“Sir, it’s my mum’s birthday today… I want to buy flowers, but I don’t have enough money…” I bought the boy a bouquet. Later, when I visited the grave, I saw that same bouquet lying there.
When Oliver was just four years old, his world fell apart. His mother was gone. He stood in the corner of the room, bewilderedwhat was happening? Why was the house full of strangers? Who were they? Why did everyone speak in hushed voices, avoiding his gaze?
The boy didnt understand why no one smiled. Why they kept saying, “Be brave, little one,” and hugged him as if hed lost something priceless. But he hadnt lost anythinghe just hadnt seen his mum.
His father stayed distant all day, never coming near, never offering comfort. He just sat alone, hollow and withdrawn. Oliver went to the coffin and stared at his mother for a long time. She wasnt like herselfno warmth, no smile, no bedtime stories. Pale, cold, still. It frightened him, and he couldnt bring himself to get closer.
Life without her was grey and empty. Two years later, his father remarried. The new womanMargaretnever became part of his world. Instead, she seemed annoyed by him, always complaining, always finding fault. His father stayed silent, never stepping in.
Every day, Oliver carried a pain he kept hiddenthe ache of loss, the longing for the past. And today was specialhis mothers birthday. He woke up with one thought: he had to visit her grave. He wanted to bring white liliesher favourite. He remembered them in old photos, bright beside her smile.
But where would he get the money? He decided to ask his father.
“Dad, could I have a bit of money? I really need it…”
Before he could explain, Margaret stormed in from the kitchen.
“What now? Always asking for money! Do you even know how hard your father works?”
His father glanced up, trying to stop her.
“Margaret, let him speak. What do you need, son?”
“I want to buy flowers for Mum. White lilies. Its her birthday…”
Margaret scoffed, crossing her arms.
“Oh, flowers, is it? Take some from the gardenthatll do!”
“Theyre not there,” Oliver said quietly. “Only the shop sells them.”
His father sighed and turned back to his paper. Oliver knewhe wouldnt get a penny.
He went to his room, emptied his piggy bank. Just a few coins. Maybe enough?
He hurried to the florist, where white lilies shone in the window. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.
“What do you want?” the woman behind the counter snapped. “No toys herejust flowers.”
“I need lilies. How much for a bouquet?”
She named the price. Oliver counted his coinsbarely half.
“Please,” he begged. “Ill work! Sweep, cleananything. Just lend me the flowers…”
“Are you mad?” she hissed. “Im not running a charity! Get out before I call someone!”
As Oliver stood there, a man walked in and saw the scene.
“Why are you shouting at him?” the man asked sharply.
The woman huffed. “Hes trying to get free flowers!”
The man turned to Oliver. “Whats wrong, lad?”
Oliver wiped his eyes. “I wanted lilies for Mum. Shes been gone three years. Todays her birthday…”
The mans expression softened. He crouched beside him.
“Your mum would be proud of you, son. Not many remember like you do.” Then he looked at the florist. “Give me two bouquetsone for him, one for me.”
Oliver pointed to the lilies in the window. The man hesitatedthey were the same flowers hed meant to buy. A strange coincidence.
Soon, Oliver clutched his bouquet like treasure. “Sir, can I give you my number? Ill pay you back.”
The man smiled. “No need. Todays special for me too. My Emily loved these flowers.”
For a moment, he looked distant. He and Emily had been neighbours. They met when he defended her from a group of lads. Years later, they fell in love.
When he was drafted, she waited. But after an injury, he lost his memory. By the time it returned, shed moved on. He left, heartbroken.
Years passed. Now he was back, holding lilies, hoping to find her. And then he met Olivera boy who felt strangely familiar.
“Oliver,” he said suddenly. “Need a lift?”
“No, thank you. I know the bus.”
With that, the boy ran off. The man watched him go, an odd ache in his chest.
Later, he went to Emilys old street. An elderly neighbour shook her head.
“Gone three years now. Married a man named William. Had a son. Then she passed.”
The man froze. “A son?”
“Aye. William raised him, but the lad wasnt his.”
Suddenly, it clicked. He raced to the cemeteryand there, on Emilys grave, lay fresh white lilies.
“Oliver,” he whispered. “Youre mine.”
Tears fell as he ran back to find the boy.
Oliver sat on a swing, quiet. His stepmother had scolded him for being late, so hed run outside.
The man knelt beside him and pulled him close.
Then William appeared. He recognised the man at once.
“Thomas,” he said quietly. “I wondered if youd come.”
Thomas nodded. “Hes my son.”
William sighed. “Take him. Emily always loved you. She wanted you to know.”
Thomas gripped Olivers hand. “Im sorry I wasnt here. Ill never leave you again.”
Oliver looked up. “I knew youd come one day.”
Thomas lifted his son and held him tight, tears streaming.
“Forgive me for making you wait.”
