All My Stars

Sarah stood in the kitchen, the comforting hum of the kettle filling the room. Her baby girl, Evie, was snoozing in her bouncer, her tiny hands curled into fists. Outside, the sound of laughter echoed as her stepchildren, Sammy and Mia, played football in the garden. Sarah watched them through the window, her chest tight with a mix of pride and worry.

Sammy was 9, Mia 7. They’d come into Sarah’s life three years ago when she married Tom. Their mum had been absent—emotionally and physically—so Tom had fought for full custody. And though Sarah had stepped into the role of "mum" with an open heart, there was an unspoken gap in their family. She knew Sammy and Mia carried wounds she couldn’t see, wounds left by the neglect they’d endured.

Now, with Evie here, Sarah felt the gap growing heavier. She adored all three of her children. But a nagging voice whispered in her mind whenever she thought of doing something special with Evie.

Take baby yoga, for instance. She’d signed up for a local class, imagining the soft mats, the gentle stretches, the bonding time. But then came the thought: Sammy and Mia never had this. They never had sensory play sessions or baby massage or matching outfits for family photos.

It wasn’t fair.

Sarah cancelled the class.

The same thing happened when she dreamed up family trips. She’d imagined taking Evie to the petting zoo, to soft play, to the beach for her first time seeing the sea. But each time, guilt gripped her. What about Sammy and Mia? They didn’t get these experiences as toddlers. How can I give Evie what they didn’t have?

One evening, after the kids had gone to bed, Sarah finally broke down. She told Tom everything—the guilt, the constant weighing of fairness, the fear of making Jack and Mia feel different.

Tom took her hands. “Sarah, you can’t live like this,” he said gently. “The kids don’t need everything to be equal. They need everything to be full of love. And you’ve given them that. All of them.”

“But what if Sammy and Mia think I love Evie more?” she whispered.

Tom shook his head. “They won’t. Because you show them, every day, that they’re just as much yours as Evie is. You didn’t miss their early years, Sarah. You’ve been here, making their now better. And that matters more than trying to rewrite the past.”

The next weekend, Sarah piled all three kids into the car. They went to the petting zoo. Evie babbled at the goats. Sammy led Mia to the duck pond, holding her hand like a protective big brother. By the end of the trip, everyone was laughing, their cheeks flushed from the crisp air.

Later that night, as Sarah tucked Sammy in, he gave her a sleepy smile. “I’m glad you’re our mum,” he murmured, before rolling over and falling into dreams.

Sarah kissed his forehead, her heart swelling. In that moment, the guilt began to ease. They were all her stars, shining in their own ways. And she would love each of them fiercely, in the ways they needed most.