**Day of Forgiveness**
The last bus brought Emily back from the city to her village. She’d spent the whole day rushing—first to the hospital to collect paperwork, then to the funeral home, then back to the hospital to drop off the bundle of clothes her mum had prepared in advance. She’d even managed to swing by her own place to change into a black jumper.
Exhausted, Emily slumped onto a chair at the kitchen table, her legs aching too much to bother taking off her shoes. The house had gone cold while she was gone—she should have lit the stove before leaving that morning. Now it was evening, and her breath curled in the air as she stared blankly at the muddy footprints on the floor. The paramedics, the men who had carried Mum out, the neighbours—they’d all tramped through. Only then did it hit her—the door had been left wide open all day, and it was October. She didn’t know if she was meant to mop the floor now. Just in case, she left it.
Footsteps scraped outside. Emily jumped up, thinking it might be her sister Katie, but it was just Aunt Maggie, Mum’s old friend from down the road.
“Saw you’d come back. Need any help?”
“No.” Emily dropped back into the chair.
“Blimey, it’s freezing in here.” Aunt Maggie disappeared and returned with an armful of firewood, bustling about to light the stove. For a second, Emily swore it was Mum moving around in the kitchen, that the last few days had just been a bad dream…
“There, that’ll warm up soon,” Aunt Maggie said, stepping back into the room. “Don’t you worry about the wake. Funeral’s tomorrow, yeah? You go sort things in town—me and Ann’ll handle things here. Katie know? She coming?”
“Phoned her—no answer. Sent a text. No idea. Thanks, though.” Emily’s voice was barely audible.
“Ah, well. You’re not strangers to us. Me and your mum were thick as thieves.” The words carried a sharpness, and Emily caught it, glancing up. “Right, I’ll be off,” Aunt Maggie muttered, awkward now, grabbing the door handle. She hesitated. “Don’t lock up tomorrow, eh?”
Emily nodded, biting her lip. The fire crackled, the flames humming in the chimney, breathing life back into the house. That heavy, hollow loneliness—the kind that settles after a loss—eased just a little. They say the dead linger close in those first days. Emily glanced around, half-expecting to catch something—a shadow, a whisper. Nothing.
Mum had been poorly for ages. After Dad died, she’d lost her spark, like she’d given up. Sometimes Emily wondered if she’d *wanted* to go, if she was hurrying after him. She’d turned quiet, sharp. When Emily finished school, she’d moved to the city, studied accounting at college.
Every weekend, she came back—the village wasn’t far. Brought groceries, helped around the house. Last year, Mum had shrunk, weakened. The hospital visit confirmed the worst. Mum hadn’t even flinched at the diagnosis—if anything, she’d seemed relieved.
When she could hardly get out of bed, Emily took leave from work to care for her. A month later, she was gone. Those last two days, Mum hadn’t eaten, hadn’t spoken, drifting in and out. Emily had kept talking anyway—if only to fill the silence. On the last day, she’d begged forgiveness, stroking Mum’s thin, lifeless hand, pleading with her not to leave her alone.
She’d said Katie was coming. At the sound of her sister’s name, Mum’s eyelids had flickered—but she hadn’t opened her eyes. Maybe she was already there, wherever Dad was, the place she’d been aching to reach all these years.
Dad had been a hard worker, never one for the bottle—unusual in the village. Plenty of women had tried their luck with him, inventing reasons to call him over. But he’d loved Mum, never strayed. Couldn’t hide that sort of thing here.
He’d always brought home sweets for her and Katie. How they’d squealed over those little bags.
He’d died young. No, not died—*lost*. And Mum had never recovered. Emily was only seven, Katie already finishing Year 11. She’d left for college—no, *fled*—right after. Never came back.
Before the end, when Mum could still speak, she’d asked Emily to call Katie, beg her to visit. Emily had tried—calls, texts—but the phone just rang out. The last message, about Mum’s passing, went unanswered. Emily had lied, told Mum Katie’s daughter was poorly. She’d come when the girl was better. Had Mum believed her? No way to know now.
She remembered ringing Katie last year, when the doctors laid it out plain. *She needs you.*
Katie hadn’t even flinched.
“She kicked me out. Don’t you remember? Not coming.”
“You were *both* unbearable. She could die—just talk, forgive each other—”
“Not my fault Dad’s dead. I was a *kid*. Did she even *think* what throwing me out would do? Or was it just easier to blame me?”
“She didn’t throw you out, she just—”
“Not coming.” The line went dead.
*So that’s it.* Emily stood, shrugging off her coat. The house was warming up, but she couldn’t stop shaking. *Brilliant timing to catch a chill.* She flicked on the electric hob and set the kettle.
Not hungry—but tea would help. Mum had always kept the kitchen spotless. Now crumbs and stains stood out. Who cared about tidiness now? Emily wiped the table anyway, as if Mum might scold her for slacking.
She’d need to sort the house—couldn’t do it without Katie. Doubt Katie even wanted it. *Would she even come for the funeral?*
The front door banged. Emily froze. No footsteps. Dark outside, and she hadn’t locked up after Aunt Maggie. Maybe she’d forgotten something?
Fear crept under her skin. She stood, ready to bolt—but where? Out the window? Then someone stepped into the room. Her heart pounded so hard she could *hear* it. Peering around the stove, she saw Katie.
“Thank God! You came!” Emily lunged forward, hugging her, pressing her flushed cheek to her sister’s cold one.
Katie didn’t move, didn’t hug back.
“Surprised?” Her voice was brittle, like autumn leaves.
“I hoped. Let me get you tea. Just sugar and biscuits, but—oh! Jam. You hungry? I’ll boil some potatoes—” Emily pulled away, darting toward the pantry.
“Tea’s fine.”
Emily straightened, slow, turning back. Katie was eyeing the bed.
“She died here?”
“Yeah. I was with her. She waited for you.” The joy drained from Emily’s voice.
Katie tossed her coat onto the bed, strode to the framed photo of their parents. Emily hung the coat properly, then joined her.
“Funeral’s tomorrow?” Katie didn’t take her eyes off the picture.
“Yep. All sorted. Hearse booked, vicar’s arranged. Aunt Maggie’s doing the wake…” Emily rattled it off like a school report, tears dripping onto her black jumper. “Thanks for coming. I was… alone.”
“You mentioned tea.”
Right. Emily wiped her face, leading the way to the kitchen.
She set out mugs, poured the brew. Katie picked up hers—the one with forget-me-nots painted on it.
“Can’t believe this survived.” A flicker of a smile.
“Jam? Your favourite—strawberry. Last year’s, though.”
“Just biscuits.”
They drank in silence. The house smelled of herbs now—Mum had hung them by the stove. Emily’s eyes welled up again.
“You’ve grown. Look like her.” Katie avoided saying *Mum*. “Married? Working?”
“Work, no husband. Took leave to care for Mum. You? Why didn’t you answer? I thought you’d skip the funeral.”
“You blame me too?”
“No! God, no.” Too quick.
“Liar.” Katie sighed. “I was drowning, being dragged under. Didn’t see what happened—didn’t even see *him*. How was it my fault? Why was he even *there*? He was meant to be at the workshop. She said he saved me and drowned. But I always thought it was *Tom* who pulled me out. I remember *him*, not Dad. She wasn’t even there—” Her voice cracked.
Emily knew this was Katie’s plea—to herself, to their sister, to their mum—for absolution.
“I saw it,” Emily whispered. “I called Dad.”
“*You*?” Katie whipped around.
“The workshop was waiting on parts. Nothing to do, so Dad came home**He didn’t know you were at the river—I told him, and he ran to save you, and I was too small to do anything but watch.**
