**Diary Entry 12th June**
This morning, I found a phone in the park while cleaning. Turned it on, and what I saw left me shaken for hours.
Margaret WhitmoreMaggie to her neighboursalways started work earlier on weekends. The lads left a right mess after their nights out, so shed head in by 4 a.m. to get it sorted. Been a cleaner for years, she had. Once, her life was different.
As she picked up her broom, Maggie thought of her son, Charlie. Had him at 35, all on her own. Never had luck with men, so she poured everything into that boy. Bright lad, handsome too. Only thing that worried her? He hated their part of London.
*”Mum, when I grow up, Ill be someone proper!”* hed say.
*”Course you will, love,”* shed reply.
The moment he turned 16, he was offmoved into student digs near his college. Maggie hated the distance, but he promised to visit. At first, he did. Then he met a girl, and home faded from his mind. Then he came back for good, pale as chalk, saying he was dying. Cancer. Maggie couldnt fathom why life had dealt them such a cruel hand.
She sold her flat without blinking. Every penny went to treatments abroad. One night, the call came. *”Hes gone.”* After that, Maggie was just going through the motions.
This morning, as she swept near the benches, old Mr. Thompson from number 42 walked his terrier, Rusty.
*”Morning, Maggie! Youre at it early.”*
*”Same as always, Arthur. Youre up with the birds today.”*
*”Aye, couldnt sleep. Fancied a stroll.”* He tipped his cap and wandered off.
Then she spotted ita phone left on the bench. No one around. She turned it on, and there, staring back from the screen, was Charlie. Her Charlie. *”My boy!”* she sobbed.
The phone rang. A womans voice: *”Hello? Thats my phonecan I fetch it?”*
Maggie gave her address, still trembling.
When the door opened, a young woman stood therebehind her, a lad Maggies age.
*”Whered you get photos of my son?”* Maggie demanded.
*”Your son? You mean James?”* the girl frowned.
The boy stepped forward. Maggies knees gave way. *”Charlie!”*
The lad caught her as she fainted. The girl, Emily, called an ambulance. When Maggie came round, the truth spilled out.
*”We dated years back,”* Emily said. *”He left when I told him I was pregnant. Just vanished.”*
Maggies voice broke. *”No, love. He was sick. Didnt want to burden you. Hes been gone five years now.”*
Emilys hand flew to her mouth. *”James hes?”*
*”Gone,”* Maggie whispered.
Then Emily called the boy over. *”Oliver, this isnt just some story. Your dad didnt abandon us. He was ill. And this this is your grandmother.”*
Olivershy, uncertainstepped closer. *”Gran?”*
Maggie pulled him into her arms.
*”Come live with us,”* Emily urged. *”Weve the space.”*
*”Oh, Im too set in my ways,”* Maggie smiled. *”But Ill visit. Often.”*
A knock then. Arthur stood there, holding daffodils. *”Fancy a walk, Maggie?”*
*”Suppose I could,”* she said.
From the kitchen, Oliver and Emily chimed in: *”Can we come?”*
*”If you behave,”* Arthur chuckled.
Two months later, Maggie married Arthur in a quiet ceremony. Rusty took to Oliver straight offtheyd race round the garden while Maggie baked scones for tea.
Funny, isnt it? Life breaks you, then stitches you back up when you least expect it.
