A Present for Mum: When Trust, Family, and a New Oven Collide in the Heart of an English Birthday

Author Walton MerrittReading 9 minViews 1

“Tom, I need your help with a present for Mum.”

Sarah put down her phone and turned to her husband, who was sprawled across the sofa clutching the TV remote. He was flicking through channels absentmindedly, barely looking up.

“What sort of present?” he grumbled.
“A new cooker. A proper one, good quality. Her birthdays in two weeks dont tell me youve forgotten?”

Tom finally glanced her way. For a moment his face flashed irritation, but it melted into a plastic smile.

“Is there something wrong with her old one? Looks alright to me.”

Sarah perched on the arm of the sofa, smoothing a crease in her comfy dress.

“You saw it last time we were round, didnt you? The oven barely heats and two hobs dont even switch on. She keeps complaining her pies never bake the way they used to. You know it means everything to her.”

…Linda Taylor absolutely adored baking her kitchen always smelled of spice and sugar, windowsills crowded with cooling buns, and neighbours dropping by for a cuppa, never leaving empty-handed. Her ancient cooker, a battered relic from the 80s, was spluttering its last.

“Fine,” Tom stretched and sat up straighter. “And what do you want me to do?”
“Pick a decent model. You know appliances better than me. Pop into Currys, get a look, sort out delivery. Im up to my ears at work.”

Sarah rummaged in her handbag and handed Tom her debit card navy blue, glinting in the lamplight.

“My bonus came in just over two and a half thousand. Thats plenty for a proper cooker, yeah?”

Tom flipped the card between his fingers, lips twitching faintly.

“More than enough. Dont worry, Ill sort it.”

Sarah nodded. Five years married, shed long trusted Tom with all those day-to-day errands. He was good at sniffing out deals, haggling for discounts, winning bonus gifts this was his territory.

“Just dont drag it out, okay? Make sure it arrives in time for her birthday.”
“I will,” Tom muttered, sliding the card into his joggers pocket and reaching for the telly again.

A week later, Sarah was wedged into a packed bus heading home, when she decided to check her balance. Muscle memory took over, thumbs dancing across her phone screen.

Transaction: £2,500…

She smiled. So, Tom had come through. That sort of money meant hed found something really nice maybe a grill, a timer, one of those fancy slide-out doors Mum always wished for. Linda would finally get to bake her legendary Victoria sponges without fretting the oven might conk out halfway.

Sarah pictured Mums face when she saw her gift those crows feet pinching up with joy, lips trembling, and then Linda would say her favourite refrain, “You shouldnt have spent so much, my darlings!” While already plotting which cake to bake first.

Good appliances are an investment. Sarah remembered Gran telling stories about her trusty old cooker, lasted nearly thirty years without missing a beat. The new ones might be different, but if you buy quality, theyll last…

…Mums birthday fell on a Saturday. Sarah fussed about in the morning, bundling up a bouquet and wrapping a few little extras shed picked up alongside the main surprise. Tom languidly paced the flat, sneaking glances at the clock.

“Dont forget the envelope,” Sarah called, zipping up her boots. “You put the paperwork in there, didnt you?”
“All in order,” Tom said, patting his blazer pocket.

They reached Lindas at midday. The flat was brimming with the scent of freshly baked goodies even with that cranky stove, Mum had managed something delicious. Relatives spilled through the hallway, glasses clinking, bit of laughter from the living room.

Sarah hugged her Mum tight.

“Happy birthday, Mum. This is for you.”

She handed her a lovely cream-coloured envelope shed snatched from Tom on the way. No need to check inside; her husband had handled it all.

Linda beamed.

“Oh, you two!” She carefully pried open the envelope, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Sarah watched, her smile warm. A second ticked by, then Lindas face faltered. Her grin slipped away, confusion taking its place.

“Whats… this?”

Sarah frowned, peering over her Mums shoulder.
A gift card for Boots. £120.

“Tom?” She turned to see her husband already edging toward the lounge door. “Whats this?”
“Cmon, its a great gift! Decent bits at Boots these days”
“But what about the cooker?!”

No answer. He darted onto the balcony, sliding the door shut behind him.

Sarah stormed after, yanking open the door so hard the glass rattled in the frame.

“Explain. Now!”

Tom pressed himself back against the railing.

“Look, Alice has been run ragged at work she seriously needed a break… I couldnt”
“What break? What Alice?” Sarah advanced, eyes flashing. “I gave you my bonus for Mums cooker!”
“There was this last-minute deal, you know? £2,375, Spain, all-in It was now or never. If I didnt grab it, shed lose out, surely you get that?”

Sarah snatched his phone before he could react. Her fingers flew, opening WhatsApp. There it was messages with the travel agent: dates, payments, excited notes from Alice with heart emojis.

“Tom, youre a lifesaver! Thanks a million! Flying Friday!”

Sarah stared at her husband, who looked ready to disappear into the floor.

She quietly dialled the travel agents number. Ring, ring.

“Hello, Horizon Holidays, Emma here. How can I help?”
“Hi, I need to cancel a booking. Alice Taylor, Spain, flying Friday. I paid for it on my card, but did not authorise it.”
“May I ask”
“Im the cardholder. Payment went without my consent.”

Tom lunged forward, but Sarah held up her hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“One moment,” the agents voice turned crisp. “Ive found the booking. Please pop into our office and well sort this for you. Refund will be processed in ten working days.”

“Thank you, Ill be there tomorrow.”

Sarah tossed Toms phone back to him.

“Sarah, love, please, dont do this. Lets talk about it”

But she was already gone. Through the lounge where relatives pretended to be fascinated by potato salad, to her bewildered mother still holding that useless gift card.

“Mum, come on. Well go get you a proper birthday present.”

Linda didnt argue. She shrugged on her coat, picked up her handbag, and followed Sarah leaving the guests behind.

The electronics shop was all new plastic and whirring gadgets. The assistant, a young guy in his twenties called Jack, patiently walked them through the options.

“This ones the best,” Jack gestured at a sleek, white cooker. “Perfect for baking even heating, built-in timer, grill, convection fan.”

Linda ran a gentle hand across its shiny top.

“Its a beauty,” she whispered.
“Well take it,” Sarah nodded. “Can you deliver tomorrow?”
“Morning slots open, between nine and noon.”

Checkout took fifteen minutes. Linda was quiet all the way home, only tugging Sarahs elbow as they reached the door.

“Sarah, love, thank you. But I do worry about you.”
“No need, Mum.”
“Its just… Tom, will you”

Sarah hugged her.

“Ill be fine, Mum lets not think about him today. Happy birthday.”

By the time Sarah got home, it was already dark. Tom was perched on the sofa in silence, TV dead.

“We need to talk,” he began, getting up.

Sarah walked past him without a word. She opened the wardrobe, got out his shirts, folded them into his overnight bag.

“What do you think youre doing?” Tom sputtered. “Sarah, for Gods sake! I just wanted to help my sister, shes been drowning at work and this holiday was her only chance!”

Jeans, t-shirts, socks Sarah methodically cleared every shelf.

“Youre tearing this family apart over a cooker! And its you youll regret it!”

She paused, turning to face him.

“I trusted you with my hard-earned money for my mums birthday. Asked you to buy her a present. But you threw it away for your sister!”
“Dont exaggerate”
“You didnt even ask me. Just took it and lied!”

Tom tried to hug her, she held his jumper between them as a shield.

“Dont touch me.”
“Alice really needed it, you have to understand”
“Take your things. Leave.”

…A month later, Sarah was at Lindas kitchen table. The new cooker gleamed in the corner, oven fired up and filling the flat with the scent of vanilla sponge.

“Guess what! Ive signed up for baking classes! Nina from next door told me about it theres a real French chef teaching!”

Sarah bit into a slice of Mums cake, the creamy filling melting away.

“Its delicious, Mum. Heavenly.”

…The divorce paperwork was sorted quickly, no fuss. Tom never quite understood why Sarah wouldnt forgive his “little mistake.” Alice went off on holiday using her own savings or maybe didnt; Sarah didnt care anymore.

She watched Linda bustle around her sparkling cooker, happy and busy. The evening settled in outside. A fresh start was ahead, free from lies, broken trust, anyone who thinks love and loyalty are things you can squander.

Sarah smiled and reached for a second slice of cake. And why not?

Rita Went to Her Best Friend Pauline’s Flat to Water the Plants and Feed Her Pet Turtle While Pauline and Her Husband Were on Holiday—But When Rita Opened the Door with the Spare Key, She Froze in Shock: The Lights Were On, the Christmas Tree Was Glowing, the TV Was Blasting, and Strange Noises Came from the Bathroom. When She Opened the Bathroom Door, She Gasped in Surprise Rita Was Left Alone Over New Year’s, Feeling Sad While Her Best Friend Pauline and Her Husband Went to the Lake District Five Days Before the Holidays—Trusting Rita, Her Most Reliable Friend, to Take Care of the Plants and Turtle Since They Lived in the Same Building, Just Different Entrances. Rita Didn’t Know Fate Had Another Twist in Store for Her. A Week Before New Year’s, Her Boyfriend Nick—Who She’d Thought Was Her Soulmate for Two Years—Dropped a Bombshell Over Dinner: He Was in Love with Someone Else, and His New Partner Was Already Four Months Pregnant! Of Course, He Had to Marry Her; That’s What She, Her Mum, and Grandma Demanded. Nick Didn’t Argue—He Agreed. “And What About Me?” Rita Asked in Disbelief. Nick, Calmly Finishing His Dinner, Wiped His Mouth and Said, “You? Don’t worry about it. Admit it, there’s nothing left between us but the shell. You’re lucky I’m saving you from me. Not a great loss, am I? Might as well help me pack? No? Fine, I’ll do it myself.” And He Just Started Packing… Rita Wept at Home for Four Days, Not Eating—Only Drinking Coffee—Until Their Other Friend, Svetlana, Came By. The Plan Had Been for Rita, Svetlana, and Nick to Celebrate New Year’s Together—Table Booked Months Ago. Now Nick Was Bringing His New Wife. No Way Did Rita Want to Spend New Year’s with Her Parents—They’d Just Pity Her, Especially Since Mum Never Liked Nick… On 31st December, Rita Still Held Out Hope for a Miracle—Old Habits Die Hard. Even Adults Wish for Miracles and Make New Year’s Wishes… The Evening Came. Nothing Happened. She Realised She Hadn’t Given Nick His Christmas Present: a Plush Cornflower-Blue Wool Jumper—Expensive, Bought Just Before He Left. She Tried It On—Too Big, Shoulders Too Wide. “Would’ve Been Big on Nick, Too,” She Thought, Then Put It Back in the Bag. Rita Did Her Makeup, Promised Herself Not to Cry, and Walked Out—Believing the Old Saying: “The Way You Spend New Year’s Eve Is the Way You’ll Spend the Year.” Better to Wander the Festive Streets Than Sit Home Alone. With Just Over an Hour and a Half Until Midnight, She Popped into the Shop and Found Pauline’s List in Her Pocket: After ‘Water the Plants’ Came ‘Feed the Turtle Twice a Week.’ Rita Panicked—With Everything Going On, She’d Forgotten All About the Turtle! If Anything Happened, Pauline Would Never Forgive Her. Forgetting About New Year’s, Rita Rushed to Pauline’s Flat to Feed the Turtle, Unlocked the Door…and Stopped Dead: Every Light Was On, the Christmas Tree Sparkled with Fairy Lights, the TV Blared, and Strange Noises Came from the Bathroom. She Opened the Bathroom Door and Clapped Her Hands in Surprise: There, Shaving and Singing to Himself, Was a Man She Didn’t Know! Her First Thought: Someone Had Broken In—But Who Breaks Into a Flat to Shave? “Who Are You?” Rita Demanded Fiercely. He Quickly Rinsed Off, Smiled, and Said, “Don’t Worry—I’m Not Dangerous. I’m Pauline’s Cousin, I Live and Work Out of Town. I Was Here on Business, Meant to Go Back But Couldn’t. Luckily, I Have My Cousin’s Spare Key, We Called, She Said I Could Stay Here.” “Have You Seen the Turtle?” Rita Asked Out of Nowhere. He Nodded. “Fed It, Too. It Went Over There,” He Pointed Behind the Sofa. Pulling On His Shirt, He Said, “Let’s Introduce Ourselves: I’m Ian.” She Told Him Her Name, and He Held Out His Hand. “Let’s Celebrate Together! Just Ten Minutes Until Midnight.” Suddenly, Rita Ducked Out, Rushed Down the Stairs—Ian, Puzzled, Called After Her, “Wait! Where are you going?” Rita Raced Home, Grabbed the Gift Bag, and Tore Back to Pauline’s Flat—Door Still Open—Just as the Clock Struck Midnight. Ian Handed Her a Glittering Glass of Bubbly, and She Handed Him the Gift Bag. “Happy New Year!” She Said. He Opened It: The Plush Cornflower-Blue Wool Jumper. He Pulled It On—it Fit Perfectly, Even at the Shoulders. “I’ve Had Plenty of New Year Surprises,” Ian Said, “But This Is the Best One Yet.” “I’ve Had Two Surprises—Nick Leaving and Meeting Ian,” Thought Rita, But She Just Smiled. The Next New Year, Rita, Ian, and Their Little Daughter Celebrated Together in Their Own Home…

“Gran, Who Said You Could Keep a Wolf in the Village?” called Matthew. Agnes burst into tears when she saw her broken fence. She’d propped it up with planks many times, mending the rotten posts herself, hoping to make it last until she’d saved enough from her modest pension. But it was not to be! The fence had collapsed. For ten years, she’d run her cottage alone, ever since her beloved Peter passed away. He’d been a dab hand at everything—there was never a need to call for a tradesman. The whole village had admired Peter’s kindness and hard work. They’d shared a happy forty years together, falling just one day short of their golden anniversary. Their tidy house, the bountiful garden, the well-tended livestock—all spoke of their shared efforts. Agnes and Peter had one son, George, the pride of their lives. From childhood, George had always helped around the house, fetching firewood, hauling water, and caring for the animals before his mother returned from long days on the farm. Evenings found Peter washing up and enjoying a smoke on the porch while Agnes cooked dinner. Mealtimes were spent together, sharing the day’s news; they were truly happy. But time marched on. George grew up, left for London, earned his education, and married a city girl named Lucy. At first, he visited for holidays, but soon Lucy persuaded him to travel abroad instead. Peter was disappointed by his son’s choices. “Where’s George found so much to tire him out? It’s Lucy’s ideas, that’s what. Don’t know why he needs those foreign holidays,” Peter would grumble. After Peter fell ill and passed away, George came home for the funeral, weeping with regret, and then returned to the city. Over the next ten years, he sent only three letters. Agnes was left truly alone. She sold the cow and sheep she’d no longer any strength to tend. Without a man about, the place slowly decayed: the roof leaked, rotten porch planks snapped, and the cellar flooded. She scraped by on her pension, sometimes patching things herself, sometimes hiring dubious local help. Worst of all, her eyesight began to fail. Soon, she could barely read the prices at the village shop or see its sign. The nurse urged her to go for an operation, but Agnes was afraid. Within a year, she was almost totally blind. Still, she managed her routines by memory and made do without television, listening to the news instead. What troubled her most was not having a good dog—thieves prowled abandoned houses, and she missed the security of a loyal bark. She asked Sam, the local huntsman, to find her a pup—maybe a shepherd or a collie. Sam promised, but being unreliable and fond of drink, never came through. When the fence collapsed, she had to hire him for repairs, scraping the last coins together. One day, Sam turned up with tools—and something wriggling in his old backpack. “Look what I’ve brought you,” he grinned. Agnes felt a furry little head. “A puppy? Oh, Sam, I hope I can afford it…” “Don’t send me packing, Gran! You’d never guess what I paid for this purebred shepherd,” Sam insisted. Desperate, Agnes took groceries on credit to pay Sam his due—and soon, a new lodger, named Rex, was part of the cottage. She loved him, though he grew into the size of a calf and never learned to bark. Sam waved off her grumbles—“He’s a special sort!”—as Rex scared off all the neighbouring dogs just by his size. One winter day, as Matthew the huntsman passed by, he stopped dead at the sight of the animal. “Gran, who said you could keep a wolf in the village?” he cried out. Agnes gasped in shock. “Oh heavens, that Sam tricked me! Said he was a purebred shepherd…” Matthew gravely insisted the animal needed returning to the wild before disaster struck. Though her heart broke, Agnes agreed, and the wolf—her trusted Rex—was led into the woods, vanishing among the trees. Agnes mourned him bitterly, cursing Sam for his deceit—though Sam, too, regretted the way things had turned out. That winter, when a strange man knocked, claiming to be the new owner of an old neighbour’s house, Agnes let him in out of kindness. But as she bustled about, the man turned nasty, threatening her for money. Just then, Rex—who’d found his way back—burst in, scaring off the would-be thief and saving Agnes’s life, though not without injury. Rex became the village hero. Folks brought treats, and he came and went freely, always returning to Agnes after his woodland adventures. One day, a black SUV rolled up—her son George had come home, contrite and full of concern, insisting Agnes go for the operation to restore her sight. Agnes squeezed his hand. “Alright, I’ll go. Sam, watch the cottage and see to Rex for me, won’t you?” Sam nodded, and Rex settled by the old hearth, his proper place, faithful as ever. To keep up with more heartwarming stories, follow our page! Leave your thoughts, and show your support with a like.

Couldn’t Find Room for Love —Girls, fess up, which one of you is Lily?—The young woman eyed me and my friend, mischief glinting in her look. —I’m Lily. What’s up?—I replied, baffled. —Letter for you, Lily. From Volodya.—The stranger pulled a crumpled envelope from her jacket and handed it to me. —From Volodya? Where is he?—I asked in surprise. —He’s been moved to an adult care home. Waited for you like a godsend, Lily—watched the door, hoping you’d come. He even showed me this letter so I could check for mistakes—didn’t want to embarrass himself before you. Well, I’ve got to run, lunchtime soon. I work here as a carer.—The girl glanced at me reproachfully, sighed, and hurried off. One summer, my friend and I wandered onto the grounds of an unfamiliar institution, sixteen and hungry for adventure in the holiday heat. We settled on a comfy bench, laughing and chatting, and didn’t notice two boys approaching. —Hi girls! Bored? Fancy a chat?—One held out his hand.—I’m Volodya. —I’m Lily. This is my friend Sue. And what’s your quiet mate called? —Leonard.—The second lad answered softly. They seemed almost old-fashioned, very proper. Volodya remarked, businesslike: —Girls, why such short skirts? And Sue, that’s quite a low neckline. —Hmm…Boys, don’t be cheeky! Eyes might wander off if you’re not careful.—Sue and I laughed. —Can’t help it, we’re lads. You smoke too?—Volodya pried with upright persistence. —Of course, but not properly!—We joked. It was then we noticed their difficulty walking—Volodya barely managed, and Leonard limped on one leg. —Are you here for treatment?—I guessed. —Yeah. I had a motorbike accident; Leonard took a bad dive off some rocks.—Volodya rattled off his practiced story.—We’ll be discharged soon. We believed their ‘accidents,’ but didn’t realise—they were children with disabilities, living in a closed care home, each rehearsed a story for outsiders. Volodya and Leonard were clever, well-read, wise beyond their years. Sue and I began visiting most weeks—not just out of pity but because we learned so much from them. We laughed, shared stories, and over time, little rituals emerged—Volodya brought me flowers from nearby beds, Leonard shyly handed Sue his origami handiwork. Together, we’d sit on that bench, Volodya beside me, Leonard, back turned, focused entirely on Sue. It was clear she enjoyed his gentle attention. The lazy, warm summer faded into a wet autumn. School resumed—final year for Sue and me. Caught up in studies and life, we forgot about Volodya and Leonard for a while. Exams behind us, prom night over, we found ourselves again at the home, hoping to see the boys, expecting flowers and origami—but we waited two hours in vain. Then, from the doors, that same carer approached and handed me Volodya’s letter. “Dearest Lily! My fragrant flower, my unreachable star! I fell for you at first sight, and every meeting was life itself. Half a year spent watching the window, hoping for you, but you forgot me. I’m grateful to know real love, but our paths diverge. I remember your velvet voice, enticing smile, tender hands…I wish I could see you just one more time. I want to breathe, but there isn’t enough air… Leonard and I turned eighteen, soon off to another home. Unlikely we’ll meet again. My soul’s in tatters! Hope I recover from loving you. Farewell, my precious!” Signed, “Forever yours, Vladimir.” Inside was a pressed flower. Shame and regret flooded me—I couldn’t change the past. That old saying rang in my head: “We are responsible for those we tame.” I never realised the passion Volodya felt. I simply couldn’t love him back—only friendly curiosity, nothing more. Yes, I teased, flirted a little, stoked the embers of his crush, but had no clue it’d become a burning love for him. Years have passed. Volodya’s letter has yellowed, the flower crumbled to dust, yet I remember innocent meetings, carefree talks, his laughter. There’s more—Sue was moved by Leonard’s difficult fate; abandoned by parents because of his difference—one leg much shorter than the other. Sue qualified as a special needs teacher, now works at the home, and Leonard is her beloved husband. They have two grown sons. As for Volodya, according to Leonard, he spent his life alone. Decades later, at forty, his mum visited, tears streaming as she saw her forgotten son—rekindled lost love and took him back to her village. After that, he vanished from their lives…