No Forgiveness Shall Come
Have you ever thought about finding your real mother?
The question drifted into the kitchen, strange and sudden, as though it had floated in through the window instead of being spoken by Oliver. Elizabeth involuntarily flinched, her hands steadying a precarious heap of reports and invoices shed brought home from the office. One push and the whole lot would have scattered across the table, as if her past itself might spill at the slightest touch. She slowly let go, fingers lingering in the unreal hush, and raised her gaze to look at Oliver, astonishment unmistakable in her wide, storm-grey eyes. How did such a notion find purchase in his mind? What could possibly be gained in chasing after the shadow of the woman who, with the lazy sweep of a hand, had upended the course of her entire existence?
Of course not, she replied, holding her voice taut and calm. Why on earth would I ever want to do something so daft? Thats not for me.
Oliver looked away, his fingers raked through his wheat-blond hair as though brushing out cobwebs of regret. His grin was stiffthe smile of a boy caught where he should not be.
But, well… I mean, you hear about it, dont you? Kids whove grown up in care or foster homes, always dreaming of finding their birth parents. I just thought, if ever you wanted to… I could help. I promise Id help.
Elizabeth shook her head. Something invisible tightened like a corset around her lungs, and she had to pause, to breathe, to force down a flare of irritation crackling at her ribs. She met Olivers eyes again, cool and unwavering.
Theres no need, she replied, voice low but ringing, steely as a tolling church bell. Ive no intention, ever, of seeking her out. As far as Im concerned, that woman hasnt existed for years. Ill never forgive her. Not ever.
It sounded harsh, and it was. But it left no cracks for memory to ooze through, no invitation for tearful confessions at the kitchen table. She did love Oliverdearly, undeservedly, maddeningly sobut there are secrets you cannot, ever, share. Even with those closest to your heart. She returned to her stack of files, feigning a focus she didnt feel, while the uncertainty hung dense and trembling.
Oliver frowned, but let the matter lie. He looked as if hed been made to swallow something ill-tasting. For Oliver, mother was a word embroidered with gold threaduntouchable, pure, sacredno matter whether shed raised him or merely birthed him. In his mind, a mothers nine months of labour and life endowed her with a certain sainthood. He truly believed that something precious and unbreakable bound mother and child, whatever storms battered the years between them.
Elizabeth did not share these beliefs; she rejected them, decisively, with not a single quiver in her conviction. What could possibly be worth in seeing again the face of someone who had disowned her so ruthlessly? Her dear mum hadnt simply left her at the edge of societyno, it had been much more brutal, much more razor-edged.
Once, still in the throes of adolescence, Elizabeth had mustered the courage to ask the question that gnawed nightly at her insides, a silent mouse in the wainscoting of her mind. She had sought out Ms. Harper, the headmistress of St. Barnabass childrens home, a woman whose sternness was legendary but whose fairness made her deeply respected by every child in her care.
Why am I here? Elizabeth had asked, voice steady despite the icy draft of fear. Did my mother die? Was she… did they take me away from her for a reason? It mustve been something serious, right?
Ms. Harper froze over her loose pile of forms, methodically setting everything aside. For a moment, she seemed to weigh every word in her hands, the air thick with the seriousness of truth. Then, with a sigh that echoed in the small office, she waved to the battered visitors chair and waited for Elizabeth to sit.
Elizabeth perched there, fingers knotting the skirt beneath her knees, every bone alive with anxious suspense. She already sensed that what she was about to hear would kill her childhood illusions for good.
She lost her rights as a parent and was charged in court, Ms. Harper began, manner gentle, enunciation careful, as though she were unwrapping something glass and wounding. Her eyes glowed with a rare sadness; telling a twelve-year-old the story so many wish to keep hidden. She could have sweetened it, conjured kinder fabrications, but Ms. Harper had vowedsooner cruelty than lifelong ignorance.
After a moments pause, she continued.
You came to us at four and a half. Someonejust ordinary passersbyspotted you wandering alone along the High Street. Such a tiny child, you wereconfused, shivering, entirely lost. Later it turned out a woman dropped you on a bench outside Paddington Station, and leapt onto a train. It was autumn. The sort that makes your teeth clack. You wore only a thin coat and worn wellingtons. A few hours out in that weather ended at St. Marysfor weeks, you were sick, poor lamb.
Elizabeth sat petrified, fists gripping invisible stone. Her face didnt flinch, mask-like, but behind her eyes raged shadowed storms. She didnt speak, but Ms. Harper could feel her listening intently, letting the words burn themselves into her bones.
Diddid you find her? What did she say? Elizabeths voice barely fluttered out.
She was found, yes. Brought before the judge. Her only defence Ms. Harper paused, the corners of her mouth curling in bitter irony, was poverty. Shed found a jobat a seaside boarding house, I believebut her employer wouldnt allow children about. You were in her way, she claimed. So she left you and started again, unencumbered.
Elizabeths hands left her knees, falling limp. She stared dead ahead, looking back through fog and time, to that autumn morning she couldnt even recalla ghost at her own threshold.
I see… she murmured, words hollowed of life. She looked at Ms. Harper and added, Thank you. Thank you for telling me.
It was in that moment Elizabeths certainty crystallisedshe would never seek her mother, not ever. Even the idle, fantastical thought that once flickered in midnight silencethe fantasy that one day, perhaps, she might look into that womans eyes and ask why?vanished completely.
How could anyone leave a small child on a London street, alone and unguarded? What kind of human, what sort of mother, could sleep at night knowing such a thing? Elizabeth had tried, over the years, to invent excuses for hermaybe she was utterly desperate, at the edge of the abyss, maybe she thought it was for the best. But reason was no salve. Why not sign the release forms, hand her over to care safely, put her in hospital if she was so often unwell? Why turn your back and blend into the crowd, expecting fate to shield a four-year-old from the cold?
No justification held water, not one. Every theory shattered, leaving nothing but a raw and icy facta deliberate, cold-hearted disposal, as if abandoning a broken umbrella.
The more Elizabeth turned it over inside, the clearer it became. She would not look for that woman, not beg for explanations, not pursue understanding. Nothing could un-write what had happened. No forgiveness was possible.
And with that realisation came a strange, bodily lightness, as if a pebble-laden coat had been shrugged off her shoulders at last…
_________________________________
Ive got a surprise for you! Oliver nearly bounced in place, beaming as if hed won a thousand pounds on a scratch card. He blocked the hallway, vibrating with excitement, desperate to reveal his secret. Its brilliant, Liz, promise! Come on! Cant leave a person waiting!
Elizabeth hesitated at her bedroom door, chipped mug of cold Earl Grey in hand. She regarded Oliver with an uncertain frown, quietly placing the cup on the hall table as tension whined like a violin string in her chest. What surprise? And why, beneath Olivers cheery lilt, did a slithering unease wrap itself round her ribs?
Where are we off to? she managed, mustering a calm she didnt quite feel.
Youll see! Oliver grinned wider, grasped her hand and drew her out toward the front door. Trust me, its worth it.
She let herself be led, though every step she took was thick with misgiving. She slung on her coat, jammed her feet into boots, and followed Oliver through the drizzle to the local park. Silent, she watched raindrops gather on his collar, trying to guess what awaitedtickets to a show, a lost friend rediscovered? The possibilities flickered, none feeling quite true.
In the park, Elizabeths gaze fell immediately on a woman sitting alone on a bench beneath the old linden tree. Her outfit was plain but propera dark mac, tartan scarf, tidy brown bag settling on her lap. There was something in that facea palimpsest of herself under the lines and years, like a reflection from another, colder world.
Oliver strode directly toward the bench. Elizabeth followed, dreading each echoing footfall. As they drew nearer, the woman looked up and smiled faintly, and inside Elizabeth something broke, sending ripples down her spine. She knew that face. Not from memory, but from the depths of a mirror, made older by half a lifetime.
Elizabeth, Oliver declared, triumphant, stage-announcing a guest star, after all this time, Ive found your mum. Arent you happy?
Elizabeth froze, heart knocking against her ribs like a trapped moth. How dare he? She had made herself so unmistakably clear.
Darling! My beautiful girl, all grown up! The woman stumbled to her feet, arms outstretched for an embrace, eyes brimming as if she may dissolve with joy.
Elizabeth recoiled, one step absent, stretching the gap between herself and the haunted stranger. Her face, glacial, eyes steely as flint.
Its me, your mother! the woman pressed on, some part of her refusing to interpret the obvious. Ive been searching for youthinking of you every day…
It wasnt easy! Oliver cut in, his prideful glow undimmed. Had to rope in a few mates, ring up every council office, even stumped up for a database search… but I did it! I knew youd be thrilled!
The words had barely left him before the crack of a slap fizzed through the air. Elizabeths hand had flown up, swift as summer lightning, cheeks shining with tears of betrayal and rage. She met Olivers stare with raw bewildermenthow could he? She had said it a thousand times, this page of her life was glued shut.
What do you think youre doing? Oliver stammered, cradling his burning cheek. Hed truly not expected this. I only wanted to helpto do something good…
Elizabeth trembled, unable to speak, every muscle in her body drawn to a point of rupture. In a single moment, she saw all shed trusted collapseher past, once buried and private, now dragged into the daylight, exposed and defined by his misguided kindness.
The woman hovering beside her shifted uneasily, her stare flicking between daughter and fiancé, not knowing which way to turn. She started to say something, then hesitated, lips pressed tight.
I never asked you to find her, Elizabeth bit out at last, her voice a whisper lined with steel. You knew I didnt want this. And you went ahead anyway!
Oliver let his hand fall, magical glow now gone. He watched Elizabeth, searching for any sign of softening, but found only the closed door of her resolve.
I said I didnt even want to hear about this woman, Elizabeth quivered, voice rising. She left me at a train station when I was four. Alone! On a bench, in the cold, with nothing on but that coat! You really think I could ever forgive that?
Oliver paled, but straightened his back, digging for words that could fill the widening chasm.
Shes your motherit doesnt matter what shes done! Shes your mother!
The woman took an uncertain step forward, speaking low and pleading, as if trying to explain a dream she herself only half-remembered.
You were always so poorly, and I never had enough for your medicines, she pleaded. It was the only work I could get. I would have come back for you, I would! Everything would have been fine, in time…
Elizabeth spun, her look ice-edged.
And from where would you have come to get me back? From the cemetery? Her words were sharp as shattered glass, cruelty a shield she could no longer bear to hold in. There are wayssocial services couldve helped. You couldve gone to a hospital, left me somewhere someone would look after me! But not out on the street. Not out in the wet and cold, not alone.
Oliver, panicking now, reached for her hand, his own tentative and soft. She snapped away, not glancing back.
The past is over, Liz. We need to live for now, he insisted, as though willing her to swallow his version of reason. You always said you wanted family at the weddingIve made it possible for you!
Elizabeths gaze hardened.
Ive invited Ms. Harper and Miss Julia, my key worker, to the wedding. They were my mothers. They held me, kept me safe, taught me, healed me. They are my family!
With a single motion, Elizabeth tore loose and fledher feet finding the rhythm of escape, cutting through the haphazard park, past benches and forget-me-nots, away from this farcical reunion. Inside, a storm howled, raw and saturating, every step rolling with pain and betrayal. She had never doubted Oliver, never hidden the truth of her childhood. Shed told him about long months in social care, the biting hope that her mum might yet return. Oliver had said he understood. And yet, here they were, with his stubborn, insistent doesnt matter what shes doneshes your mother! ringing like a curse in her mind.
Never. Not ever. She would never let this woman back across the threshold of her life. Not after all that lay behind them.
She hurried from the park, not caring where she ended up, shoving her burning thoughts from her mind. Her mothers face floated up intermittentlyolder, puckered with uncertainty, that desperate, hollow smile. Elizabeth clenched her fists and walked harder, wanting only distance. She never once considered collecting her things from Olivers flatthere was barely anything there, only a few bags, the rest tucked away in her little bedsit allotted by the council. Convenient, really. Anywhere was better than returning, while her heart remained an open wound, each memory a red-hot coal.
Her phone buzzed, insistent, in her pocketOliver, again and again. She stared at his name, unable to answer, afraid shed speak in fury and say what should never be said aloud. Better to wait for the hard tide of pain to recede.
He was persistent, sending voice notes seething with rawness:
Elizabeth, youre acting like a child! I tried my best, did this for youyoure just ungrateful. Hysterical, even!
Then again, harder, sharper:
Ive decided. Margaret will be at the wedding. Thats final. I wont change my mind for your tantrums. Were a family now, our kids will call her grandmother. Thats right and proper!
Elizabeth let the phone fall silent, hunched on a bench at the bus stop. The rain painted halos on the pavement, and her very soul seemed to ache. Her world had cracked apart and she had no blueprint for fixing it.
For a time, she stared blankly at her phone, at the cruel finality in Olivers texts: Margaret will be at the wedding. Full stop. The words carved themselves into her brain, deep and cold.
She opened her messages, typed a short, unwavering reply: There will be no wedding. I dont want to see either of you again.
Send. She watched the notification tick across. Heart hammering, she shut off the phone and placed it quietly at her side.
Calls came, messages too, but she ignored them. Instead, she scrolled through her contact list, found his number, and moved it without hesitation to the blocklist.
And then, at last, silencetrue silence, cocooning her in a rare peace.
Perhaps, later, regret would graze her. Perhaps. But now, in this moment, it was the only right course. Only now did the storm within begin to settle, leaving behind a quiet, exhausted clarity.
So it must be. There could be no future tethered to someone who made such choices.
