A/N: More of this! Thank you for all of your support already, I know a lot of your brains are already trying to piece things together but I want you all to bare in mind not everything is as it seems...

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1888~

Twenty years is a long time, speaking in terms of a prospective outlook. But once you had encountered the any fails and falls thrown at you over the space of two decades, you found looking back on it- it had all become just one painful blur.

In the beginning, it had been the endless waiting- the guttural hope that one day Jacob would just turn up at your door, whisk you away into his arms and act upon the engagement ring he'd given you- which you kept firmly out of sight of your family.

Then came the endless letters you wrote to him, long nights spent by your oil lamp scrawling madly, like each harsh flick of your fountain pen could bring him back to you.

Jacob, you have to come back- there's something I have to tell you in person, it can't be said over a letter.

Each letter would follow a similar plea, and you would rush out of the house to the letterbox outside the house, posting the letter through with a hasty urgency.

You never once, got a response from Jacob.

And so, as many months passed you by, your (eye colour) eyes witnessing the seasons draw by, the loneliness creeping in increasingly chipping away at any remaining hope you had of ever seeing Jacob again. With each passing second that ticked away from your being, you knew he wasn't going to come back for you, like you had naively believed the day you left London.

Time had worn you out- and the many times you had tried to move on with your life, going to parties and trying to find comfort in a stranger in order to cope with the pressures and shame felt everytime your mother or father looked at you- you still managed to end up back in the same endless lonely cycle that began and ended with sobbing, gut wrenching tears.

At twenty eight you had lost your father to an aggressive battle with cancer, and everyone in the home mourned his loss, and so, that left you to stay and care for your mother- even if she hated the very guts of you, which she would happily tell you often. Most days you wanted to bury her six feet under, but she was your mother- despite everything she had raised you, and you thought it was only right to look after her.

And for another eleven miserable years after your father's passing you catered to your mother's whim, losing every race of yourself in the process- with each sounding of her calling voice for another drink of water or another cup of tea, you felt yourself becoming more and more drained, unable to focus on what you really wanted. Before you knew it, you were aged 39, another reason for your mother to shout and sneer at your lack of accomplishments- despite her condition.

In the first signs of winter, your mother had come down with a hefty Pnuenomia, and in her age she wasn't taking it all too well- condemned to bed, and from the very first Doctor's visit he made it clear your mother was likely to be seized by the illness.

"Thirty nine years of age and nothing to show for it, have you girl?" she snapped with sunken eyes, hacking up a cough as you made up her blankets silently, "Your whole life has been a waste, you should be ashamed of the life you have ruined." she snarled, and by this point after having heard the same barking lectures you had all but become numb to the sharp, knife like words that fell from her tongue.

"I'm dying child," she added, and you could sense she was urging you to look her in the eye, "And admittedly, I think... there are some things you need to know before I pass." she said in a cold tone, her body wheezing slightly with each breath.

"What things...?" you asked, your mind rather fogged with absent boredom that hearing something that sounded slightly curious confused you slightly.

"Do you not want to know about that child you had out of wedlock? What happened to it?" she asked, and your heart practically leapt in your chest. Your baby, after all the years of being ignored and denied on the matter you had cast aside all hope, but this news sparked a new kindling flame- a new hope to be reunited with your child.

"Please, mother." you pressed urgently, sitting on the stool by her bed side, as her grey and dulled eyes flickered slowly over to you, her skin pasty and looing as fragile as a china vase.

She drew in a slow and weak breath, like her very lungs were brittle.

"On that day.... you had a small baby girl," she started, her eyes now looking back up at the ceiling as you searched her expression, "After you fell asleep, me and your father agreed to get the child as far away from you as possible. We sent your daughter to the Berkerly and Fayre Orphanage in London."

A daughter... your darling daughter. This news in mind, you shot upwards, suddenly your mind was rushing frantically with racing thoughts and sketchy plans- of how you had to get to London and try and find the traces of your child.

"What are you doing? You should be with me!" your mother barked, seeing you were clearly about to start your journey, close the ends on the mysterious tale of your stolen baby- who by now, would be a grown young woman.

"I'm sorry mother," you started, shaking your head softly as your eyes filled the bitter tears. Slowly, your almost emotionless (eye colour) eyes cast over the figure of the women who had controlled you your entire life. and seeing what she was reduced to did not upset you or make you mourn- it made you feel the most free you had done since you were just nineteen.

Drawing in a deep breath, a small smile of finally recognising the truth of your own destiny and certain freedom tugged in the corner of your lips, "But you lost me from the moment you decided to deny me my child." you snarled, turning onto your feels and leaving her, shouting herself hoarse in her bedroom- heaving, hacking coughs ensuing as the woman barked out her words on scarcely drawn breaths.

You could barely hear her s you bundled up your things for London, packing yourself a small suitcase and clutching it tight, throwing on your shawl for protection against the dismal pattering rain that speared the country estate outside relentlessly, deciding to walk to the local station, a place that had remained a land mark in your memories.

The dark, looming clouds and biting cold rain didn't deter you- you wanted to walk, time to think, time to process what you were going to do once you got to London.

How you were going to get your daughter back.

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A/N: This was short, but if it's any consolation Jacob will be popping up in the next chapter ;) Yippee! Sorry this was absolute shit, I was trying to just set the myth of the baby straight ahaha :) Love you guys!!!!