The story continues…
“Weve decided its better if you live elsewhere,” Dennis finally said, almost whispering, as if afraid of his own words.
“Elsewhere?” Anna blinked at him, baffled. “What do you mean, love? Where?”
Sylvia stood behind him, arms crossed, her face frosty.
“Don’t worry, Mum, weve sorted everything. Theres a lovely care homeclean, doctors, company, three meals a day, everything you need. Youll be much happier there than here.”
Anna stayed silent. Something inside her chest tightened.
“A lovely home,” “youll be happier”but all she heard was:
“We dont need you anymore.”
She didnt cry. She didnt beg. Just nodded.
“If it makes things easier for everyone,” she murmured.
A week later, a small brown suitcase waited by the door. Dennis carried it down the stairs, avoiding his mothers gaze.
“Sorry, Mum, this is for the best, youll see,” he mumbled.
“Yes, dear,” Anna whispered. “Easier. For you, certainly.”
Outside, a fine, cold drizzle greeted them as the taxi pulled up to a grey, two-storey building on the edge of town. The sign read: “Golden Twilight Care Home.”
Inside, the air smelled of bleach and overcooked porridge.
A middle-aged nurse gave her a bored glance.
“Room eight. Its warm, tellys included.” And off she went.
The room was small, one window overlooking a twisted old oak. The blanket was rough, the colours faded. Anna ran her hand over it.
“So, this is it,” she thought.
The first days passed in near-silence. She ate, slept, listened to muffled sounds from other roomssometimes crying, sometimes shouting. Time blurred. Morning and evening felt the same.
Life, she decided, was over.
Then, one day, a new face appeared in the corridor. A young woman, smiling, wearing a scarf and carrying a basket of homemade scones.
“Good afternoon! Im Martha, a volunteer. Came for a chat, maybe a bit of reading. Youre Anna Parker, yes?”
“Thats me.”
“My neighbour mentioned you. Said you used to be a teacher?”
Anna nodded, surprised.
“Taught literature at the primary school.”
“Brilliant!” Martha beamed. “The childrens home nearby needs someone to help the kids with reading. Theyve had a rough time, fallen behind, but theyre eager. Fancy joining me?”
Anna went quiet. Her heart gave a sudden thump.
“Children? Teaching?” she asked, barely daring to believe it.
“Yes! If youre up for it, Ill drive you.”
A week later, they bumped along in an old minivan. Through the window, Londons outskirts rolled byhouses, markets, people. Anna pressed her hand to the glass and sighed softly.
The childrens home was a whirlwind of noise and colour. Kids dashed down corridors, laughter and chatter filling the air. But when Anna began reading them the first chapter of *The Railway Children*, silence fell.
Her voice trembled, but every word carried warmth. The children listened as if under a spell.
“See how they hang on your every word?” Martha said later, grinning. “Havent heard anyone speak to them like that in ages.”
From then on, Anna visited weekly. She helped them read, practised writing, told stories about life, history, kindness. And each time she returned to the care home, her heart felt lighter.
Time passed. One afternoon, the childrens home director called her in.
“Mrs. Parker, Ive an offer. One of our carers retired. The kids adore you. Fancy staying part-time? Well give you a room.”
Anna was speechless.
“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 her, shouting:
“Miss Anna, youre back!”
She laughed, hugged them, and for the first time in years, felt truly happy.
Back in the old flat, Dennis scrolled through his phone one evening. An article popped up: “Elderly Teacher Finds New Home Among Forgotten Children.”
The photo showed his mother.
Sitting among the kids, holding a little boys hand, smiling.
The caption read:
*”Shes the most important person to those who have no one.”*
Dennis stared at the picture for a long time. Sylvia asked:
“Whats wrong?”
He only said:
“Forgive me, Mum.”
Anna never knew hed spoken those words.
She just carried onquietly, peacefully, full of love.
And when the children brought her a drawing one daya big red heart with the words:
*”Youre our heart, Miss Anna!”*she knew God had taken her house to give her a family instead.
