Weve decided it would be better if you lived separatelyDenis finally murmured, almost whispering, as if afraid of his own words.
Separately?Anna stared at him, bewildered. What do you mean, love? Where?
Sylvia stood behind him, arms folded, her expression icy.
Dont worry, Mum, weve sorted everything. Theres a lovely care home for the elderly. Clean, doctors on site, company, three meals a dayeverything you need. Youll be much happier there than here.
Anna said nothing. Something tightened slowly in her chest.
“Lovely home,” “happier there”but all she heard was:
“We dont need you anymore.”
She didnt cry. She didnt beg. She simply nodded.
If it makes things easier for everyoneshe said softly.
A week later, a small brown suitcase stood by the door. Denis helped carry it downstairs, avoiding his mothers gaze.
Sorry, Mum, this is for the best, youll seehe muttered.
Yes, dearAnna whispered. Easier. For you, certainly.
Outside, a fine, cold drizzle fell as the taxi stopped in front of a grey, two-storey building on the outskirts of town. A sign read: “Golden Sunset Care Home.”
Inside, the scent of bleach and overcooked porridge mingled in the air.
A middle-aged nurse with a bored expression gave a curt wave.
Room eight. Its warm, tellys thereand she hurried off.
The room was small, with a single window overlooking a crooked walnut tree. The blanket was rough, the colours faded. Anna ran her palm over it.
“So this is it,” she thought.
In the first days, she barely spoke to anyone. She ate, slept, listened to the muffled sounds from other roomssometimes crying, sometimes angry shouting. Time blurred. Morning and evening felt the same.
She felt life had ended.
Then, one day, a new face appeared in the corridor. A young woman, smiling, wearing a scarf, carrying a basket of homemade scones.
Hello!she said brightly. Im Martha, a volunteer. Came for a chat, maybe read a bit. Youre Anna Parker, right?
Yes.
A neighbour told me about you. Said you were a teacher once?
Anna nodded, surprised.
Taught literature at a primary school.
Thats wonderful!Martha beamed. The childrens home nearby needs someone to help with reading. Tough backgrounds, falling behind, but eager to learn. Fancy coming along?
Anna hesitated. Her heart suddenly thudded.
With children? Teaching again?she asked, as if hardly daring to believe it.
Yes. If youre up for it, Ill drive you.
A week later, they bumped along in an old minibus. Through the window, the outskirts of London rushed byhouses, markets, people. Anna pressed her hand to the glass and sighed softly.
The childrens home was a noisy, vibrant place. Boys and girls darted down corridors, laughter filling the air. But when Anna began reading the first chapter of “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,” silence fell.
Her voice trembled, yet every word carried warmth. The children listened as if enchanted.
See how they hang on your words?Martha said later, smiling. Havent heard someone speak to them like that in ages.
From then on, Anna visited weekly. She helped with reading, practised writing, told stories about life, kindness, old tales. And each time she returned to the care home, her heart felt a little lighter.
Time passed. One afternoon, the childrens home manager called her in.
Mrs Parker, Ive an offer. One of our carers retired. The children adore you. Fancy staying part-time? Youd have your own room.
Anna fell silent.
Me? But Im seventy-eight
Exactly! We need hearts like yours here. Not paperworkhumanity.
When she moved in, it felt like a new beginning. The children swarmed around her, shouting:
Mrs Parkers back!
She laughed, hugged them, and for the first time in years, felt truly happy.
Back at the old flat, Denis scrolled through his phone one evening. An article caught his eye: “An Elderly Teacher Who Found Home Again Among Forgotten Children.”
There was his mother in the photo.
Surrounded by children, holding a little boys hand, smiling.
The caption read:
“Shes the most important person to those who have no one.”
Denis stared at the picture a long time. Sylvia asked:
Whats wrong?
He only said:
Forgive me, Mum.
Anna never knew her son spoke those words.
She simply lived onquietly, peacefully, but full of love.
And when, one day, the children brought her a drawinga big red heart with the words:
“Youre our heart, Mrs Parker!”she knew God had taken her house only to give her a family instead.
