Prince Harry and Meghan Markle are proud parents of two beautiful children who were recently given the right to carry royal titles, that of a prince and a princess.
They welcomed their first child, Archie, while they were still working royals. The little one was born at The Portland Hospital in London on May 6, 2019. However, even before he was welcomed into the world, Archie found himself in a middle of a controversy when his parents gave Oprah an interview during which they revealed that a senior royal questioned his color.
When Archie was born, Harry wasn’t much interested in revealing details surrounding the birth of the baby. However, he was forced into sharing with the people that Archie arrived into the world due to the breach of the “unwritten contract between the royals and the public.”
Harry and Meghan posed with him in front of the Portland Hospital in London, where he was born, as is the tradition.
“Today The Duke and Duchess of Sussex are delighted to shаrе their first public moment as a family,” the Sussexes wrote.
Although both Prince Harry and Prince William, as well as many other members of the royal family, including William’s children, were born at St Mary’s Hospital, the Sussexes chose not to give birth to Archie there.
“He and Meghan were thrilled to be safely delivered of their son in London’s private Portland hospital even before the palace press office had confirmed the duchess was in labor.”
In her book The New Royals: Queen Elizabeth’s Legacy and the Future of the Crown, author Katie Nicholl described Harry as “almost morbidly obsessed” with keeping Archie’s birth as secretive as possible.
“Behind the scenes, matters were so fraught that more than one official — as I know from personal experience — was reduced to tears of frustration and despair,” Rebecca English, royal editor of the Daily Mail, added.
Now, with the family residing in the States, they don’t need to worry about cameras or paparazzi photographers that much, nor they are forced to post photos of their children on their birthdays, as it is with the royal family’s tradition.
They also shаrеd photos of the little one meeting his great-grandma, Queen Elizabeth, for the first time.
Later, as Archie grew a bit, Harry and Meghan took a trip to South Africa where they met Archbishop Desmond Tutu. “Thank you Archbishop Tutu for your incredibly warm hospitality, Archie loved meeting you!” they wrote on Instagram along with a series of photos of their son.
Except for that, they have tried keeping both their children out of the spotlight as much as possible.
However, that changed when the Netflix documentary about Harry and Meghan, consisting of six episodes, aired.
In the documentary series, Meghan explained how she was anxious about what might happen the day her baby boy was born.
“There was already the pressure of the picture on the steps. … But I had been really worried going into that labor because I’m older, I didn’t know if I’d have to have a c-section, and I had a very longstanding relationship with my doctor, and that’s who I trusted with my pregnancy,” she said.
On Sunday, June 6, 2021, the Sussexes welcomed their baby daughter, Lilibet Diana. The couple were eager to pay tribute to Lili’s great-grandmother, Queen Elizabeth II whose nickname as a child was Lilibet, and her grandmother, Princess Diana.
However, experts claimed at the time that the Queen wasn’t happy with the choice of the name. Further, they claimed choosing that name was “disrespectful.”
“Even naming this child sparked a diplomatic scuffle. Hating even to think about the admittedly labyrinthine rules of protocol that surrounded the British royal family, Meghan, and Harry called her Lilibet, apparently in the belief that it would be a wonderful surprise for her great-grandmother, Queen Elizabeth,” royal expert Tom Quinn wrote in his book Gilded Youth An Intimate History of Growing Up in the Royal Family.
“That Harry did not have the sense to predict that this would cause trouble is beyond belief. He surely would have known that appropriating the monarch’s beloved childhood nickname would be perceived by many as disrespectful and intrusive in a way that naming their daughter Elizabeth would have not been.”
\
“The Queen may well have been upset that her grandson and his family laid claim to the intimate nickname that had always been very much part of the Queen’s private life, but it is perhaps more likеly that the flunkeys who surround the monarch and some of the starchier older royals were irritated by what they saw as a presumption.”
Before Lili was born, Meghan fell pregnant in 2020, but she suffered miscarriage.
At one point, Meghan opened up about the heartbreak she and Prince Harry experienced after losing the baby.
She shаrеd a powerful essay on grief after miscarriage written for The New York Times, The Losses We Share, which touched many.
“Losing a child means carrying an almost unbearable grief, experienced by many but talked about by few,” the 39-year-old Duchess explained.
“I felt a sharp cramp. I dropped to the floor with him in my arms, humming a lullaby to keep us both calm, the cheerful tune a stark contrast to my sense that something was not right.
“I knew, as I clutched my firstborn child, that I was losing my second.
“Hours later, I lay in a hospital bed, holding my husband’s hand. I felt the clamminess of his palm and kissed his knuckles, wet from both our tears. Staring at the cold white walls, my eyes glazed over. I tried to imagine how we’d heal.”
Even today, when the anniversary of her miscarriage approaches, Meghan feels the same pain.
“She feels so blessed to have Archie and Lili and the family she and Harry have created. But naturally, as the anniversary of her miscarriage approaches, she does have sadness. The date is very poignant for her,” a person close to her told OK!.
“But Meghan is always looking towards the future and is just so grateful for the happiness she has in her life with Harry and the kids.”
She wants her children to understand that “mummies work as well.” At the same time, “Her family life will always come first, she will fit work in around the children’s schedules so she is there for them when they need her and she just wants to make the most of and cherish every moment with them as they grow up,” the source explained.
Meghan doesn’t want to be away from her children for a longer period of time and that is one of the reasons why she and Harry made a decision to take their children with them when traveling abroad in the future.
“Meghan doesn’t likе being away from her children as she doesn’t want to miss a thing with them growing up so fast,” a source told OK!.
“With Lili turning three, it’s really got Meghan and Harry thinking about their future and how quickly the children are growing up. Meghan especially feels that her babies are no longer babies, and likе most mums, it makes her slightly sad and wistful that the baby years have come to an end.”
Please SHARE this article with your family and friends on Facebook.
My 16-Year-Old Son Went to Stay with His Grandmother for the Summer – One Day, I Got a Call from Her
When my 16-year-old son offered to spend the summer taking care of his disabled grandmother, I thought he’d finally turned a corner. But one night, a terrifying call from my mother shattered that hope.
“Please, come save me from him!” my mother’s voice whispered through the phone, barely a breath.
A scared elderly woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney
Her words were sharp with fear, a tone I’d never heard from her. My stomach knotted. Before I could respond, the line went dead.
I stared at my phone, disbelief mixing with shock. My strong, fiercely independent mother was scared. And I knew exactly who “him” was.
An angry woman | Source: Pexels
My son had always been a handful, but lately, he’d crossed new lines. At sixteen, he was testing every boundary he could find. Rebellious, headstrong, a walking storm of attitude and defiance.
I remembered him coming home from school, slinging his backpack down with a certain grin that I didn’t recognize. “I was thinking about going to Grandma’s this summer,” he’d said. “I mean, you’re always saying she could use more company. I could keep an eye on her.”
A smiling teenager | Source: Pexels
My first reaction was surprise and a little pride. Maybe he was turning over a new leaf, becoming responsible. But looking back now, as I sped down the darkening highway, his words nagged at me in a way they hadn’t before.
I’d blinked, surprised. “You… want to go stay with Grandma? You usually can’t wait to get out of there.”
A shocked woman | Source: Pexels
“I’ll help take care of her,” he’d said. “You could even let the caregiver go, Mom. Save some money, you know?”
The more I drove, the more pieces of our recent conversations slipped into place in my mind, forming a picture I didn’t like.
“People change,” he’d shrugged with a strange smile. Then he looked up at me with a half-smile. “I mean, I’m almost a man now, right?”
A smiling teenage boy with a phone | Source: Pexels
I’d brushed it off then, thinking maybe he was finally growing up. But now, that smile felt… off. Not warm or genuine, but like he was playing a part.
As I drove, I remembered other details, things I’d dismissed at the time. A week into his stay, I’d called, wanting to check on my mother directly. He’d answered, cheerful but too fast, like he was steering the call. “Hey, Mom! Grandma’s asleep. She said she’s too tired to talk tonight, but I’ll tell her you called.”
A concerned woman on her phone | Source: Freepik
Why didn’t I push harder?
My mind raced back to how it all began. It had been just the two of us since his father left when he was two. I’d tried to give him what he needed to stay grounded. But since he hit his teenage years, the small cracks had started widening.
An angry teenage boy | Source: Freepik
The only person who seemed to get through to him now and then was my mother. She had a way of disarming him, though even she admitted he was “testing her patience.”
I dialed my mother’s number again, willing her to pick up. My thumb tapped the screen anxiously, but still, nothing.
The sky darkened as the houses became sparse, her rural neighborhood just up ahead. With every mile, my mind replayed his too-smooth excuses, his charming act.
A woman on her phone in her car | Source: Freepik
As I pulled up to my mother’s house, a chill ran through me. Her lawn, once so tidy, was now overgrown, weeds tangling around the porch steps. The shutters had peeling paint, and the lights were off, as though no one had been home in weeks.
I stepped out of the car, feeling disbelief twisting into a sick anger. Beer bottles and crushed soda cans littered the porch. I could even smell cigarette smoke drifting out through the open window.
A littered porch | Source: Midjourney
My hands shook as I reached for the door, pushing it open.
And there, right in front of me, was chaos.
Strangers filled the living room laughing, drinking, shouting over the music. Half of them looked old enough to be college kids, others barely looked out of high school. My heart twisted, a mixture of fury and heartache flooding through me.
A furious woman | Source: Pexels
“Where is he?” I whispered, scanning the crowd, disbelief giving way to a focused rage. I shouldered through people, calling his name. “Excuse me! Move!”
A girl sprawled on the couch glanced up at me, blinking lazily. “Hey, lady, chill out. We’re just having fun,” she slurred, waving a bottle in my direction.
“Where’s my mother?” I snapped, barely able to hold back the edge in my voice.
A shouting woman | Source: Pexels
The girl just shrugged, unconcerned. “Dunno. Haven’t seen any old lady here.”
Ignoring her, I continued through the packed room, shouting my son’s name over the blaring music. I looked from face to face, my heart pounding faster with every step. Every second that passed made the house feel more like a stranger’s, more like a place my mother would never allow, let alone live in.
Teenagers partying | Source: Pexels
“Mom!” I called, my voice desperate as I reached the end of the hall, near her bedroom door. It was closed, the handle faintly scratched, as though it’d been opened and closed a hundred times in the last hour alone.
I knocked hard, heart racing. “Mom? Are you in there? It’s me!”
A weak, trembling voice replied, barely audible over the noise. “I’m here. Please—just get me out.”
A woman knocking frantically into the closed door | Source: Midjourney
I felt a wave of relief and horror as I fumbled with the handle and threw the door open. There she was, sitting on the bed, her face pale and drawn, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. Her hair was mussed, and I could see dark circles under her eyes.
“Oh, Mom…” I crossed the room in a heartbeat, falling to my knees beside her and wrapping my arms around her.
An elderly woman covering her ears | Source: Freepik
Her hand, frail but steady, clutched mine. “He started with just a few friends,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “But when I told him to stop, he got angry. He… he said I was just getting in the way.” Her voice wavered. “He started locking me in here. Said I was… ruining his fun.”
A sickening wave of anger surged through me. I’d been blind, foolish enough to believe my son’s promise to “help out.” I took a shaky breath, stroking her hand. “I’m going to fix this, Mom. I swear.”
An elderly woman in her bedroom | Source: Freepik
She nodded, gripping my hand, her own fingers cold and trembling. “You have to.”
I walked back to the living room, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt. And there was my son, leaning against the wall, laughing with a group of older kids.
When he looked up and saw me, his face went pale.
“Mom? What… what are you doing here?”
A shocked teenage boy | Source: Freepik
“What am I doing here?” I echoed, my voice steady with a calm I didn’t feel. “What are you doing here? Look around! Look at what you’ve done to your grandmother’s home!”
He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but I saw his mask slipping. “It’s just a party. You don’t have to freak out.”
“Get everyone out of here. Now.” My voice was steel, and this time, it cut through the noise. The whole room seemed to freeze. “I’m calling the police if this house isn’t empty in the next two minutes.”
A furious woman | Source: Freepik
One by one, the partiers shuffled out, murmuring and stumbling toward the door. The house cleared out, leaving only broken furniture, empty bottles, and my son, who now stood alone in the wreckage he’d made.
When the last guest was gone, I turned to him. “I trusted you. Your grandmother trusted you. And this is how you repay her? This is what you thought ‘helping’ looked like?”
A woman confronting her son | Source: Midjourney
He shrugged, a defensive sneer twisting his face. “She didn’t need the space. You’re always on my case, Mom. I just wanted some freedom!”
“Freedom?” My voice shook with disbelief. “You’re going to learn what responsibility is.” I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of each word. “You’re going to a summer camp with strict rules, and I’m selling your electronics, everything valuable, to pay for the damage. You don’t get a single ‘freedom’ until you earn it.”
An angry woman in her living room | Source: Midjourney
“What?” His bravado faltered, fear flickering in his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am,” I said, voice colder than I’d ever heard it. “And if you don’t change, you’re out of the house when you turn eighteen. I’m done with excuses.”
The next day, I sent him off to camp. His protests, his anger all faded as the summer passed, and for the first time, he was forced to face the consequences.
A teenage boy in a camp | Source: Pexels
As I repaired my mother’s house that summer, I felt the pieces of our family begin to mend. Bit by bit, room by room, I cleared the broken glass, patched up the walls, and held on to hope that my son would come home a different person.
After that summer, I saw my son start to change. He grew quieter, steadier, spending evenings studying instead of disappearing with friends.
A boy doing his homework | Source: Pexels
Small acts like helping around the house, apologizing without being prompted became routine. Each day, he seemed more aware, more respectful, like he was finally becoming the man I’d hoped for.
Two years later, I watched him walk up my mother’s steps again, head bowed. He was a successful gentleman now, about to graduate school with honors and enroll in a nice college. In his hand was a bouquet, his gaze sincere and soft in a way I’d never seen.
A young man with flowers | Source: Freepik
“I’m sorry, Grandma,” he said, his voice thick with regret. I held my breath, watching as the boy I’d fought to raise offered her a piece of his heart.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Leave a Reply