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April 2014

She was a stupid girl in love. That much is clear now. She was so happy on her 18th birthday, wearing a sequin dress and surrounded by friends. Eloise was there, and most of the Bridgertons. Colin was there too. She was determined it would be the night .
He’d drunk too much. She saw it as an advantage. He didn’t resist when she approached him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into a dance.
If he hadn’t been so drunk, he might have been smarter. If he hadn’t been so drunk, she might still have her future. But then, she wouldn’t have the little peanut growing beneath her heart.
Life is all ups and downs, gives and takes.

May 2014

She still remembers, with terrifying clarity, the tone of Colin’s voice when he said to Reg Fife, “It was a mistake. I was too drunk and clearly had no standards that night.”
She should’ve been ready for it. He’d been avoiding her ever since her birthday. But it still broke her.

June 2014

When she finally dares to look at the pregnancy test in her hand, she isn’t surprised by the plus sign staring back at her. She isn’t.
She’s scared, petrified, but not surprised.
It never even crosses her mind to go to him. He made himself clear. She will not beg.

July 2014

Her mother’s fury is immense. She found the test under the mattress, though Penelope would love to know why she was rummaging through her things in the first place. Not that it matters, she’s pregnant at 18, so clearly, she isn’t to be trusted.
Portia rants, the words blurring together, until she starts talking about “setting up an appointment to take care of it.”
That’s when Penelope goes feral, clawing at her mother’s face. She won’t let Portia kill her baby.

July 2014

Packing is quick, five changes of clothes, her jacket, and a pair of hiking boots. She wipes her laptop clean, tosses her phone’s SIM card, and sells the phone for cash. She takes what little remains of her college fund, £5,000, and buries it in a tin can under the willows by the Thames, where she and Eloise used to play. She can’t carry it with her, but she can’t risk leaving it in a bank either.
It’s a beautiful summer morning when she walks out of her home for the last time.

July 2014

The only thing she regrets is Eloise. But she doesn’t dare to confide in her. Eloise would go into crusader mode, confronting Colin and making a spectacle. Or worse, she might accuse Penelope of taking advantage of her brother, of being a gold-digging social climber just like her mother.
It always comes down to one of those two possibilities in Penelope’s mind. So she doesn’t dare. Eloise has no place in the life awaiting her.

July 2014

She has no place to go, no idea how to begin this new, independent life. She needs medical care for the baby, a roof over her head, and a plan, but none of it feels within reach. First night, she ends up on a park bench, hiding in the shrubbery for what little shelter it provides, grateful it wasn't cold but shivering nevertheless. She knows this isn’t sustainable. She needs a better solution.

That solution comes in the form of Emilia Barebrook, who takes her into a domestic violence shelter. Emilia finds her a bed, offers her a steaming bowl of soup, and a hot shower. To Penelope, she feels like a personal saviour, her first lifeline in this storm.

Exhaustion weighs her down, and the moment her head touches the pillow, she collapses into the clean, crisp sheets, letting sleep overtake her completely.

August 2014

She feels like a true villain. She’s taking a bed from some poor woman running away from an abuser. But she’s so lost, so lonely, she doesn’t know what else to do. She can’t let Portia find her and kill her baby. So, in fact, she is running from an abuser. She’s running and trying to save her child.

The bed is firm and uncomfortable, but the sheets are clean, and she’s grateful. All her worldly possessions are now packed into a single backpack. Is it pitiful that everything making her who she is fits into a bag? Yes. But she has no time to dwell on that now.

August 2014:

Emilia is kind to her, genuinely wants to help, but Penelope still doesn’t dare to confide in her.
“Penelope, we both know ‘Debbling’ isn’t your real last name,” Emilia says. She’s right. The name belongs to Alphie, a boy from high school who was always kind to her.
“But you need documents to get support for expecting mothers. This is what we’re going to do...”
In the end, Emilia arranges a set of documents under the name Penelope Debbling. Penelope feels a wave of relief. That night, she burns the last remnants of anything with the name Featherington still left in her bag.

September 2014 

The first time she feels her baby move is while standing in the queue for emergency accommodation at the local council. She’s 22 weeks pregnant, her belly unmistakable, pressing against clothes that are too tight to contain it anymore. She can’t afford new clothes, so she makes do, despite the discomfort.

When her name is finally called, the only thing they can offer her is a filthy motel room. The walls are stained, and the smell of mildew lingers in the air. But she takes it. She has no choice.

As she signs the paperwork, she feels it again, a tiny flutter, like a whisper of wings, deep inside her. For a moment, the motel room doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

October 2014

The first thing she buys for her motel room is ziplock bags, so cockroaches can’t get into her food. Not that she has much food to protect. Just a few crackers, the only thing she can keep down these days. She eats at the shelter for nutrients, but she still worries. What if the baby isn’t getting enough of the good stuff?

She clings to the thought of her upcoming exam in two days.

November 2014

She can see its tiny face, its little legs and fists. She sees her baby sucking its thumb, and she laughs, a real laugh, for the first time in seven months.
Was it fair that the conception of this child ended her life as she knew it? No, probably not. This little bean is coming into the world with a heavy burden, and the thought makes her cry.
But she’ll be there for it.
She will.

November 2014

She wants to cry, but the tears have dried up. Her boss just fired her. She’s too pregnant to keep delivering food by bike, apparently. She knows they’re right, but still, running Uber Eats deliveries was her main source of income. She needs money. Babies are expensive. Clothes, nappies, a crib, everything.

And she has nothing. Her possessions are still reduced to the contents of her one backpack.

December 2014

She’s living off her savings and social care now. No one wants to hire a woman who’s eight months pregnant, so she has no choice. She takes her lunches at the women’s shelter, where Emilia is a pillar of strength for so many.

Penelope envies Emilia’s determination and resilience. She’s not the only one. Emilia is their hero.

December 2014

Her motel room smells of tobacco, no matter how many times Penelope attacks it with cleaning supplies. The stench lingers, stubborn and oppressive. It makes her cry, sob, and wail in frustration. She wants better for her baby, but this is all she has.

Her possessions are now reduced to two backpacks. One holds her things. The other is for the baby.

December 2014

She’s walking through Rye Park when the contractions start, a sharp pulling in her lower abdomen. She heads back to her room and packs. It would be silly to leave her belongings behind; someone would steal them while she’s in the hospital.

She tries calling Emilia, just to hear a voice she trusts, but it’s the weekend, and Emilia doesn’t answer her business line.

With no one to turn to, she slings her two backpacks over her shoulders and takes the subway to the hospital. People stare as each contraction grips her, her face contorting in pain. An older gentleman offers to help her, and she’s grateful, until she notices him ogling her breasts beneath her pregnancy top. She clutches her bags tighter and counts the minutes until she can get off the train.

January  2015 

Aidan Debling is born on January 1st after 34 grueling hours of labor. He arrives with a soft tuft of chestnut hair, just like his father, and pale blue eyes that mirror his mother’s.  

The moment she holds him, all the pain and exhaustion fade away. He’s perfect, and in that instant, he becomes her entire world. 

January  2015

Aidan is four days old, and he doesn’t want to eat. She left the hospital a day ago, and she can barely move from the stitches and strain of delivery. All she wants is to collapse into bed with her son in her arms, but he’s wailing with hunger, and she can’t get him to latch.

She tries everything the nurses taught her. Everything she learned in the maternity course. But nothing works. She’s desperate. She can’t afford formula and wouldn’t know where to get it even if she could.

She prays—pleads—for a miracle. What was the point of having breasts that caused her so much inconvenience throughout her life if they can’t even feed her baby?

It takes six hours. Six hours of tears, frustration, and despair. But finally, Aidan latches and begins to suck. The sensation shoots through her like electricity, soothing her frazzled nerves. For the first time, she feels like she can do this.

May 2015

She qualifies for Universal Credit and Child Benefit, but it’s nowhere near enough. When Aidan is four months old, she has no choice but to find a job. Emilia helps her secure childcare, and Penelope takes a position as a waitress.  

The hours are long and grueling, and the pay is just enough to scrape by. Aidan is going through sleep regression, waking at all hours of the night, and the motel owner has already threatened to kick them out if she doesn’t keep him quiet.  

Exhausted and overwhelmed, she often feels like she’s on the verge of breaking. But when she looks at Aidan, his tiny, trusting face, his soft little hands gripping hers, she finds the strength to keep going. He’s her anchor, the one thing keeping her from drifting away completely. 

May 2015

On her second day as a waitress, the job feels like one disaster after another. She has no experience, no training. Orders are mixed up, drinks spilled. She’s juggling trays with trembling hands when a bubble of panic rises in her throat, threatening to overwhelm her.

Then Genevieve appears, placing a steadying hand between her shoulder blades.
“Breathe, darling. It’s going to be okay. We’ll get you trained in no time.”

Genevieve is a godsend. Her own life is as messy as Penelope’s, but she takes it all with a smile and a chuckle. She teaches Penelope how to hold a tray, how to shorthand orders, and even a little trick for remembering them. She buys Penelope coffee and asks her how she’s doing.

That small act of kindness breaks Penelope. She cries, overwhelmed by the rare feeling of being seen.

September 2015

At eight months old, Aidan is the light of her life. A happy, chubby baby who babbles endlessly, filling the air with his nonsensical sounds. He screams with delight at every little discovery, his joy infectious.  

On their walks, he points at trees, birds, cars, every ordinary thing is a source of wonder to him.  

Watching his delight fills her with a quiet happiness, a reminder that even in her hardest moments, there is still magic in the world through his eyes.

September 2015

October 2015

At last, her application for housing comes through. She’s assigned a small flat in a cheap neighborhood in London. It’s just one room with a bed, a tiny kitchenette, and an even tinier bathroom.

But it’s permanent, and that’s what matters.

Genevieve helps her clean the place. They move Aidan’s crib and highchair from the motel. Penelope has more things now, most of them for Aidan. Markus, the bartender, helps them move in with his old car. He even installs an extra lock on her door for safety.

Genevieve gives her a beautiful quilt for the bed. For the first time, the space feels a little like home.

December 2015

Markus is kind, so one night after her shift, when he kisses her, she doesn’t push him away. But there’s no passion, no spark. Their relationship is purely physical, and she doesn’t know how to end it without making things awkward at work.

When he eventually grows frustrated with her emotional distance, she understands. But she has nothing left to give.

The first time he hits her, she thinks it’s her fault. She doesn’t love him enough. She’s not trying hard enough. So she hides it.

The second time, the bruise is harder to hide. Genevieve notices and steps in. She forces Penelope to quit, helps her change the locks, and calls Emilia.

Emilia, her savior yet again, finds her a new job at a diner. The tips are miserable, but she doesn’t have to pay for nighttime childcare, and no one gropes her while she pours coffee.

  December 2015

Christmas is always hard. She doesn’t have many happy memories of her own family, but she remembers the giant tree at Bridgerton House, adorned with ribbons and glittering ornaments. She remembers how Violet always made sure there was a gift for her under its branches, a small token that made her feel seen.  

She misses Violet. The warmth, the kindness, the sense of belonging that house always seemed to radiate.  

But most of all, she misses Eloise. Always Eloise. 

January 2016

It’s Aidan’s first birthday. The diner is closed for New Year’s Day, giving Penelope a rare day off. She spends the morning in the kitchen, determined to bake a cake. It’s lopsided, unevenly frosted, and overloaded with M&Ms, but a big, bright “1” candle stands proudly on top, and that’s what matters.

Aidan claps his little hands in delight when he sees the M&M explosion. Genevieve arrives soon after, carrying a plush dragon with soft green fabric and a goofy smile that makes Aidan shriek with happiness. They all share the cake, too sweet and too messy, but perfect in its imperfection.

When Aidan finally falls asleep, clutching the dragon tightly, Penelope sits staring at the remnants of their little celebration. Sadness weighs heavily on her chest, a mixture of bitterness and guilt that no amount of giggles could lift.

“Shouldn’t his father be here?” she asks Genevieve, her voice breaking at last. “On his first birthday? Shouldn’t he have his father here with him? I’ll never be able to give him what he can.”

Genevieve pours them each a glass of wine and listens as Penelope finally tells the story. The birthday party. The drunken dance. How stupid she was. The cold treatment and silent avoidance that followed. Colin’s cruel words. She tries to keep it light, throwing in a joke or two, but the pain spills out regardless.

Genevieve doesn’t speak right away. Instead, she takes Penelope’s hand and squeezes it. “He doesn’t need a father to see how much he’s loved. He has you.”

Penelope nods, her eyes overflowing with tears. Aidan’s soft snores fill the quiet room as Penelope crawls into bed next to him, finding comfort in his small, steady breaths.

April 2016

She caves and attempts to stalk Eloise's social media. But most of it is private, so there’s little to uncover beyond a brief mention of Eloise studying at Oxford.  

Then, she stumbles across Colin’s travel Instagram. The first picture she sees takes her breath away, Colin, smiling and tanned, standing on a pristine tropical beach. He’s laughing, carefree, the sun casting golden highlights in his chestnut hair.  

She doesn’t think about him much anymore, not in the same way she used to. But it still hurts. The life he’s living feels like a cruel mockery of her own, a reminder of what was never hers.  

Because, really, he was never hers.

January 2017

Aidan is the spitting image of his father. The chestnut hair, the way his lips curve when something catches his interest, and the way he devours food with almost religious enthusiasm, it’s all Colin.

Sometimes, in the stillness of the night, when she can’t sleep, she listens to Aidan’s tiny snores and strokes his soft hair. Inevitably, her mind drifts to Colin. What would he say if he knew?

But it’s dangerous to think that way, so she pushes the thoughts aside, burying them deep where they can’t hurt her.

Mrs. Smyth next door is an old woman who adores Aidan. She doesn’t have much, no one in the building does, but she’s lonely, and it makes her happy to share an occasional meal with Penelope and Aidan. Sometimes, she even offers to babysit, giving Penelope a rare opportunity to go out with Genevieve.

The first time feels strange. Dressing up feels almost alien. She doesn’t have proper clothes, but Gen brings over some tops, and Penelope manages to look nice. She’s still blonde; some part of her refuses to let her red curls make a comeback. The Featherington red had died with the Featherington name.

They go to a club, get piss-drunk, and end the night eating kebabs in the middle of the street, stumbling home with tears of laughter streaming down their faces. They pass out together on Penelope’s bed, and for a brief moment, life feels a little easier when you have someone to call a friend.

One night, Genevieve stumbles through her door with a swollen eye, a split lip, and a hollow, haunted look in her eyes.  

“He wanted to pimp me out to his friends,” Gen says quietly, her voice trembling. “I said no.”  

Penelope doesn’t say anything. She just pulls her into a tight embrace, holding her as Genevieve cries into her shoulder.  

Aidan shuffles out of his room, rubbing his eyes. When he sees Genevieve, he toddles over and wraps his little arms around her legs. Without a word, he offers her his favorite plush dragon, the one she gave him for his first birthday, holding it out with solemn determination.  

Gen hugs him tightly, and Penelope watches them, her chest tight with unspoken rage and sorrow. Long into the night, as Genevieve finally drifts into an exhausted sleep on her couch, Penelope sits awake, wondering why life has to be so cruel to the kindest people. 

The job at the diner is nice. The clients are all locals, pleasant and familiar. At closing, when there’s leftover food, she’s allowed to take it home, which helps. But it’s not enough to cover everything.  

To make ends meet, she scrapes by in every way she can. She earns small amounts from Swagbucks. She works a temporary data entry job for the local library modernization project. She walks dogs in the neighborhood and takes on cleaning jobs whenever she can find someone to babysit Aidan in the early morning or late at night.  

And sometimes, when sleep doesn’t come, she sits in the quiet of the small hours, cradling a cup of tea, and writes. It’s the only thing that feels entirely hers.

The first article she manages to sell is about herself, about what it’s like to be a young, unemployed, pregnant woman with no support system beyond what the state provides. Writing it is like reopening every wound she’s been trying to ignore. She sheds countless tears putting her story into words.  

The payment isn’t much, barely enough to cover a week’s groceries. But that doesn’t matter. Her article is out there. Published. The first thing she’s ever had published.  

When she shows Genevieve, her friend squeals with pride and insists they celebrate. They go out, dance until the early hours of the morning, and laugh until their ribs ache. For one night, Penelope allows herself to feel proud of what she’s accomplished.

The one time the pull of her old life proves irresistible is when Eloise finishes her undergraduate degree at Oxford. Penelope sneaks into the ceremony, blending into the crowd with oversized sunglasses and her dyed blonde hair.  

She sees them all from afar, the entire Bridgerton brood standing together, beaming with pride. Violet’s joy radiates like sunlight, and even from a distance, Penelope can hear the warm hum of their laughter.  

Her heart tightens painfully in her chest, almost pulling her toward them. For a moment, she imagines stepping forward, revealing herself, and being enveloped by their familiar warmth. But the weight of her choices holds her back.  

Before she can change her mind, she turns and runs, disappearing into the city streets before anyone can see her. 

Aidan is such a serious three-year-old that it breaks her heart sometimes. He laughs, plays, and gets into mischief, just as any child his age should. But his eyes, those pale blue eyes, are always so sad and solemn, far too knowing for someone so young.  

She often wonders why. Why are those eyes the only thing he inherited from her? Why the sadness?  

She doesn’t have an answer, and it keeps her awake at night, watching him sleep and stroking his soft hair, wishing she could take whatever burden he carries and bear it for him.

She’s alone, but not completely lonely. She has Aidan, and she has Gen. They fill her days with love and laughter, but sometimes it isn’t enough. Sometimes, she craves someone’s touch, someone who wants her for more than her friendship or her survival.  

Gen takes her clubbing, and occasionally, she hooks up with someone. She wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, reeking of booze, her makeup smudged, her hair a tangled mess. It’s nothing like the romance she dreamed of as a girl.  

It doesn’t even do a good job of chasing away the loneliness. But it’s all she can get. All she can give.

When COVID hits, everything falls apart. The diner closes, and she’s left without a job. Desperation sets in quickly. Three weeks into the lockdown, and she’s desperate enough to entertain the unthinkable, to call Anthony Bridgerton and ask for help.  

She dwells on it for days, torn between pride, fear and the crushing reality of her situation. While her meagre savings dwindle. She can’t afford her apartment anymore, so she and Gen find a two-bedroom place together. Aidan is overjoyed because Aunt GenGen is now living with them, and his world feels a little brighter with her around.  

But Gen has lost her job too. She’s working on a phone sex gig now, and the noises coming from her room make Penelope blush every time she hears them. To drown out the sounds, Penelope cranks up the volume on the cartoons, hoping Aidan won’t ask about them again. “Is GenGen okay?” he’s started asking, his innocent curiosity making Penelope cringe.

Gen’s phone gig gives her an idea. With her soft, delicate hands, something people, particularly men, have commented on with peculiar interest, she decides to open an OnlyFans account.  

Gen helps her set it up, coaching her through the process. She invests in a tripod and some decent lighting, a small but necessary expense. And somehow, it works. For reasons she doesn’t entirely understand, her hands develop a bill-paying clientele.  

The video of her peeling an English cucumber becomes an unexpected hit, earning her enough money that, for the first time, she feels a sliver of financial stability. That night, she deletes Anthony Bridgerton’s number from her phone, no longer needing the lifeline she’d been too proud to use anyway. 

To celebrate, she and Gen buy a bottle of bourbon and drink themselves silly, laughing until their giggles wake Aidan. The five-year-old appears in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes and informing them in a very serious voice, “Sleep is important at my age.”  

They dissolve into laughter all over again.

After the lockdown ends, it takes some time, but the diner finally reopens, and the owner calls her back. Between her shifts at the diner and her OnlyFans income, she doesn’t have to take on any additional jobs. For the first time in years, she even has moments to herself.  

In those quiet moments, she starts writing again, stories about a blue-eyed boy chasing dragons in a magical kingdom. They quickly become Aidan’s favorite bedtime stories, lulling him to sleep each night with dreams of adventure.  

Somehow, the simple act of committing those tales to paper makes her feel alive again, as though she’s found a piece of herself she thought had been lost forever. It gives her a sense of purpose she hadn’t realized she was missing. 

She meets Derek at the diner. He brings her muffins and tulips, and his gentle persistence wears down her walls. He’s kind, attentive, and sweet, so sweet that when he asks her out, she says yes.  

They see each other for a few months. He treats her well, and by all accounts, he’s a perfect choice. A sensible, reasonable man for a girl in her situation.  

But deep down, she knows she doesn’t love him. She’s with him because he’s safe, because he feels like the right answer to a question she’s never wanted to ask.  

When she ends it, everyone says she’s crazy, throwing away someone so good, so stable. But she knows she’s not.  

Nothing has always been preferable to settling. It’s that refusal to settle that’s shaped her, given her the strength to survive. In the end, she is who she is because of it. 

They fall into a comfortable routine. Aidan starts school and thrives, coming home each day with stories about his classmates and the new things he’s learned. His enthusiasm is infectious, and Penelope feels a sense of pride watching him grow.  

Genevieve, as passionate as ever, lands a job as a personal assistant to a B-list celebrity. It’s not her dream, but she has big plans for the future, and Penelope admires her drive.  

Penelope sells the occasional article to the paper, and each publication feels like a small victory. She’s proud of herself, even if the pay barely adds up. Most of her energy, though, goes into her stories.  

They’re whimsical, heartfelt tales of adventure and courage, often inspired by Aidan. She pours her heart into them, though the idea of publishing them feels like an impossible dream. For now, it’s enough to write, to create something that makes her feel alive and hopeful.

When her article exposing fetishism in modern England is published, and the payment hits her account, she decides to treat herself and Aidan to a weekend in Brighton.  

It’s not a lavish overseas getaway or an exotic holiday, but it doesn’t matter to him. The moment they arrive, Aidan becomes pure excitement, running across the sand with wild abandon and shrieking as the cold water laps at his tiny feet.  

They eat sticky, melting ice creams, walk along the beach collecting seashells, and ride the merry-go-round on the pier. His laughter fills the air, a soundtrack to their perfect day.  

For Penelope, it’s everything. A reminder that joy doesn’t need grandeur, just moments like this, simple, beautiful, and shared. 

Aidan is in the middle of Key Stage 2 when he starts bringing home elaborate art projects, pieces so intricate and creative that even Penelope, with her untrained eye, can tell they’re well beyond his age.  

He also begins talking endlessly about Mr. B, the new art teacher, with an enthusiasm that gladdens her heart. Every day, there’s something new: how Mr. B encouraged him to mix colors, or how he explained perspective in a way that "just made sense."  

It isn’t the best school, not by any stretch. It doesn’t compare to the lavish private schools Penelope herself attended at that age. But seeing someone like Mr. B take the time to instill a love of art in children, even in a public school in a less-than-great neighborhood, makes her feel grateful.  

For the first time in a long while, she feels like Aidan is getting something extraordinary. 

She’s half-annoyed, half-amused by Aidan’s growing obsession with Mr. B, so much so that she finds herself actually looking forward to meeting him at the school’s Christmas exhibit.  

She arrives tired from her shift but buoyed by good news, another one of her articles has been purchased, and she’s already planning what she can afford to buy Aidan for Christmas.  

Aidan pulls her and  practically drags her across the room to the panel where his painting is displayed. He is so excited she can not but laugh. He points with pride at the wall at his painting. Nervous energy is radiating off him.  

When she looks at the painting, she’s taken aback by the vibrant depiction of a snow-covered village, with twinkling lights strung between cottages and tiny carolers singing under a glowing lamp post.

Then, a voice speaks from behind her.  

“Aidan. There you are. Showing off your masterpiece”  

“Mr B.” Aidan chirps “Meet my mum”

The tone is familiar, so familiar that her stomach drops. But she has no time to place it before she turns around and freezes.  

Standing before her is Benedict Bridgerton, and the flicker of recognition in his eyes tells her there is no fooling him.