Shell Make It
Lizzie grew up in an orphanage, surrounded by other children like her and the carers who did their best. Life had never been sweetshe learned early to stand up for herself and for the younger ones. Justice burned in her bones; she couldnt stand bullies. Sometimes she took the hits herself, but she never cried. She knew she was suffering for what was right.
Her name was Elizabeth, but at the orphanage, theyd shortened it to Lizzie. The day she turned eighteen, they sent her out into the worldalone. At least she had a trade: shed trained as a cook and had already been working as a kitchen assistant at a café for a few months. They gave her a room in a shared house, but it was a grim little place, barely fit to live in.
Around that time, shed started seeing Jack, three years older, who worked at the same café as a delivery driver for their van. Before long, they were living together in his one-bed flat, left to him by his late nan.
«Lizzie, just move in with me,» hed said. «This place is a dumpno proper lock, needs fixing up. No point you staying there.» She agreed without hesitation.
Jack seemed solid, more mature. Thats why she liked him. But one evening, when they talked about kids, his voice turned cold.
«Cant stand snotty little brats. Nothing but noise and hassle.»
«Jack,» she said, stunned, «but if its your own childyour flesh and bloodhow can you say that?»
«Whatever. Drop it. I dont like kids, end of,» he snapped, waving her off.
The words stung, but Lizzie pushed the hurt aside. Maybe hed change his mind if they married.
She worked hard at the café, even covering for the head cook, Margaret, when she called in sick with another «migraine.» Everyone knew the real reasonMargaret drank too much and couldnt stop.
«One more slip-up, and youre out,» the manager, Mr. Thompson, warned, though he knew Margaret was good at her job. Regulars praised her cooking.
«Brilliant cook youve got there, Tom,» friends would say.
So Margaret clung to her job, weathering the warnings. She saw how capable Lizzie wasquick, efficient, cooking with heart. Even Mr. Thompson had started watching her closely.
Once, Lizzie overheard him talking to the floor manager.
«If Margaret skips again, shes done. Lizzies young, but shes got talent. Works hard, doesnt slack.»
She didnt catch the restthey walked off.
«Mr. Thompsons noticed me, then,» she thought. «But I feel bad for Margaret. Shes kindjust ruining herself.» She kept the secret, even from Jack.
Time passed. Margaret finally went off the railsmissed a whole week. Lizzie took over, and not a single customer complained. When Margaret stumbled back in, she looked wreckedshaking hands, dark circles under her eyes.
Mr. Thompson marched into the kitchen.
«Margaret. My office. Now.»
She was sacked. Later, he gathered the staff.
«Lizzie, youre head cook from today. Youve got skill. Keep improvingI know you will.» He smiled. «Good luck.»
«Thank you,» she said, nerves prickling under the weight of responsibility.
But she was thrilledbetter pay, and so young to be running a kitchen.
«I wont let him down,» she vowed.
That evening, Jack brought home cheap bubbly.
«Lets toast your promotion,» he smirked. «Well done, Lizzie. Made something of yourself.»
Theyd been together years, but hed never mentioned marriage.
Lizzie worked hard. Mr. Thompson praised her when she deserved itshe had a gift. Three years passed with Jack. He didnt drink much, was usually on the road, never raised a hand to her. They argued, sure, but made up fast. Still, no ring. No talk of it. She wondered sometimes.
«Been together so long maybe if I got pregnant, hed step up.»
But she remembered his words. No kids. So she stayed quietshe was just finding her feet, after all.
Then, one day, she knew. The doctor confirmed it. Small, but growing. She laid a hand on her belly, smiling.
«No family left but now Ill have someone.»
When Jack got home, he saw her glowing.
«Whats got you so happy?»
«Went to the doctor today,» she said softly. «Were having a baby.»
His face darkened. He stared at the floor, voice flat.
«I dont want it. Get rid of it, or get out. I told youno kids. Your choice. Deal with it.»
He never shouted. That was worse. Shed hoped he might softenbut no. His jaw clenched. Then, cruelly:
«Youre a nobody. Orphan. Pregnantwherell you go?»
The next day, after her shift, Lizzie packed her things and left. Back to the shabby room in the shared housenumber thirty-five, the door peeling, the lock flimsy. She shoved it open with her shoulder.
Inside was damp, dusty. The ceiling flaked, dead flies littered the windowsill. A rusty bed, stained sheets. A wobbly table, a broken wardrobe.
She set down her bagclothes, a couple of books, some plates. Her hand rested on her stomach. Still flat, but someone was there.
«Well manage,» she whispered.
Next door, a drunk yelled obscenities. The door slammed. She flinched.
«Welcome home, Lizzie,» she muttered.
The shared kitchen was worsefilthy cooker, ancient fridge, cockroaches by the bin.
Back in her room, she bolted the door. The ache in her chest threatened tearsbut then, sudden freedom.
Jacks words echoed: «Wherell you go?»
Well, here. This room. Hers. Shed make it work.
She rolled up her sleeves. Scrubbed the floors, washed the windows. By evening, the room was clean. The air smelled fresh.
«Right. First, a new lock. Then bedding. Dishes. One step at a time.»
Life slowly settled. Old Pete, the handyman, fitted the lock, cracking jokes all the while.
At the café, a new waiter, Ben, started. He watched Lizzie closely. Everyone knew about the baby.
One night, he walked her home. Out of politeness, she offered tea. He stayed. She saw the way he looked at herthen panicked.
But Ben kept coming. One day, he took her hands.
«Marry me, Lizzie. Youre alone. Im alone. Got an old gran in the country, but no one here. I love you. And your baby.»
She touched her belly.
«Ben»
«Dont. Hell be mine too. I want kidslots of them.»
She thought of Jackcold, selfish. Ben was warmth itself.
When the time came, he drove her to the hospital, waited outside. When their son was born, he raced homenew wallpaper, a cot, a pram.
She came back to balloons, flowers, a room transformed.
Lizzie smiled.
«We made it. She held her son close, breathing in his soft newborn scent, her heart full in a way shed never known. Ben fussed with the bottles, humming off-key, and she laughedreally laughedfor the first time in years. The room was small, the walls thin, but it was warm, and safe, and theirs. Outside, the city buzzed on, indifferent, but in that moment, Lizzie knew shed built something unshakable. She looked at Ben, at her child, and whispered, Were not just making it. Were thriving.
