Margaret Brown sat on a weathered bench in the hospital gardens, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Today, on her seventieth birthday, neither her son nor her daughter had come to see her. Not a call, not a cardjust hollow silence.
At least her roommate, Dorothy Wilson, had remembered, stopping by with a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper. Even young Emma, one of the nursing assistants, had slipped her an apple and a gentle happy birthday, love. The care home itself was decent, clean enough, though most of the staff seemed indifferent, floating ghost-like through their rounds.
Everyone knew why the residents were there. Most children, burdened and weary, deposited their parents in such places to wait out their final years. It was Margarets son, William, whod left her therehed said it was for a bit of rest, a chance for her to recover, but she knew better. Shed become a nuisance to his wife.
After all, the flat had been hers oncea roomy place in Ealing shed paid off over decades. Shed signed it over to William, persuaded by promises that nothing would change, that shed always have her home. Instead, the family moved in straightaway, and Margarets world shrank. Her daughter-in-law, cold and quick to judge, found fault with everythingmeals werent right, she left water on the bathroom floor, always something. At first, William defended his mother, but soon he was joining in, his harshness growing, his patience thinning.
Margaret caught the furtive whispers, conversations that stopped as soon as she entered the room. One morning, William broached the topic: a little break, he said, time to rest and get well. Margaret looked him in the eye, voice trembling: Youre sending me to a home, arent you, Will? He coloured, stammered out a denialnot a home, Mum, a convalescence. A month, thats all.
Hed driven her over, rushed through the paperwork, and left with a half-hearted promise to return soon. He showed up once, bearing a couple of apples and oranges, scarcely waiting for her answer when he asked how she was before hurrying away.
It had been two years now.
After a month had passed, Margaret phoned the old flat. Strangers answered; William had sold the property, vanished into who-knew-where. She cried for two nights, but she stopped eventuallyshed known she wasnt going home, and crying wouldnt change that. The bitterest part was knowing shed once hurt her daughter, all for Williams sake.
Margaret had grown up in the countrysidea small village in Devon, married her school friend Peter, managed a modest smallholding. They were never wealthy, but they got by. Peter had a friend come down from London one year, singing the praises of city life, better pay, flats given out straightaway.
Peter couldnt resist. Next thing she knew, theyd sold the farm and moved to London. Just as promised, the council gave them a flat, and they bought cheap furniture and a battered Morris Minor. That car was Peters pride until the accident. He died in hospital just two days later. Suddenly, Margaret was left alonetwo children, mouths to feed, coats to find. She scrubbed stairwells at night to make ends meet, hoping her children might one day help bear the load.
But life veered hard. William ran into trouble with the law; Margaret borrowed heavily to keep him from prison, then spent years paying it back. Her daughterAlicemarried, had a boy. Things were good at first, then Alices son fell ill, so often in and out of hospitals, doctors unable to find answers. Eventually, they found the rare condition, but it could only be treated at one specialist institute, and the waitlist stretched endlessly. While Alice haunted the hospital corridors, her husband left, at least leaving the flat.
Somewhere between hospital stays and heartbreak, Alice met a widower with a daughter who shared her sons illness. Comfort turned into love, and they built a new life together. Then, five years later, the man grew gravely ill, requiring surgery they couldnt afford. Margaret had saved up, intending to help William with a deposit on a new place.
Alice asked for the money. Margaret hesitatedshe couldnt justify spending it on a stranger, not when her own son needed it more. She refused. Alice was devastated. Youre no mother to me, she said. Dont come to me when youre in trouble. And that was it: twenty years of silence.
Alices husband recovered; together they took their children and moved to the coast. If Margaret could undo her choices, she would. But the past was gone.
Slowly, Margaret rose from the bench and started towards the care home entrance. Suddenly, a voice called out
Mum!
Her heart leapt, stumbling in her chest. She turned, moving as if underwaterand there she was. Alice. Her knees buckled, but Alice caught her in an embrace.
Ive finally found you… William wouldnt give me the addressuntil I threatened to take him to court over the flat. That shut him up quick.
They went inside, sitting together on the faded sofa in the front hall.
Im so sorry, Mum. For everything. I was angry, then embarrassed… But last week, I dreamt of you, wandering alone in the woods, crying. I woke up with such a weight on my heart. I told my husband everything, and he said, Go to her. Make peace. I tried the old addressstrangers. I spent days tracking down William, and now Im here. Pack your things. Youre coming with me. You should see our homeits big, right by the sea. My husband said if my mums ever in need, she comes to live with us.
Margaret pressed herself into her daughters arms, sobbing for joy this time.
Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.
