Our Closest Loved Ones: A Heartwarming Family Story of Grandchildren, Homemade Biscuits, and Life’s Unbreakable Bonds

Author Harlan CovingtonReading 7 minViews 1

Family Ties

Its funny how life turns out. It could have all been so different. The neighbour often remarks how lucky they are. The children chip in and the grandchildren pop round all the time.

Like today: their middle grandson, Daniel, is dropping by. Granddad always helps him with his maths, and teaches him how to do pull-ups on the old bars behind their block.

Anne and Paul Mason are just past seventystill sprightly! Theyve got three wonderful grandchildren.

Last night, Anne, with her two granddaughtersyoung Emily and eldest Ruthbaked a batch of biscuits. Perfect for a proper cuppa, and therell be enough to treat Daniel too.

Annie, I think we ought to buy a globe, Paul calls out, breaking Annes train of thought. Danny and Emily get muddled up with maps. We need a proper big one! And maybe a ball too. Daniel and I saw some kids playing basketball in the courtyardhe fancies having a go.

Just then, the doorbell ringsDaniels back from school.

Hi Gran! Hi Granddad! I brought you your favourite poppy seed buns from the bakery.

He hangs his coat, washes his handshes used to doing things just as Gran taught.

How was school, then? What marks did you get? Paul asks.

Granddad, I got two Cs in maths. Can you help me figure it out? I got in such a muddle! You can see disappointment in his eyes.

What happened? Well go over it, dont worry. Come on, lets have another look together.

Paul, let him eat firsthes just got in, Anne chides gently.

All right then, Ill have some of that soup too, Paul winks at his grandson.

After lunch, Daniel joins granddad for a maths session. Anne watches them fondly as they disappear down the hall.

Springs almost here, and soon itll be time for their allotment outside townsuch bliss! The air is crisp and sweet. The younger two, Emily and Daniel, spend the season out there with them, while Ruth usually comes weekends with her mum and dad. Shes a big girl nowseventeen soon.

Ruth trains at nursing college; shes got a placement at the hospital. She loves it, and dreams of going on to become a doctor, to help people. Shes bright, strong-minded and kind. Shell go far.

Anne walks over to the bureau and picks up a framed photo.

My dear boy, Peter If only you could see us now. Please forgive us if we went wrong somewhere, love. Maybe we didnt help you enough; maybe we didnt know what to do. But Im not crying, Peter I just hope youre watching, seeing how we live, and youre glad for us. Thats lifeisnt it? All sorts of things jumbled together. The happy times, the sad. You had so little time, my son Oh, theres no point talking now. Too late to change whats happened.

Annie, arent you listening to me? Julia and Mark are here. And Emilys with them.

Gran! the youngest squeals, flinging herself around Annes neck, her small warm arms squeezing tight.

Look at me, Gran! Emily turns Annes face towards hers with her hands, Look at my hair today! Isnt it lovely? Just like yours! Because I look like you, Gran, and I love you so much. She gives her another big hugand Anne nearly bursts into tears.

Emily, give Gran a break! Julia and Mark laugh, watching them. Have you forgotten what you wanted to give her?

Oh, Gran, wait Emily jumps down, grabs a sheet from her mums bag. Look, I drew this at nursery! Thats you, thats Granddad, thats Mum and Dad, theres Ruth, Daniel and me! I drew our big family as a present for you and Granddad. Do you like it? Isnt it great?

Its wonderful! And everyone looks just like themselves! Paul, youd better come and see what your granddaughters made for usIll frame it and hang it up. Our whole big familyhow lovely!

Well, wed better get going, Anne. Daniel, have you got your satchel? Dont forget, Anne, Paul, you must come to ours for lunch tomorrow. The kids are putting on a little concert. Right, off we go thenthanks, see you tomorrow!

The door closes. Anne and Paul sit down with their tea.

Its lovely, isnt it, Paul? Our family is so big.

It is, Annie.

Do you remember when Peter brought Julia home that first time? I was so happyI thought maybe hed turn things around. For a whole year, everything was wonderful. And then, back to old ways. That crowd, those girls

No, Anne, dont cry, Paul puts a comforting arm around her.

Then Julia left, and Peter He got into trouble in a fight and that was it. Our boy was gone.

Oh, Annie, love Paul wipes away her tears.

I know, Paul, its justEmilys picture got me thinking. How lucky we were to find Julia, expecting, after Peter had gone. And then when she met Mark, it gave us Daniel and Emily, tooso Ruth ended up with a brother and a sister. Theyre all ours, no matter what came before.

And you know what? If this was the road we had to walk, Ill still say were the happiest grandparents in the world!

Our great big familytheyre the dearest people in the world.

Where theres love and understanding, theres no room for sorrow.Paul squeezes Annes hand, their fingers threaded together like roots beneath old, sturdy trees. Through the window, the last of the afternoon sun dapples the biscuit tin and glimmers in Emilys proudly crayoned drawing.

Anne smiles, her tears drying. Lets hang Emilys picture now, she says. Right here in the kitchenso every morning when we make tea, we can see everyone together, just as they are.

Paul nods, fumbling a bit with the tape, but together they get the picture up straight. They step back and look: six bright figures, hand in hand with wide, happy faces.

For a moment, all the losses and the aching spaces feel softened by the laughter and chatter that still echo through these rooms.

Outside, the clang of basketball on concrete, a peal of laughter from somewhere below; soon, flowers will open, the allotment will bloom, and once again childrens voices will carry on the breeze.

Paul pours another cup for Anne, and she for hima lifetimes gentle ritual. And as the scent of biscuits says home, and the familys love fills every corner, the past becomes gentler, the future brighter, and their hearts, ever mended, beat strong.

With Emilys picture shining in the golden light, nothing feels missing at all.

Back to Her Again — Are you going back to her, again? Helen asked the question, already knowing the answer. David nodded, avoiding her gaze. He tugged on his coat and checked his pockets — keys, phone, wallet. Everything was there. He could leave. Helen waited. For a word. Even just “sorry” or “I’ll be back soon.” But David simply opened the door and walked out. The lock clicked quietly, almost apologetically, as if excusing its owner. Helen moved to the window. The street below was lit by dull street lamps, and she easily spotted the familiar figure. David walked quickly, determinedly, like a man who knew exactly where he was going. To her. To Anna. To their seven-year-old Sophie. Helen pressed her forehead to the cold glass. …She knew. She’d known from the start what she was signing up for. When she met David, he was still married. Technically. A stamp in the passport, a shared flat, a child. But he no longer lived with Anna — he rented a room, only visiting for his daughter. “She cheated on me,” David had said back then. “I couldn’t forgive. I filed for divorce.” And Helen believed him. Oh, how easily she believed him. Because she wanted to. Because she had fallen — foolishly, desperately, as if she were seventeen. Café dates, long phone calls, the first kiss in the rain by her flat. David looked at her like she was the only woman in the world. The divorce. Their wedding. A new flat, joint plans, talks about the future. Then it began. First — the calls. “David, bring medicine for Sophie, it’s urgent, she’s ill.” “David, our tap’s leaking, I don’t know what to do.” “David, Sophie’s crying, she wants to see you, come right now.” David would rush over every time. Helen tried to understand. A child — that’s sacred. The daughter wasn’t at fault for the split. Of course, he should help, be present. Sometimes David listened, tried to set boundaries with his ex-wife. But Anna simply changed tactics. “Don’t come at the weekend. Sophie doesn’t want to see you.” “Don’t call, it upsets her.” “She asked why daddy left us. I didn’t know what to say.” And David broke down. Every time. When he tried to refuse yet another “urgent” request — Anna hit where it hurt. Within a week, Sophie would repeat her mum’s words: “You don’t love us. You chose another lady. I don’t want to see you.” A seven-year-old couldn’t invent that herself. David returned from these talks broken, guilty, eyes dull. And again dashed to his ex’s at the first call — just so his daughter wouldn’t turn away, just so she wouldn’t look at him with cold, distant eyes. Helen understood. She truly did. But she was tired. David’s figure disappeared round the corner. Helen peeled herself from the window, absently rubbing her forehead — a red mark remained from the glass. The empty flat pressed in. The clock read nearly midnight when the key turned in the lock. Helen sat in the kitchen, an untouched cup of cold tea before her. She hadn’t taken a sip — just watched a dark film spread over the surface. Three hours. Three hours she waited, listening for every sound on the landing. David entered quietly, peeled off his coat, hung it up. Moved with caution, like a man hoping to sneak by unnoticed. “What happened this time?” Helen was surprised how calm her voice was. Three hours she’d rehearsed that phrase, and by midnight all emotion had burnt out inside her. David hesitated. “The boiler broke. I had to fix it.” Helen slowly looked up. He stood in the kitchen doorway, unsure whether to come in. He looked somewhere past her, into the dark window. “You can’t fix boilers.” “I called a plumber.” “And you had to wait there?” Helen pushed the cup away. “You couldn’t call from here? From your phone?” David frowned, folded his arms. The silence thickened: heavy and unpleasant. “Do you still love her?” Now he looked. Sharply, angrily, hurt. “What nonsense is this? I do everything for Sophie! For my daughter! What’s Anna got to do with anything?” He stepped into the kitchen, and Helen involuntarily edged back with her chair. “You knew, when you got involved with me, that I’d have to go round. You knew I have a child. So what now? Are you going to throw a fit every time I go to my daughter?” Her throat tightened. Helen wanted to reply sharply, proudly, but instead her eyes stung, and the first tear rolled down her cheek. “I thought…” she choked, fighting a lump. “I thought you’d at least pretend to love me. Make an effort.” “Helen, come on…” “I’m tired!” her voice broke into a shout, and she startled herself with the sound. “Tired of being not even in second place! Third! After your ex, after her whims, after midnight boilers!” David struck his palm on the door frame. “What do you want from me?! To abandon my daughter? Not go see her?!” “I want you to choose me, just once!” Helen jumped up, the cup wobbled, tea spilled across the table. “Just once say ‘no’! Not to me — to her! To Anna!” “I’m sick of your drama!” David spun round, grabbed his coat from the hook. “Where are you going?” The only answer was the door slamming shut. Helen stood in the kitchen, tea dripping onto the linoleum, ringing in her ears. She grabbed her phone, dialled his number. Ring, ring, ring. “The subscriber cannot answer.” Again. And again. Silence. Helen slowly sank onto a chair, clutching her phone to her chest. Where had he gone? To her? Back to her again? Or was he roaming the night streets, angry and hurt? She didn’t know. Not knowing made it worse. The night dragged endlessly. Helen sat on the bed, clutching her phone — the screen would blink, then go dark. Dial the number, hear the rings, hang up. Type a message: “Where are you?” Then another: “Please reply.” And another: “I’m scared.” Send — and watch each one get a single lonely grey tick. Not delivered. Or delivered, but unread. What difference does it make? By four a.m., Helen stopped crying. The tears simply ran out, drying up somewhere inside, leaving only a hollow ring. She got up, switched the bedroom light on, and opened her wardrobe. Enough. She’d had enough. The suitcase was on top of the closet, dusty, with a torn tag from some old trip. Helen dropped it on the bed and started packing. Jumpers, jeans, underwear. Not sorting, not thinking — just stuffing it all in, whatever she could reach. If he didn’t care — neither did she. Let him come home to an empty flat. Let him search, call, send messages she’d never read. Let him know how it feels. By six, Helen stood in the hallway. Two suitcases, a shoulder bag, coat fastened crookedly — one side hanging longer than the other. She looked at the bunch of keys in her hand. Time to remove hers, leave it on the table. Her fingers fumbled. Helen jiggled the ring, tried to prise her key off with a nail, but it wouldn’t come, her hands were trembling, and her eyes stung again, who knew from where, more tears— “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” The keys clattered onto the tile. Helen stared at them for a second, then just collapsed onto a suitcase, hugged her arms round herself, and sobbed hard. Loud, ugly, choked, like a child who’d broken mum’s favourite vase and thought the world had ended. She didn’t hear the door open. “Helen…” David knelt before her, right on the cold hall floor. He smelt of smoke and the night city. “Helen, I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.” She looked up. Her face was wet, swollen, mascara streaked black. David gently took her hands in his. “I was at Mum’s. All night. She gave me a real earful… knocked some sense into me.” Helen was silent. She stared at him — uncertain whether to believe or not. “I’m going to take Anna to court. Ask for a proper schedule for seeing Sophie. Official, set by the courts, like it should be. She won’t be able to manipulate things, use Sophie against me.” His fingers squeezed Helen’s hands tighter. “I choose you, Helen. Do you hear me? You. You’re my family.” Something trembled inside her. A little shoot of hope, silly and stubborn, the one she’d tried all night to tear out. “Really?” “Really.” Helen closed her eyes. She would trust David. One last time. After that… whatever happens, happens.

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