**Unexpectedly**
«Shout all you want, you little brat! I wish Id never had you!» I heard the drunken yell of the neighbour upstairs before Id even stepped into the building.
«Muuuuum…» A childs wail followed, long and pitiful, and my chest tightened with that familiar ache of helpless pity.
«I said shut up! What more do you want?» bellowed the womanNatalie, her name wasbefore something heavy crashed to the floor.
«Muuuuum…» The crying came again.
I hesitated by my own door, then climbed a few steps toward the noise. Part of me wanted to knock, to offer help, but I held back.
…Id married youngeighteen, and convinced it was love. But marriage wasnt what Id imagined. Within a year, I knew Id made a mistake. My husband often stayed out late, returning in the early hours, reeking of drink.
At first, I put up with it, telling myself things would improve. They didnt. Then came the day I felt like a character in some cheap novelcoming home early to find a blonde in our bathroom.
I didnt make a scene. Just packed a bag and left. He didnt try to stop me. Didnt apologise. I walked the pavement, suitcase in hand, with nowhere to go.
I couldve gone to Mums. Almost rang her, but then stopped. Her little two-bed was crammed with my stepfather and two younger brothers. No room for me. And I had no close friends.
«Fine. A hotel tonight, then a flat tomorrow,» I muttered.
Headlights swept the pavement as a car slowed beside me.
«Need a lift, love?» A mans voicemid-forties, peering from the drivers seat.
«No, no,» I shook my head and quickened my pace.
Raindrops thickened. No open shops in sight.
«Come on, Ill take you wherever,» he tried again.
«Really, Im fine,» I lied.
«Look, youll catch your death. Im a doctortake my word for it.»
Reluctantly, I got in.
«Where to?» he asked.
«I…»
«You dont know, do you?» He eyed my damp bag.
I flushed, staring at my lap.
«Tell you whatcome to mine. Ive got a night shift, so youll have the place to yourself. Im Simon, by the way. Simon Carter.»
«Emily,» I mumbled, cringing at my own awkwardness.
Minutes later, I was wrapped in a blanket on his sofa, sipping tea. True to his word, Simon left for the hospital. The flat was tidy, unmistakably bachelor-like.
I scrolled rental listings, sent a few enquiries. One replied straight away. By morning, Id arranged a viewing.
I woke to the smell of coffee. Simon was back, smiling in the kitchen.
«Morning. Sleep alright?»
«Yes, thanks. Ive found a place to see today.»
«Need any help?»
«Youve done enough,» I said.
«Doctors habit. Coffees getting cold.»
…I took the day off to secure the flata cosy one-bed near work, affordable. Signed the lease, moved in that evening.
The downside emerged days later: Natalie, the neighbour above, whose parties raged till dawn.
«So you bought this place?» another neighbour asked once.
«Renting.»
«Smart. God forbid youre stuck with that one upstairs. Natalie the lush, we call her. Four kids, all different dads. Drinks her benefits, shouts at them all hours.»
«Her husband?»
«Ha! No chance. Older kids are in carenot that it stopped her having another.»
That evening, I stood at Natalies door, heart pounding. Before I could knock, it flew open.
«What dyou want?» she slurred.
«Im your neighbour. Just… wondered if you needed anything.»
«Social worker, are ya?»
«No, Iheard your little boy crying.»
«Little bugger never shuts up. Say, got twenty quid?»
I handed over the cash. She snatched it, slammed the door, and clattered downstairs.
I stepped inside. The flat was a wreck. In the living room, a small boy curled on a chair like a kitten.
«Whore you?» he whispered.
«Emily. Your neighbour.»
«Wheres Mum?»
«Gone shopping. Whats your name?»
«Tom.»
«Hungry?»
He nodded. I dashed to my flat, returned with pasta and biscuits. He wolfed them down.
Through the window, I saw Natalie staggering back.
«Your mums coming. Id better go.»
Toms big grey eyes followed me.
Next evening, ambulances and police cars crowded the street.
«What happened?» I asked the women on the bench.
«Natalies done herself in,» one muttered.
«And the boy?»
«Foster care. Hell manage.»
I sprinted upstairs. An officer blocked my way.
«Relative?»
«Neighbour. Wheres Tom?»
«Care servicesll handle it.»
The social worker was brisk.
«Hell go to a home. No kin willing to take him.»
«Can I?»
«You family?»
«No, but»
«Theoretically, yes. Procedures long.»
«Can I visit him?»
She sighed. «Fine.»
I visited Tom weeklyfirst in temporary care, then the childrens home. We grew close. But adoption wasnt simple. No husband, rented flatmy application was rejected.
Leaving the council office, I nearly collided with someone.
«Emily?»
«Simon! Fancy seeing you here.»
«Local cafés my regular.»
We started dating. He confessed he couldnt have childrennever saw the point in marrying. Before the wedding, I told him about Tom.
Months later, we brought him home. Tom Carter, with a fathers name at last, and parents whod chosen him.
Sometimes, the family you find is stronger than the one youre born into.
