The scent of shepherd’s pie filled the kitchen as ten-year-old Emily asked, “Mum, who’s this aunt coming?” Catherine smoothed the lace tablecloth. “Your cousin, Louise. Remember Uncle Ted? That’s his daughter.”
“Why hasn’t she ever visited?” Catherine paused, plates clutched. Louise lived just a train ride away in Coventry, yet hadn’t visited once in fifteen years.
“She’s terribly busy working at the bank,” Catherine recovered. “But she’s on leave now and decided to visit.”
Her husband, Thomas, lowered his newspaper, listening. When Emily dashed to her bedroom, he spoke quietly. “Cath, you don’t find it odd? Louise vanishes for years, then suddenly wants to visit?”
“Perhaps she misses family,” Catherine shrugged. “We are relatives.”
Thomas snorted. He remembered Louise as a girl who drifted away after her dad died. Word was she’d married well to some businessman near London.
Promptly at two, the doorbell rang. Catherine had fussed all morning, wearing her best blouse. On the doorstep stood a slim woman near fifty, draped in an expensive coat, her hair perfect. Louise embraced Catherine, but her eyes stayed cool. “Cath! You haven’t changed a bit!” She smelled of posh perfume.
Thomas greeted her, eyeing the designer handbag. “Where’s Emily?” Louise asked.
Emily peeked out shyly. “Oh, what a beauty!” Louise crouched. “How old are you?” “Ten,” Emily whispered. “Big girl! I brought you something.” Louise produced a glittering doll. Emily gasped. “Say?” Catherine prompted. “Thank you, Aunt Louise!”
Dinner conversation stalled initially. Louise spoke of banking, trips abroad, her entrepreneur husband. Catherine felt worse listening; their ordinary life – Thomas an electrician, she a nursery nurse – felt grey against tales of London luxury.
“Remember summers at Gran Flo’s?” Louise set her fork down suddenly. “You were always helping. I had my nose stuck in books.”
“I remember,” Catherine smiled. “You said you’d be a writer.”
“Childish dreams,” Louise sighed. “Life turns out differently. Yet, it means I can help family.”
Thomas stiffened. Here it comes, he thought. Not a social call.
“Help?” Catherine echoed.
“Well, I see you’re… managing. The flat’s tired, needs updating. And Emily’s education? Children in towns like this… opportunities thin.”
Catherine flushed. Louise pretended kindness, but each word stung. “We’re fine,” Thomas stated flatly.
“Naturally,” Louise hurried. “I simply propose… Acquaintances could take Emily. In London. Give her splendid schooling, opportunities! Imagine her future!”
Silence fell. Emily stopped playing.
“Take her… how?” Catherine asked slowly.
“Arrange guardianship. Temporary, naturally. Lovely people, no children. Adore Emily as their own. You’d visit holidays…”
“Have you lost the plot?” Thomas exploded. “Hand our child to strangers?”
“Excellent people!” Louise insisted. “They’ll cover everything! Private schools, languages. They have resources!” Catherine’s hands trembled. Emily looked scared.
“And what do we get?” Thomas asked suspiciously. Louise faltered. “Well… they’ll assist you too. A nicer flat, perhaps…”
“How much?” Thomas clipped.
“For?”
“What’s your payment?”
Louise flushed, avoiding eye contact. “Money? This is about Emily’s welfare!”
“Really?” Thomas stood. “Fifteen years silent. Suddenly bearing gifts? Who are these acquaintances?”
“They… are wealthy. Very.” “Name?” Thomas demanded.
Louise hesitated. “Kravitz. You wouldn’t know them.” Thomas whistled. “Kravitz? Didn’t they just face fraud probes?”
“Nonsense!” Louise snapped. “They’re decent!”
“Decent people buying kids?”
“It’s not buying!” Louise flared. “They offer Emily a future!”
Catherine spoke softly but firmly. “Louise, comprehend your proposal?”
“I propose Emily—”
“You propose I sell my daughter.”
“Outrageous! This is adoption!”
“For payment.”
“Money means nothing!” Louise stood, furious.
“How much were you promised?”
Catherine pressed. Louise glared. “£50,000! For you! A new home!”
“And *you*?”
“Nothing!”
“You lie,” Thomas stated. “The Kravitzes don’t operate gratis.”
Louise snatched her bag. “Refuse if you wish! When Emily asks why you denied her chances…”
“Mum,” Emily whispered, “I don’t want to go. I want to stay.” Catherine hugged her. “You will, darling. Always.”
“Fools,” Louise spat. “Rot in poverty. I expected family to understand.”
“Family?” Thomas echoed. “You skipped Uncle Ted’s funeral!”
“I was busy!”
“Naturally. Money before kin.”
Louise marched out. “Mark my words! Emily could have London schooling!”
“Consider her fate?” Catherine called. “Strangers… Why adopt unless no children? What plans?”
Louise stopped but didn’t turn. “You think ill of folk.”
“You think shallow,” Thomas retorted.
After Louise left, silence lingered. Emily played glumly with the doll. “Dad… what’s guardianship?” “Taking children from parents,” Thomas explained. “Why?” “Sometimes necessary… Sometimes for cash.”
“Are we bad parents?” Emily worried.
Catherine held her tight. “No, love. We love you.”
“Doesn’t Aunt Louise like us?”
Thomas spoke softly. “Aunt Louise values money above folk.”
That evening, sipping tea, Catherine murmured, “Imagine… she truly thought we’d agree.”
“Thought poverty meant selling our girl.”
“What chilled me… she believed it was kindness.”
Thomas nodded. “Money buys consciences.”
“How much were they paying *her*?”
“Doesn’t matter. We stood firm.”
Catherine gazed from the kitchen window, streetlamps lighting their modest street. “Was she right, Tom? Denying Emily chances?”
“Catherine!”
“Think! No funds for proper schools. What life awaits?”
“What’s wrong with ours?”
Catherine pondered. They loved each other. A healthy child. Shelter. Work. Comfortable, not rich.
“Nothing wrong,” she sighed. “Just wanting better.”
“Better meaning raised by strangers? Forgetting us?”
“She wouldn’t…”
“She would,” Thomas insisted. “The wealthy brush off humble roots.”
Catherine leaned into him. “You’re right. What would we do without her?”
“What would *she* do without *us*? She’s our blood.”
Next morning, neighbour Brenda asked at the door. “Saw a posh lady visit?”
“Cousin. From London.”
“Well-off?” “Very.”
“Offered help?” Brenda probed. Catherine scoffed. “Indeed. Wanted our girl.”
“Wanted?”
“Install her with wealthy folks. For cash.”
Brenda gasped. “You? Selling a child?”
“Some buy. Others sell. Middlemen profit.”
“What did you say?”
“What needed saying.”
Brenda shook her head. “What times? Trafficking children!”
Back upstairs, Catherine found Emily drawing. “What is it, darling?”
“Our family,” Emily grinned. “See? You, Dad, me. Our house.” Jagged crayon figures held hands.
As Catherine gazed at the crayon sun shining over their sketched home, she remembered that true riches weren’t measured in pounds but in the warm weight of Emily’s hand in hers.