After Turning Seventy, She Felt Unwanted by All—Not Even Her Son or Daughter Remembered Her Birthday, Until an Unexpected Reunion Changed Everything

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 5 minViews 1

After turning seventy, I found myself unwanted by anyoneeven my own son and daughter didnt bother to wish me a happy birthday.

I was sitting alone on a bench in the hospital gardens, silent tears running down my cheeks. Today marked my seventieth birthday, yet not a word from my children. Only Muriel, my roommate, noticed. She offered her congratulations and even handed me a small tokena bar of chocolate. Nurse Grace brought me an apple in honour of the day. To be fair, the hospital is decent enough, but the staff carry an air of indifference.

I suppose everyone here understands the truth: the elderly end up in such places when their children find them a burden. My own son brought me here under the pretence that I needed rest and care, but really, I was just in my daughter-in-laws way.

The flat I once owned is no longer mine. My son pressured me into signing the deeds over to him, promising I could stay just as before. As soon as the ink dried, though, the whole family moved in and tensions with my daughter-in-law flared.

She never missed an opportunity to criticisemy cooking was never right, the bathroom was always somehow my fault, and more. At first, my son defended me, but gradually he stopped, snapping at me instead. It wasnt hard to notice that the two of them often whispered behind closed doors.

Eventually, my son began suggesting I should recover and have a break. I stared him in the eye and asked, So, son, have you decided to put me in a care home?

He blushed, unable to meet my gaze. Mum, please, its just a place for you to get some resta month or so, and then youll be home.

He brought me here, signed a pile of paperwork, promised to be back soon, and left. That was two years ago.

I once tried to ring my son, but a strange voice answered, explaining that my son had sold the flat. I have no idea where he is now. I cried many nights at first, knowing well as I was brought here that Id never return home. Perhaps the most painful thing is remembering how I once hurt my daughter, all in pursuit of my sons happiness.

I grew up in a village. We had a large house, a bit of a smallholding. One day, our neighbour came by, telling my husband that life in the city was bettera steady job, a nice flat.

My husband leapt at the idea. He persuaded me, and we sold up, moving to the city. The neighbour was right; we got a council flat, then slowly bought some furniture, even an old car. But my husband was injured in a car crash and died the day after from his injuries. I was left alone with two children. To keep us afloat, I scrubbed stairwells in the evenings. I always hoped my children would help me in my old agebut that was not to be.

My son got into trouble, and I had to borrow a hefty sum to keep him out of prison. Some time later, my daughter married and had a son. At first everything seemed fine, but then my grandson fell ill. My daughter had to leave her job to care for him, but the doctors couldnt figure out what was wrong for ages.

Finally, my grandsons illness was named, but treatment was only possible in one hospital down south, with a long waiting list. As my daughter cared for her boy, her husband abandoned the family. It was during this time she met a widower at the hospital whose daughter suffered from the same condition. They moved in together.

A few years on, her new husband needed money for an operation. I had savings set asideintended as a deposit for my sons house. When my daughter asked for help, I refused, unwilling to use the money on someone I considered a stranger. My daughter was deeply hurt, said she had no mother anymore, and weve not spoken for eleven years.

I rose quietly from the bench and slowly made my way back to the home. Suddenly, I heard someone call out, Mum!

My heart thundered in my chest. I turned, and there was my daughter. My knees buckled, and she rushed to catch me.

Ive been looking for you so long, Mum. My brother didnt want to share your address. He only gave it me when I threatened him with court over the illegal sale of your flat. Im so sorry its taken me all these years to come. At first, I was furious with you, then just kept putting it off, and I was too ashamed. A few weeks ago, I dreamt you were wandering through the woods, weeping. When I woke, I felt dreadful. I told my husband, and he said it was time to find you and make things right. When I visited your former flat, there were only strangers there whod never known you. It took ages to track down my brother. Weve a big house by the sea, and my husband said you should come and live with us.

I hugged my daughter, weepingbut this time, my tears were tears of joy.

Don’t Leave, Mum: A Family Story There’s an old saying: people aren’t like nuts—you can’t crack them right away. But Tamara Watson was sure that was nonsense. She prided herself on reading people perfectly! Her daughter, Millie, had married just a year ago. Tamara had dreamed of her daughter finding the right man, starting a family, and welcoming grandchildren. She imagined herself as the proud matriarch of their sprawling, happy brood, just as she had always been. Russell seemed clever and certainly wasn’t short of money—and he was obviously a bit smug about it. But the newlyweds insisted on living independently, as Russ had his own flat, and it seemed they didn’t need Tamara’s advice about anything! She could see he was clearly a bad influence on Millie! This arrangement didn’t fit with Tamara’s plans at all. Russell got right under her skin. “Mum, you just don’t understand—Russell grew up in care. He’s worked for everything, he’s strong and kind,” Millie would protest. But Tamara would just purse her lips and find new faults with Russell. He was not at all the person he pretended to be in front of her daughter! And it was her motherly duty to open Millie’s eyes to this vacant man before it was too late! No degree, difficult to talk to, uninterested in anything! At weekends, he just slumped in front of the telly, claiming he needed to “rest!” And her daughter wanted to spend her life with someone like that? No way! She was sure Millie would thank her in the end. And what about the children, her future grandchildren—what kind of father would teach them anything worthwhile?! All in all, Tamara was bitterly disappointed. Russell, sensing his mother-in-law’s mood, started avoiding the family. They spoke less and less, and Tamara eventually refused to step foot in their flat. Millie’s dad, ever the gentle soul, kept neutral, knowing what his wife could be like. One night, Millie rang Tamara sounding frantic: “Mum, I didn’t tell you, but I’m away for work for two days. Russell caught a chill on site, came home early, and isn’t answering my calls.” “Milly, why are you telling me this?” Tamara exploded. “You two are so independent now, don’t seem to care about us! If something’s wrong with me, nobody notices! And now you wake me up at night to say your husband’s ill? Are you alright in the head?” “Mum, please…” Millie’s voice trembled with worry, “It just hurt that you think Russell’s no good, when he’s not like that at all. How could you think I’d marry someone bad? Don’t you trust me?” Tamara was silent. “Mum, please, you’ve got our spare key. Can you go and check on him? I’m really worried—something’s wrong with Russ. Please, Mum!” “Alright, but only for you,” Tamara said, waking her husband. When they arrived, no one answered the bell, so Tamara let herself in. “It’s probably nothing—maybe he’s not home?” her husband suggested, but Tamara’s anxiety grew. She entered the living room—and froze. Russell was sprawled on the sofa, burning with fever. The paramedic who arrived nodded sympathetically: “Looks like your son’s got complications from a cold—kept working through it, I bet?” “He works hard,” Tamara nodded. “He’ll be okay. Keep an eye on him, ring if anything changes.” Russell slept, and Tamara found herself sitting at his bedside all night—the son-in-law she’d resented for so long. He looked younger, softer, asleep—a far cry from his usual self. “Mum—don’t go, Mum,” Russell murmured in his sleep, gripping her hand. Tamara was stunned. But she didn’t pull away. She sat there beside him until dawn. At sunrise, Millie rang again: “Mum, sorry to put you through this—I’ll be home soon, you don’t need to come around, I think it’ll all work out.” “It will, darling, it already has,” Tamara said gently. “We’re here, and everything’s alright.” ***** When Millie’s first child was born, Tamara was the first to offer her help. Russell kissed her hand in gratitude: “See, Millie? You said your mum wouldn’t want to help us.” Tamara, proudly cradling baby Timothy, paraded around the flat, whispering to the newborn: “Little Tim, you’re a lucky lad! You’ve got the best mum, dad, and grandparents! What a life you’ll have!” Perhaps the old saying is true: people aren’t like nuts—you can’t crack them straight away. It’s only love that helps you truly understand each other.

She Was Never Truly Alone: An Ordinary Story It was a late winter morning as daylight crept in. Outside, council workers scraped snow from the close with their sturdy shovels. The heavy front door banged shut again and again, ushering in and out the flood of neighbours hurrying off to work. On the sixth-floor windowsill, Felix the cat observed it all with quiet curiosity. In his previous life, Felix had been a city banker, concerned only with money and numbers—never pausing to consider what else life might hold. But now, he understood that kindness, companionship, and a warm roof overhead far outweighed worldly wealth. Felix glanced back. There, on the old sagging sofa, slept Nan Val, his saviour and best friend. He slinked down from the window and curled up at her pillow, soft fur pressed gently against her silvered head. Felix knew Nan Val’s head ached each morning, and he did what he could to help. “Felix, you’re quite the little healer!” she murmured as she awoke to his gentle warmth. “That pain’s gone, you clever boy—how do you do it?” Felix gave his paw a nonchalant shake as if to say, “It’s nothing—I could do much more if you asked!” But then a low, jealous grumble echoed from the hallway: it was Gav, the terrier. Gav had been Nan Val’s loyal companion for many years. At the first sound of unfamiliar footsteps, he always barked with gusto, protecting his home and the woman he loved. No doubt he fancied himself the true master of the flat. “What was he in a past life?” mused Felix. “A police constable, maybe—or a foreman. Loud and bossy, but perhaps that’s just what a guard dog should be!” “My darlings, what would I do without you?” Nan Val sighed fondly, shuffling to her feet. “Now, time for breakfast—then off for a little walk.” “And if the pension comes in this week, I’ll buy us a chicken!” At the word “chicken,” a wave of excitement swept the room. Felix kneeded the sofa with his paws, purring so loudly it made Nan Val chuckle. He nuzzled her thin arthritic hand with his broad furry head. “Oh, you wise old boy—you understand every word, don’t you?” she sighed in delight. Gav barked in agreement and bumped his cold nose against her knee. “They’re such loving souls,” Nan Val thought, smiling. “Home is warmer and the heart less lonely with them near.” “When I’m gone, who knows what comes next? Everyone’s got an opinion, but who can say for sure? If I had my choice, I’d come back as a cat—so long as a kind person would take me in. As a dog, I don’t think I’d manage—all that barking. I’m too soft-spoken for that. But a cat? I’d make a gentle, affectionate one, I’m sure. Just let me land with good people.” “Goodness gracious, what strange ideas!” she scolded herself. “That’s what old age does to your mind.” She didn’t notice Felix’s sly whiskered smile as he glanced at Gav, silently thinking: “See—she wants to be a cat, not a dog.” After all, Felix had learned to read minds these days—a rather nice bonus, really. And that’s how things stood, in their little flat above the snowy streets of England.