DO I REMEMBER? I CAN’T FORGET! “Polly, listen… Remember my illegitimate daughter, Anastasia?” My husband spoke in riddles, making me uneasy. “Do I remember? I can’t forget! Why?” I sat down, bracing for bad news. “Well… Anastasia is begging us to take in her daughter—my granddaughter,” he mumbled. “And why on earth should we, Alex? Where’s Anastasia’s husband? Disappeared into thin air?” I was intrigued. “The thing is, Anastasia doesn’t have much time left. She never had a husband. Her mother remarried and lives in America. They’re estranged, and she has no other family. That’s why she’s asking…” Alex couldn’t meet my eyes. “So, what’s your plan?” I had already decided. “Well, I’m asking you, Polly. Whatever you say, that’s what we’ll do,” he finally looked at me. “How convenient. You made mistakes in your youth, and now I’m to shoulder the burden of a stranger’s child? Isn’t that right?” My husband’s feebleness made me furious. “Polly, we’re a family. We should decide together,” Alex pushed back. “Oh, you remembered now! Yet, when you fooled around, did you consult me? I’m your wife!” Tears welled up and I stormed out… In school, I dated a boy named Peter, until a new boy, Alex, arrived and swept me off my feet. I broke up with Peter. Alex noticed me, walked me home, kissed my cheek, and picked flowers for me. A week later, he led me to his bed. I didn’t protest—I fell head over heels for Alex. After we graduated, he went off to serve in the army in another city. We wrote to each other for a year. Then Alex returned on leave. I was overjoyed. He promised we’d marry when he came back for good—already considered me his wife. His sweet words melted me every time, even years later: one loving look from Alex, and I’d melt like chocolate in the sun. Alex went back to the army. I waited, confident I was a betrothed bride. Six months later, a letter arrived: Alex had found “real love” in his garrison town and wasn’t coming back. But I was already carrying Alex’s baby. So much for a wedding—just as my gran warned me. When the time came, I gave birth to my son, Ivan. Peter, my old boyfriend, stepped in to help. Desperate, I accepted. Yes, Peter and I became intimate. I’d long given up hope of seeing Alex again. Then he turned up, surprised to see Peter there. “Can I come in?” Alex asked. “Come on in, since you’re here,” Peter reluctantly allowed. Sensing the tension, Ivan clung to Peter, wailing. “Peter, why don’t you take Ivan for a walk?” I was at a loss. When they left, Alex asked, “Is he your husband?” “What’s it to you? Why are you here?” I was angry and confused. “I missed you. I see you’ve made a life with Peter—you didn’t wait for me. Well, I’ll go—sorry to intrude on your happy family,” he said, heading for the door. “Wait, Alex. Why have you come—just to hurt me? Peter helps me cope with loneliness. He’s been raising your two-year-old son, by the way,” I tried to keep him there. My love for him hadn’t died. “I’ve come back for you, Polly. Will you have me?” Alex asked, hope in his voice. “Come in, dinner’s ready,” my heart leapt—he came back, so he hadn’t forgotten. Why resist? Peter was shoved aside. My Ivan needed his real father. Later, Peter married a lovely woman with two children. A few years passed. Alex could never love Ivan as his own—he was convinced Ivan was Peter’s son. Alex never really cared for Ivan. He always had an eye for the ladies. He was forever chasing after women, easily smitten, just as easily moving on—including some of my own friends. I cried but kept loving him, determined to hold my family together. It was easier for me than for him—the one who loves is always blinded by hope. I never needed to lie or invent excuses; I just loved him. He was my sun. Sometimes I wanted to leave, but then I’d scold myself: Where would I go, who could compare? Besides, Alex would be lost without me. I was wife, lover, and mother to him. Alex lost his own mother at fourteen—she died in her sleep. Maybe that’s why he always looked for lost affection elsewhere. I forgave everything. Once, after a bitter argument, I threw him out. He moved in with his relatives. Months passed—I forgot why we argued—but he didn’t return. At last, I went to his family’s house. His aunt was surprised to see me. “Polly, why do you want Alex? He said you’d divorced—he has a new girlfriend now.” I found out where she lived and paid them a visit. “Hello! Could I see Alex, please?” I asked politely. She just smirked and slammed the door in my face. I left in silence. A year later, Alex came back. By then the girl had given birth to his daughter, Anastasia. To this day, I blame myself for throwing him out—maybe that girl wouldn’t have scooped him up otherwise. I tried harder to please and adore Alex. We never talked about his illegitimate daughter. It seemed if we did, our family would fall apart. We let sleeping dogs lie. After all, what’s one stray child? It happens. I blamed the “temptresses” instead. In time, Alex settled down. Flings ended. He stayed home watching TV. Our son married early, gave us three grandkids. Then, out of nowhere… Anastasia, Alex’s daughter from long ago, reappeared—asking us to take in her daughter. How would I explain a new little girl to Ivan? He never knew about his father’s youthful escapades. In the end, we took legal guardianship of five-year-old Alina. Anastasia passed away, gone at thirty. Graves grow over with grass, but life goes on. Alex spoke to Ivan man-to-man. After hearing his father’s confession, Ivan said, “What’s done is done, you don’t answer to me. But the girl should stay—she’s family.” Alex and I breathed easier. We’d raised a kind son. Now, Alina is sixteen. She adores her Grandpa Alex, whispers secrets to him, calls me Granny, and says she’s my spitting image at her age. I never argue…

DO I REMEMBER? I COULD NEVER FORGET!

Polly, darling, theres something I must tell you Well, do you recall my daughter outside of wedlock, Abigail? My husband, Charles, spoke in riddles as he often did when uncomfortable. My heart immediately filled with dread.

Recall her? I couldnt forget if I tried! Why do you ask? I settled on the old kitchen chair, bracing for trouble.

Well I hardly know how to put this Charles faltered. Abigail is begging me to take in her daughtermy granddaughter.

And why on earth should we do that, Charlie? Wheres Abigails husband? Has he run off to pick apples and never returned? My curiosity got the better of my annoyance.

You see, Abigail hasnt long left She never married. Her mother remarried years back, moved off to America with a foreigner, and she and Abigail havent spoken sincefell out terribly. Theres no one else to look after the girl. Charles looked uneasy, eyes fixed on the floor.

And? Dont keep me waiting, Charles. What do you think we should do? Id already made up my mind.

Thats why Im speaking to you, Polly. Ill do whatever you say. Charles finally looked my way, seeking my approval.

How convenient! I scoffed. You sowed wild oats in your youth, and now Polly must carry anothers burden? Is that it? Resentment prickled at mehis helplessness was infuriating.

We are a family, Polly. Families solve problems together Charles tried to win me over.

Oh, dont be ridiculous. When you were off galavanting with that girl all those years ago, did you think to consult me? Im your wife! Tears pricked my eyes as I stormed off to another room.

Back at school, I used to go out with my classmate, Graham. But when a new boy, Alexander, joined the class, I forgot everyone else. Soon enough, I parted ways with Graham. Alexander took a shine to me, would walk me home, plant warm kisses on my cheek, and sneak flowers from the park beds to give me. Within a week he lured me to bed, and I didnt protest. I fell for Charlie, as I called him then, for life. After we finished school, Alexander was called up for National Service, to a city far away. I wept hopelessly on the railway platform as he left.

We wrote letters for a year. When he came home on leave, I was beside myself with joy, fussing around him, catching every glance. Charles poured on the charm. Hed say:

Polly, when I return next year, well tie the knot! Really, youre already my wife at heart.

After those words, I felt enveloped in love, time and againCharlie would look at me with that sweet, melting gaze, and Id dissolve like butter on toast. He left again, and I pined for him as a fiancée in all but name. Six months later, I received a letterCharlie wrote that we must part, as hed found true love in his garrison town and wouldnt be coming home again.

And there I was, carrying our child. So much for wedding bells! As my gran used to say, Dont trust promises made among blossoms; believe only whats in the storehouse.

Soon enough, I had my son, Jack. It was Graham, my old sweetheart, who stepped in to help. Out of desperation, I accepted. Yes, Graham and I grew close. Id no reason to think Charlie would ever returnhed vanished without a trace.

Then, one day, he appeared at my door. Graham answered, and there was AlexanderCharlieon the doorstep.

May I come in? he asked, eyebrow raised at the scene.

You might as well, since youve darkened our door, Graham replied, clearly reluctant.

Sensing the tension, little Jack began to wail and clung to Grahams trousers.

Graham, please take Jack for a walk, I mumbled, at a loss.

They left. Instantly, Charlie asked, jealousy in his voice, Is he your husband?

Whats it to you? Why are you here? I snapped, not knowing what he wanted.

I missed you, thats why Ive come back. I see youve landed on your feet, Polly. Got a family now. Ill go, sorry to intrude on your domestic bliss. He turned to leave.

Wait, Alexanderwhy have you come? To stir things up? Grahams just been helping me cope. Besides, hes raising your son, whos two now. Even after all this, I still loved him.

Ive come back for you, Polly. Will you have me? Charlies eyes shone with hope.

Come inlets have some lunch, my heart skipped a beat as I felt completely overwhelmed Hed come back; he hadnt forgotten me. Why protest now?

Once more, Graham was sent on his waymy Jack deserved his real father, not someone elses patchwork role. In time, Graham married a lovely woman with two children of her own.

Time rolled on. Charles never managed to love Jack as his own. He always suspected Jack was Grahams son and kept him at arms length. I felt it keenly. Charles was a wanderer, often finding solace in other womens company. He was easily infatuated and just as easily parted. Hed taken up with my friends, my friends friends I cried rivers, but somehow clung to the family wed made.

For me, loving was easier. When you love, you live blissfully unaware. I didnt need to weave lies or invent excusesI simply loved him, and he was still my sun. At times I wanted to stop loving, to leave but Id chide myself at night for such thoughts. Where would I go? Who could ever replace Charlie? Hed be lost without meI was mother, wife, and mistress all rolled into one.

Charles lost his mother at fourteen; she passed away in her sleep. Perhaps thats why he searched for affection in every corner all his life. I forgave him everything, pitied him. Only once did I throw him out after a bitter argumenthe went to stay with family and didnt return for a month. Id forgotten by then what wed argued about, but Charlie stayed away.

Eventually, I had no choice but to go to his relatives for news. His aunt was surprised to see me.

Polly, whatever do you want with Charlie? He said youd divorced. Hes seeing someone new now, you know.

Thanks to her, I learned the address. I visitedshe answered the door, gave me a nasty smirk, and slammed it in my face.

Charlie returned a year later, and by then the girl had borne him a daughter, Abigail. Ive always blamed myself for driving him away. Had I not lost my temper and thrown him out, that girl would never have snapped him up in a moment, and Abigail would not have existed. I became more attentive to Charles from then on, more tender, loving him without restraint.

We never discussed Abigail. The very thought seemed to threaten the collapse of our family. Safer to let sleeping dogs lie, as they say.

So we got onCharles grew tamer, humbler, quieter. Old flames faded away. He spent most evenings glued to the telly at home. Our Jack married early and presented us with three grandchildren. Then, wouldnt you knowAbigail reappeared, after all those years, asking us to take her daughter in.

It gave me pause; how on earth would we explain the sudden arrival of someone elses child to Jack? He never knew about his fathers youthful escapades.

But we took in little Emily, aged just five. Abigails road ended far too soon at thirty. All graves grow green in time, but life carries on.

Charles braced himself and went to have a word with Jack, man to man. Our son listened to his fathers confession and said:

Mum, Dad, whats done is done. Im not your judge. Well take in the girlshes of our own blood.

Charles and I breathed easier that day. Our sonwhat a good-hearted young man.

Now, Emilys sixteen, adores her granddad Charles, tells him everything; she calls me Grandma Polly and insists she looks just like I did as a girl. And honestly, I cant argue with that.