Who Are You With, Little Girl?” I Asked.

“Little one, who are you looking for?” I asked.

A small girl, no older than six, stared up at me with wide eyes. “Im looking for my mum. Have you seen her?”

I hesitated. Id only just moved into this building, and as far as I knew, the flat across from mine had been empty for months.

“No one lives there,” I told her gently.

At that, she burst into tears and slumped onto the stairs.

“Please, miss, we really need her! Dad misses her so much, and shes the only one who can make things right.”

I stood there, helpless. Id never had children of my ownwhat was I supposed to do? Comfort her? Offer her tea? But would she even trust a stranger? Just then, my phone rang. I begged her to stay put and hurried offbut when I returned, she was gone.

The girl haunted me all evening. Eventually, I rang my landlady, Mrs. Whitmore, to ask about my neighbours.

“That flats been empty for years,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“There was a little girl earlier looking for her mother.”

A pause. Then, softly: “Ah. That must have been EmilyKatherines daughter. Poor thing. Katherine passed years ago. Her husband was left with the babycouldnt bear to stay, so they moved. The place has been vacant ever since.”

“You know where they live now, though? If she comes back, I could take her home.”

Mrs. Whitmore gave me the address, and though I meant to follow up, work kept me busy. Weeks passed, and the memory fadeduntil one evening, just before Christmas, I heard a quiet knock and muffled sobs.

I flung the door open. There she was againthe same grey-eyed child, crying.

“Whats wrong? Wheres your dad?”

“At home,” she whispered. “But I need my mum.”

I remembered the address and dashed to find it, this time asking her to wait inside. She perched on the hallway stool, glancing around, while I searched. By the time I found the slip of paper, she was fast asleep, curled up like a kitten. I carried her to the sofa and rang Mrs. Whitmore again.

“Sorry to bother you, but that little girlshes here. She fell asleep before I could take her back. Her father must be frantic.”

“Ill pop round to theirs,” Mrs. Whitmore said. “Stay by the phone.”

As I waited, I smoothed the girls hair, my heart aching. Id always wanted children. Years ago, my husband, George, and I had dreamed of a family.

Id been pregnant twice. The first ended in heartbreakstress, the doctor said. The second, I lost early. After that, no matter how hard we tried, it never happened.

Eventually, George left. I heard he remarried, had a daughter. I cut ties, moved from one rented flat to another. Seven years alone.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. I opened the doorand froze.

“George? How?”

“Im here for Annabelle. Sugar Lane, number five, right?”

I nodded, stunned. “Shes sleeping. Come in.”

We sat at the kitchen table, the kettle boiling. Life had a way of throwing surprises.

“Should I wake her?” George asked.

“Let her rest. Whats going on? She keeps coming here, knocking on that empty flat.”

George rubbed his face. “We lived there once. The flat was Katesher grandmother left it to her. When she got pregnant, I thought I was the luckiest man alive.”

His voice wavered. “Near the end, Kate knew something was wrong. Made me promise to take care of Annabelle. Thencomplications. They couldnt save her.”

“Im so sorry,” I whispered, touching his arm. Tears spilled down his cheeks, years of grief finally breaking free.

A small voice piped up from the living room. “Daddy?”

George rushed to her, scooping her into his arms. “Annie, why did you run off?”

“I just wanted to find Mummy.”

“We will,” he murmured. “But not today. Lets go home.”

He handed me his card. “Call if she turns up here again. We live closeshe knows the way now.”

“But how did she know about this flat?”

George sighed. “I showed her. Had to fetch some things. She saw Kates photos and well. I told her Mummy had gone away but would come back someday.”

They left, but George rang a few days later. Soon, we were spending weekends togetherparks, cafés, cinemas. Annabelle grew attached, even calling me “Mum” once.

One evening, George took my hands. “Irene, move in with us. No more rented flats. Annie misses you. And I” He swallowed. “Ive missed you too. Im sorry for everything.”

Now, were a family. Every day, I thank my lucky stars for this chanceto be a wife, a mother. Annabelle may not be mine by blood, but that doesnt stop me loving her with everything I have.