She Returned
— Son…
— I’m not your son. Don’t call me that. My name is Andrew.
— Andrew… Andy… Son!
Mary Elizabeth lifted her head and gazed desperately at the man standing beside her. Her voice was thick with hope, pleading, and despair, but Andrew stood silent, as if her words meant nothing to him.
— I asked you not to call me ‘son’.
— But I’m your mother! Your real mother!
— You remembered that too late.
Andrew looked at the woman sitting on the bench and thought of his childhood. The memories were painful, even though it had been over thirty years since he last saw her. Thirty years! Half a lifetime. He’d thought they’d never meet again, never speak—yet fate had other plans.
Two days ago, Andrew received a call from an unknown number. At first, he ignored it, assuming it was a scammer or another pushy salesman. But something inside told him this call was different.
— Hello? — he answered sharply, all business.
Static and background noise crackled on the line, and Andrew was about to hang up when he heard a hesitant woman’s voice.
— It’s me… hello.
— Who is ‘me’? — he croaked, feeling a lump rise in his throat. — Speak up!
His heart pounded, as if trying to leap out of his chest. The discomfort made him want to end the call immediately, but he clenched the phone tighter instead.
— It’s me… your mum.
Andrew’s vision darkened. His first instinct was to slam the phone down and block the number, but after a deep breath, he managed to respond.
— I don’t have a mother. You’ve got the wrong number.
The words spilled out, raw and uncontrolled. He ended the call and stared at the screen, shoving away the flood of memories. He hoped the short exchange wouldn’t repeat itself—but he was wrong.
The phone buzzed again. His mother was persistent, and now Andrew had no doubt it was her. Mary Elizabeth had always been relentless when she wanted something, and if she’d decided to reach him, she wouldn’t stop until she did.
— I told you everything already, — he snapped, though inside, emotions raged. — Don’t call again.
— Just one meeting! That’s all! Please, just hear me out!
— How did you get my number? — he asked coldly, addressing her formally, as if she were a stranger. And to him, she was—he’d erased her from his life long ago.
— Aunt Maggie gave it to me.
Andrew winced. Of course. His mother had always known how to get her way. Margaret Elizabeth would never have handed over her nephew’s number willingly—but Mary must have wheedled it out of her, just like she always did.
— I don’t want to see you, — he said. — What’s the point?
— It matters to *me*! Just one meeting, son!
Andrew eventually agreed. He knew if he refused, she’d show up at his doorstep, bother his wife, harass his children. Better to waste half an hour than deal with her relentless pursuit.
Mary Elizabeth had vanished when Andrew was nine. For months afterward, he’d waited by Aunt Maggie’s kitchen window, barely eating or playing, convinced his mother would return. His aunt scolded him, tried to make him see sense, but Andrew believed his mother loved him—she *had* to come back.
— She *will*! — he sobbed, tears streaking his face. — She’s my mum! She loves me!
— Andrew, your mother doesn’t love anyone but herself. One day, you’ll understand.
Back then, he’d hated Aunt Maggie, blamed her for his mother’s disappearance. Only years later did he realise how much his aunt had done for him. She’d always told him the truth about Mary, no matter how harsh.
Mary had been striking, confident, and cunning in her youth. She knew her worth and toyed with men effortlessly, granting attention only to the chosen few. One of them was Andrew’s father.
Thomas William was married, with two children, a loving wife, and a high-ranking position. None of that deterred twenty-five-year-old Mary. His wealth and connections made him irresistible, and the thirty-year age gap meant nothing to her.
Thomas, smitten, doted on her—renting her a flat so she could finally move out from her sister’s.
— You can’t build happiness on someone else’s pain, — Margaret warned, but Mary scoffed.
— What do *you* know about life? You lost your husband, and now you act like an expert. Please.
To bind Thomas tighter, Mary took a gamble—she got pregnant. She threatened to end it *and* leave him unless he took decisive action: divorce his wife and marry her.
Thomas agonised, rehearsed the conversation with his wife… then died of a sudden heart attack. The stress had been too much. Mary was left with nothing.
An abortion was too late—it was twenty weeks. She had no choice but to have the baby.
— I *hate* him! — she screamed, biting her lip. Margaret never knew whether she meant the dead man or her unborn son.
Andrew grew up unloved. His mother saw him as a burden, an obstacle to her happiness. She ignored him for days, snapped at every misstep, and often acted like he didn’t exist.
During those silent stretches, Andrew felt invisible. He cried, lost sleep, even pretended to be ill—but nothing worked. Mary didn’t see him.
Then came Victor. Recently divorced, well-off, and eager to marry Mary as soon as he got a flat in the city. He called Andrew ‘boy’, beat him mercilessly, and insisted on ‘proper’ discipline.
— Wake at six, cold shower, exercise. Breakfast at 6:40. Schoolbag ready by seven, out the door by 7:10. School, then football practice.
— I don’t *want* to play football! — Andrew protested—and got slapped.
How he’d loathed Victor! How thrilled he’d been when Mary discovered his affairs. She wailed, cursed him, swore off men forever.
A peaceful year passed—then came Jack Scout. A young academic studying English linguistics, he met Mary at a museum.
Within a week, he was her new beau. A month later, he asked her to move to America with him. She agreed—on one condition: Andrew couldn’t come.
— You’ll give me *my own* child, — Jack said, and Mary agreed without hesitation. Jobs were scarce, money tight—America was a dream come true.
She packed hastily, dumped Andrew at Maggie’s, muttered a vague promise to fetch him in a month or two, and left.
Andrew was nine. He still believed she’d return. No matter how cruel she’d been, she was his mother. She *had* to love him.
But she never came back. Years later, he learned Mary had returned to England after five years, married another wealthy man in London, and lived there ever since. She never asked about her son, and Andrew decided she was dead to him.
— I didn’t exist to her. Let’s keep it that way.
He helped Aunt Maggie, visited often—but Mary’s name was never spoken. When Margaret tried to bring her up, Andrew shut her down.
He married, had two daughters. His wife knew the truth; his girls were told they had no grandmother. Not everyone did. They never asked further.
And now, thirty years later, that forgotten voice was in his ear. He met her two days later, spending the interim reliving a childhood with no warmth, no love. From nine onward, Aunt Maggie had been his family—but she could never replace a mother.
— What do you want from me? — he asked bluntly, staring at the hunched, pitiful woman before him.
— I need help, son, — she rasped, using the forbidden word again. — I’m ill.
Andrew studied her coldly. Nothing remained of her beauty—just a withered woman, her face lined with regrets and hard living. To him, she was nothing. She’d birthed him, but what had she given him? Only the certainty that children should *never* be abandoned.
— I’m sorry, — he said, — but I’m not a doctor.
Mary shook her head.
— You’ve grown hard. I remember a sweet boy who loved me.
— That was thirty years ago. Now I have people who *deserve* my love.
— I’m alone, Andrew, — she whimpered. — My husband died two months ago. His children from his first marriage threw me out. No home, no money, no medicine.
— That’s unfortunate, — he said flatly. — Probably stole another woman’s husband, didn’t you? Tried to build happiness on someone else’s ruin. Maybe this is just karma. But it’s not my problem.
— You *are* cruel, — Mary said with a twisted smile. — Is that any way to treat your mother?
— It is, — he nodded firmly. — For the mother whoHe walked away without looking back, and for the first time in his life, he truly felt free.
