaret, tracked her down. A kind woman, Aunt Margaret became the mother Emily never had, slowly healing her heart. She tried not to think of her sister or mother, though she knew Poppy had been too young to understand. But still… without her, Emily would never have left…
Years passed. Emily trained as a nurse, married, had a sonthey werent rich, but they were happy. Then, out of nowhere, a letter arrived. From Poppy.
«Dear sister, you probably dont remember me? I only recall your plaits and your checkered slippers. Id love to see you! Weve moved backif you dont mind, may I visit?» Emily frowned. Inviting herself over was odd, but she agreed.
Poppy, in a blue jacket, limped toward her, waving eagerly. Spotting Emily in the station crowd, she hugged her tightly, crying, «The moment I saw you, I knewits my Emily! You believe me?» Emily grumbled, «Still a crybaby,» though her own eyes stung.
Over dinner, Poppy chattered. «Dont blame Mum. Uncle Simon said hed take her with kids when they met. She just didnt dare bring us both. Then they had a son, then a daughterlittle Violet, such a doll! Uncle Simons a brilliant carpenter, always busy. We even go to the seaside sometimes. But in Year 7, a bull gored methank God no one else was hurt. Now I limp… Your pies deliciousmay I have the recipe?»
Emily asked, «Do you work? Study? Have friends? Youre so pretty!»
Poppy flushed. «I was in hospital forever. Cost a fortune… I help at home or with Uncle Simons tools. Mums an accountant at the council. As for friends…» She shrugged. «I limp. But Im used to it.»
Emily convinced Poppy to stay the night, promising to see her off in the morning. The moment Poppys head touched the pillow, she was asleep. Emily glanced at her clothes, neatly folded on the chair. Clean, but threadbare, mended countless timesno nurse would wear such things, let alone to a visit!
At 3 AM, Emily woke her husband, demanding he drive her to Willowbrook. He grumbled but went. She explained on the wayhe scowled at first, then nodded.
Finding her mothers house was easy. Emilys heart pounded as she knocked. Her mother opened the door but didnt recognise herthough older, she was still elegant. «Good morning, Mum. Fancy meeting here,» Emily said. Her mother greeted her like a bothersome neighbour, not a long-lost daughter. «Wheres Poppy? In the shed? Tell her to come inthe kids need breakfast, and its a mess in here. Well, come in, since youre here…»
Emily kept her voice steady. «Poppys staying with me. Pack her things. And money, if you can spare it. Ill get her a job as a carershe can train. That limp needs fixingshes too pretty for it. Understand?»
Her mother jutted her chin. «Get lost, do-gooder. Well fetch Poppy ourselves!»
Emily shook her head. «Her names Poppy, not the girl. Call your cow the girlyoull be milking her now, madam. Want me to gather the whole village? Theyll hear how the upstanding council accountant dumped her kids in care! Think the gossips will forget? Try taking Poppy, and Ill shout it across the country!»
Her mother sneered, slammed the door, but reappeared half an hour later with a thin, stooped man carrying a rucksack. «Im Simon. Heres her things. Give PoppyI always called her Lilymy best. Well send money. Shes been Cinderella long enough. Dont blame your mum too muchlifes complicated.»
Walking back to the car, Emily thought: *Yes, lifes complicated. But is simple any easier? Men who dont drink or stray, women who dont abandon children for a new man, siblings who dont forget each other…*
*Just being decentthats the hardest thing of all. Emily looked at the rucksack, then toward the house one last time. The curtain twitched, but no one came out. She zipped the bag shut, noticing how light it wasfewer clothes than Poppy had arrived with years ago. In the car, she placed it gently on the seat beside her. Her husband reached over, squeezed her hand. Poppy would have a room, a job, a life. Not because it was owed, but because someone finally chose to do what was right. And for the first time in years, Emily let herself crynot for what was lost, but for what might still grow.
