He waited for her every day, until he finally understood she wasn’t coming.
“Tom, have you decided what you’re doing this summer?” Emma perched on the edge of the desk, crossing her legs and lacing her fingers over her knee, clad in tight jeans. “Are you even listening?”
“Mhm,” Thomas murmured, eyes fixed on his laptop screen.
“What are you reading?” She swung her foot impatiently.
But Thomas couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He read the message over and over, biting his lip.
“I can leave if you’re not interested,” Emma huffed, her lips pursed in annoyance. “Should I go?”
She’d spent all morning in front of the mirror—smudged eyeliner just right, skinny jeans, a white T-shirt with bold black letters across the back: *Don’t worry, be happy!* Just how he liked it. And he hadn’t even glanced at her. Emma slid off the desk and swayed toward the door, pausing for a moment to look back. Thomas remained absorbed in his laptop, oblivious.
“I’m leaving!” Her voice carried a warning, a silent *you’ll regret this.* She gripped the doorknob, casting one last look at his turned back.
“Fine, then.” Emma tossed her long blonde hair and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
She descended the dorm stairs slowly, half expecting Tom to chase after her, to drag her back. When nothing happened, she bolted down the rest, biting her lip in frustration. She flew past the porter and burst into the warm, bright sunlight outside.
Thomas hadn’t even noticed her presence, let alone her departure. His eyes were locked on the message, studying the smiling profile picture. It was her—his mother. Changed, her once-vibrant beauty now smothered beneath too much makeup. But it was her. And yet, he could hardly remember her face.
Fifteen years ago, he’d thought she was the most beautiful mother in the world. Maybe she hadn’t been the warmest, not the kind he’d yearned for at five years old, but he’d loved her desperately. Her face had faded from memory, but he remembered every detail of their last day together.
She’d stood before the mirror, tall and slender in a tight blue dress. The bristles of her brush whispered through her glossy hair before she tossed it back, set the brush down, and looked down at him.
That morning had been different. She didn’t rush him, didn’t snap at him to hurry so they wouldn’t be late. No insults, no impatience. The silence gnawed at him.
He wanted to ask why she was dressed up—weren’t they going to nursery? But she turned back to the mirror, smoothing her dress.
“Ready?” Her voice wavered.
“Are we going to nursery?”
“Yes. Just a different one.”
He blinked in surprise.
“It has to be this way,” she said firmly. “Come on.”
She didn’t look back, didn’t scold him the way she usually did. The unease in his chest grew.
They drove for ages. The tall brick houses gave way to smaller ones, then cottages with bus stops flanked by green shelters. The car stopped outside tall iron gates leading to a large three-story building. *This doesn’t look like nursery,* Thomas thought.
They walked up the path to the entrance, past a blue plaque instead of the red one outside his old nursery. He couldn’t read then—if he could, he’d have known it wasn’t a nursery at all.
The corridor smelled of porridge. “Where are the children?” he wanted to ask, but then they stepped into an office lined with files.
“Hello, Thomas Parker,” said an elderly woman. Her gaze was assessing, pitying.
“I think you’ve had time to say goodbye. You can go now,” she told his mother.
“Come along. I’ll introduce you to the others.” Her grip was dry and unyielding.
Thomas wrenched free and bolted into the hallway. His mother was already gone—only the faintest trace of her perfume lingered. He would’ve followed the scent, but the woman seized his wrist and dragged him away.
“Mum! Mum! Let me go!” He thrashed, realizing the truth—she’d abandoned him here.
The loneliness was suffocating.
He ignored the toys and the curious stares of other children. All day, he stood by the window, waiting for her to reappear.
He waited for years, until at ten, he finally accepted she wasn’t coming. Her face blurred; the memory of her perfume faded.
He studied hard—for her. Maybe she’d return, and he didn’t want to disappoint her. He was the only one from the home to make it to uni, earning a dorm room. It felt strange sharing with just one person now—back in the home, sixteen beds had filled the room.
Whenever he thought of her, he remembered that last morning—how she’d brushed her hair, the long drive, the crushing panic.
He never searched for her. Why bother? She’d left and never visited. But today, a short message had changed everything. He stared at her profile—dyed auburn hair with dark roots, heavily lined eyes staring back, lips stretched into a forced smile.
*Tom, hello. My name is Katherine Parker. I’m your mum. You look just like your father—when I saw your photo online, I knew it was you. I need to see you, to explain. Please reply.*
“Now she wants to see me,” he thought bitterly. *After fifteen years of waiting.*
*Today, five o’clock. Penguin Café, by the river.* He wrote coldly, deliberately distant. Let her know he wasn’t rushing into her arms. He had the right to know why she’d done this. Maybe he wouldn’t even go. Let her wait in vain, just as he had.
But curiosity won out, and Thomas arrived at the café. He recognized her immediately. She smiled nervously, searching his eyes.
She’d lost a tooth—he tried not to stare. The cloying sweetness of her perfume irritated him.
“I’m so glad you came. Hungry? What should we order? I saw your photo from that competition years ago, the one you won—I knew it was you straightaway. Are you doing well at uni?”
“I finished school. Third year now. That competition was four years ago. Took you long enough to reach out.”
He was cruel on purpose, stinging her with every word. She wilted under it.
“So why did you leave me?”
She fiddled with her fork, nails bright and trembling.
“I wanted to come back for you, I really did. I was your age when you were born. Your dad—he left when you were a baby. My parents lived in the countryside. I didn’t want to go back there. It was hard. I had to work.”
“I wanted a proper family. Then I met someone. I didn’t tell him about you. I meant to, but… it never happened. He died two years ago.” Her voice faltered.
“I failed you. Can you ever forgive me? I’ve got a flat now. The dorms must be grim?”
“Better than the home,” Thomas shot back.
Rage simmered inside him. He couldn’t bring himself to call her *Mum*. He wanted to leave, but something held him there—a buried ache, an old feeling he couldn’t name.
“You could stay with me. I don’t expect anything. I work in a shop. I know you need time. I’m sorry—” Her eyes glistened.
He refused to move in, though he visited now and then. He tried to forgive her, to understand, but the word *Mum* never came. Instead, he wavered between *you* and a stiff *Katherine*.
She tried too hard to please him. *Too late,* he wanted to shout. But he stayed silent and kept returning. Sometimes with Emma.
Being alone was worse. Having *someone*—even someone who’d failed you—was better than nothing. He watched other women and could never imagine any of them as his mother. But looking at *her*—worn down by life, her smile strained—he felt a connection no bitterness could erase.
