— That’s Igor’s Child…

Thats Toms child

This tale happened not long ago, in a comfortable flat on the fourth floor of a nine-storey building here in Manchester. Living there was an active, semi-retired woman named Susan, a single lady very much set in her ways.

Life offered Susan little in the way of excitement. Everything chugged along like always: her state pension, the few shifts she still worked at the local private clinic, phone calls with friends, weekend trips down to London to see her grandchildren, and helping her elderly mother, who was still living on her own in Leeds.

That day felt much like any other. Susan called her mum first thing, checked in on how she was feeling. Just another ordinary day off duty; she did a twenty-four hour shift every four days at the clinic, handling call-ins and appointments, then rested up at home. Her steady routine often left her sighing more often than not, and rolling her eyes at the repetitivenessespecially the daily trek to see her mother. Walking there wasnt much, really, just two streets away, and cooking was never an effortbesides, her mother always had leftovers from the evening before; yesterday it had been shepherds pie and a generous slice of Victoria sponge. The biggest challenge was the fifth floor up the stairs, since the building didnt have a lift. That climb alone made Susan groan!

Then, every visit, shed brace herself for her mothers running commentary on each and every ache, pain, and niggle, all drawn out like a tragic serial. Her mums many diagnoses, as reinterpreted repeatedly (helped along by Dr. Hilary on morning telly and suggestions from the ever-wise Mrs. Greenwood next door), rarely required action, and mostly required patience. Susans advicedespite her nearly forty years experience as a theatre nurse in Salford Royalwas always dismissed as naive or irrelevant.

What do you know? Now, if youd brought the right scalpel

Today, shed have to pick up some groceries on her wayfamiliar bread and butter her mother preferred. While tying up her rubbish bag and checking her reflection, she smiled at how well shed agedjust the faintest lines around her eyes, a lovely, neat silver bob, striking earrings, and cheeks only slightly sunken. Not bad for sixty-plus, she thought, lining her lips in the mirror.

Just then, the intercom buzzed. Who could it be? Maybe Mrs. Watson from next doorshe would sometimes stop by for tea. Lipstick in hand, Susan answered the door.

Before her stood a young, fair-haired girl with a ponytail, decked out in a striped t-shirt and jeans, a backpack slung over one shoulder. Only later would Susan realise shed missed many detailsright then, she noticed just the anxious look on the girls face and the baby bundled in brown in her arms.

Narrowed eyes, tense jaw, a quick step forward, the bundle pushed into Susans hands with a hurried,

This is for you!

Susan took the child automatically, lipstick still in hand. Then she felt the babys weighta living child! When she looked up, the girl was already half down the stairs.

Its Toms child. I need to get to my studies the girl called, her feet thudding quickly down.

The door clattered below. And that was it.

Susan lingered on the landing, dazed, expecting the girl to rush back at any moment. She sighed, glancing at the rubbish shed set aside, thinking absurdly, Dont forget that bag on your way to mums.

There was also a strangers carrier bag in the hallshe hadnt noticed the girl leave it behind.

Goodness, she thought, this this is a real baby! And what had the girl said? Was it really Toms?

Susan settled the child gently on her sofa, unwrapped the blanketa tiny girl, in a beige cotton suit, pacifier shaped like a frog. No more than a month old.

There, there, little one she soothed, stroking the babys head as the girl dozed off again.

The answers, Susan supposed, might lie in that bag. She rummaged aroundtwo bottles, a tin of formula, a pack of nappies, and a change of clothes.

Still, in her mind, she was certain that any moment now, the doorbell would ring, the girl would return, collect her child, apologise, and Susan could get on with the usual business: the rubbish bag, the shop, and visiting Mum.

She even finished her makeup and peered through the curtains, scanning for any sign of the girl. Where had she gone, and what sort of nonsense was this?

Soon, the little one began to fuss. Susan hovered uncertainlyshould she undress her, feed her? Was she even allowed? Was it any of her business? Rules whirled in her mind as she kept checking the window, hoping, waiting.

In the end, she couldnt ignore the babys cries. Off came the little suit, revealing a clean vest and sleep suit underneath.

Now, at last, the gravity of the situation arrived in full: she, Susan, had been left with someone elses child!

Tom Tom The name rang sharply in her head. Her own son was Edward, and always would be. He lived in Reading with his wife and kidsher grandchildrenand was every inch the family man, totally besotted with his wife. Her late husband had been a Mark, gone these past five years.

None of this made any sense. She gazed again at the dozing babysuch a sweet thingbut was this abandonment? Had her mother left her? Susans muscle memory took over as she deftly changed the nappy, dressed the child, and gently rocked her, all the while boiling water for formula.

Her phone rangit was her mother.

Youre taking awfully long to answer!

Just busy, Mum. Whats up?

Are you at the shop?

Not yet.

I only want the fruit with the red blush, not like last time pear-shaped, soft, you remember?

Ill find them, Mum.

Babies have a knack for turning up at inopportune moments, and this one squirmed and whimpered as Susan juggled phone and feeding instructions, preparing formula with one hand.

Oh, what am I going to do with you? she thought. Edward! Yesif she counted back the months, well, hed been away last August on a business trip to Brighton. Could he have used a false name? Could he have lied?

Her left arm ached with the unfamiliar weightshe was well out of practice. Once, she could carry even a squirming toddler; now, she was nervous, reluctant to call emergency services just yet.

If this was Edwards child The baby did almost resemble her granddaughter, Lucy. But thenwhat a scandal! His wife, Emma, would never forgive him. The thought alone was sickening.

She fed the baby, spellbound by her greedy gulps, overtaken by tender delight. Perhaps she missed these early days more than she realized.

Once the baby was napping, Susan dialled Edwards number, but he was out of reach.

Typical, she grumbled, feeling frustrated and surprisingly alone. Instead, she phoned Emma, asking her to tell Edward to call her as soon as he could.

Is everything all right? Emma asked, concern flickering Should I pass anything on?

No, just need to speak to him, thats all. Please, Emma.

Emma promised she would. Then Susan rang her mother, inventing a sprained ankle for the dayNo, I cant come, Mum. Itll be finetheres still that pie left, and plenty of bread

Mum protested, threatened to come round herself, but Susan reassured her, hung up, then changed into her lounging dress and, sitting beside the baby, finally had time to think.

Her common sense screamed at her to call the authorities or the policenobody would blame her. But fear held her back; after all, what if Edward had made a mistake? Beside that, she hadnt the energy for an evening at the police station, describing every tiny detail. And she couldnt shake the look in the girls eyesa mixture of terror, anger, and hopeless certainty. Susan felt sure the girl hadnt done this lightly.

She needed advice. Who else would she call but her closest friend?

Kate, you wont believe this. Someones left a baby with me!

Kate was unfazed, launching into practical advice like Miss Marple. She promised to come by after work.

Dont panic! Lets get to the bottom of this before you make any calls.

Think I shouldnt ring the police, then?

Not just yet. We need to find Tom.

Which Tom? Susan sighed.

The father, obviously. Surely theres a Tom in your building?

This is Manchester, love. Nine floors, fifty flats. She couldve got the wrong door.

Possibly. Or maybe Edwards slipped up. Get in touch with him too.

Susan spent the rest of the day muddling through each feed and nappy change, seeking advice on parent forums online and over-parenting by the book: a soothing massage, a warm bath, and a gentle lullaby followed. The baby cooed and slept.

Hows your ankle? And youre still not coming round? Mum called again.

Susan, determined the matter would be resolved by morning, promised to visit soon.

Kate arrived after work and immediately started investigating. She scoured the babys things, then began quizzing the neighbourssomething about a letter for Tom, supposedly.

Ive found him! she beamed.

Sssh, shes just drifted off.

Sorry Small babies sleep well. Kate peered in at the crib, waking the baby with her excited whisper. Anyway, its sorted. Theres a Tom, fitting the bill, up on the sixth floor in this block.

I bet she mixed up the flats Kate insisted. Lets get this sorted.

And if he just laughs us off?

Susan, dont you want to know the truth?

Susan didso in the end they bundled up the baby and went upstairs, skipping the lift. Kate knocked confidently.

Whos there? called an elderly voice.

Is Tom in? Kate called back.

A petite, hunched old lady opened the door, scowling, then shuffled off.

Tom! Tom! Someones here for you again

A slightly rumpled, bearded young man emerged.

Hello, are you after the tablet, then?

Tablet? No, its another matterdo you know anything about a child left with my friend? She was told it was Toms baby.

The young man gawked.

A child? Thats not my baby.

Well, you are the only Tom in the building.

I havent got any kids he stammered, bewildered.

But are you sure you havent a girlfriend or, you know, a thing last summer? Susan asked gently.

No. Honestly, the only things Im attached to are online. You must be mistaken. What did she look like?

She didnt say her name, Susan said, a little embarrassed, Sorry, were probably way off.

They started to leave, but Tom called after them.

If I can help Im a blogger, work from home. Maybe we should do a social media postfind the mum or the dad? Could help.

Thank you, but no Susan declined. She still suspected Edward, and by rights, she should be calling 999, not posting online.

Kate rolled her eyes as they descended the stairs.

What a worldbloggers everywhere and no one in the office. Think hes telling the truth?

You can tell hes no roguea homebody, a tech whiz, not a Casanova.

Edward, still unavailable, never called back. Susan reached Emma.

Im sorry, your mum! Its just chaos hereLucys got swimming, James only tells me today hes got a football match tomorrow and I had to sort the kit, ran round town, and Ed rang too. What a day!

If only Emma knewjust how her day had truly gone.

Susan finally made up her mind: shed phone the police tomorrow.

But when she lay down to sleep, the image of the girl hovered in her minddesperate, searching, hopeful. What would happen to the little one if she did call the police?

That night, every babys whimper woke hershe walked her round the room, made up bottles. By morning, both were exhausted, the baby curled under Susans arm, her own eyes heavy.

Mum woke her with a call.

Coming round today?

Looking out the window at the sunny street, then down at the child, Susan replied,

I am, Mum.

Get the pears, dont forget

Children need daylight, Susan told herself, so she fashioned a makeshift sling from a shawl, dressed the baby carefullyher clothes all neat and barely usedthen they strolled to the corner shop, Susan with a secret thrill at not being alone.

But then there was the fifth floor to climb.

Whats this? Mum gawped.

Not what, who. Here, take the groceries, Susan answered, hurrying to lay the baby down and flop onto the sofa.

Whered you get her?

Oh, Susan from number twelve asked me to look after her granddaughter, needed to pop to the salon. An hour or so, she said.

I thought your ankle was bad?

Better today.

Together, they cooed over the baby and, for once, her mother forgot to list her aches and ailments.

Look at that grip! Whats her name?

I didnt askjust took over for an hour, didnt want to pry.

Susan! How can you watch a child and not know her name?

All afternoon, Susan pondered what the babys real name might be, longing to guess the one her mother had chosen.

At home, her phone pingeda text: Edward was finally in range! She sat down, baby in arms, and rang straightaway.

Mum, what are you on about? Ive got my hands full enough! he said after her breathless story.

They said it was Toms baby, and I thought, well, maybe

Mum, Im Edward! You named me yourself. Its someone elses problem. Call the police now, please.

No, its fineI just she was hungry, and we went for a walk. Ill ring soon.

For goodness sake, Mumplease call. This isnt safe.

Dont worry, love. I’ve got Kate helping me anyway.

Susan, of course, didnt listen. The baby needed feeding and a fresh nappyso much to do! But as she worked, the cold realisation hit: shed have to hand the girl over. Where would she end up? Surely not in some crowded childrens ward, not compared to the safety of Susans care.

Butduty called. She had a night shift coming up, and this was seriousa criminal matter, really, harbouring someone elses baby.

She sighed, concluding her chores, tired but strangely content with such a full day. No matter how exhausted, she and the baby fell asleep, nestled together.

A sharp knock woke Susan, and her heart leapt to her throat.

Where is she? Did you hand her over? Why didnt you say something? the nervous young mother demanded, standing wild-eyed in a thin t-shirt and shorts despite the Manchester chill.

I didnt say anything because you dashed off, Susan said, still half-asleep.

You know where she is, dont you? You must! the girls desperate eyes pleaded.

Susan stood aside and let her in.

Shes right here, Susan replied wearily.

Where exactly? Is she ok?

Preciselyshes on the bed, fast asleep.

Once she laid eyes on her daughter, the girl collapsed onto the rug, sobbing deeply, her thin shoulders shaking. Susan fetched water, sweet tea, even chocolate to revive her.

Eventually, haltingly, the girl told her story. Her name was Hannah, her baby, Lily.

It was a classic drama if ever there was: Hannah was a nursing student like Susan had once been herself, new to Manchester from a small Yorkshire village. There was love, last summerwith a local lad named Tom. They met at uni, dated, and hed even promised marriage and the help of his mother. Then, after New Year, Tom simply vanished. His phone was off, friends claimed not to know his new address, and Hannahs own familyher father and stepmotherreacted with anger and shut her out.

She ended up alone, pregnant in a student hostel, barely getting by with a little auntly support. Yet she studied hard, determined to finish her course.

After Lily was born in Manchester, going back to the hostel was out of the question; her friend put her up for a bit. Desperate to pass her exams, she searched for Tom online, only to find photos of another girl in his arms.

Reeling, Hannah remembered Toms promises about help from his mother. In a panic, barely feeling anything, she went running to flat twenty-one and handed Lily off. She spent the rest of the evening revising but couldnt stop crying for her daughter.

Come morning, Hannah contacted Tom via some online comment. Only then did she realise that Toms mother had no idea about Lily at all. That morning she ran back, frantic, half-dressed, to the wrong block of flatshers and Susans buildings looked identical.

I recognised Toms mother from photos, she looked just like you. The same haircut, even Oh, what have I done?

Its foolish to create a masterpiece only to disown it, as the saying goes. I kept thinking, what sort of mother could abandon a child like this? Im glad you came back. Will you take her now to Toms flat?

No I nearly lost my mind in the last day. I didnt sleep, I just searched for Lily with my hands all night and my chest ached. I want to go back to the hostel, at least for nowthen see. Im sorry if Ive caused trouble.

Honestly, I was terrified for my own son. Hes got his own familywhat a scare! And I owe Tom upstairs an apology too, after all that. Susan laughed, recounting their earlier investigation. Even Hannah found herself smiling.

I really ought to apologise, Hannah said, but just look at me.

Stay here tonight, Hannah. It really is just me on my own. My son keeps urging me to get a lodger, anyway.

I couldnt pay rent, sorry. Ill rough it at the hostel, or go to my aunt, if it comes to it.

Stay, Hannah. For at least this monthjust to get back on your feet. Whens your next exam?

The day after tomorrow. But

But Susan would have none of itinsisting she settle in, collect her things, and prepare for her exams. The fridge was stocked, the baby would sleep plenty, and the security of the flat was a luxury Hannah hadnt known in months. Watching her finally doze off, Susan picked up the phone to update Kate.

Not Edwards, not Toms, shes with me, sleeping. Can you believe I nearly called the police? Thank goodness I didnt!

Lily thrivedher mothers milk supply held, and Hannah passed her exams with flying colours. She was soon at Susans side for daily visits to Susans mum, who now took every bit of medical advice from the clever student from Manchester.

Hannah quickly found temp shifts at the local A&E through Susans old contacts, and even began helping Toms grandmother on the sixth floor with her injections. By autumn, shed moved herself and Lily upstairs to look after the old lady, finding not just shelter, but new purpose in her study, her daughter, and her fresh start.

If theres anything life taught me, its that even when routine feels stifling, the unexpected can usher in new connections, new joys, and a sense of purpose. Sometimes, when you open your door, you open your heartand you end up giving, and gaining, far more than you ever planned.