Margaret Thompson was sitting on a bench in the garden of Brookfield Nursing Home, tears streaming down her face. It was her 80th birthday, yet neither her son nor her daughter had turned up to wish her well.
Her nextdoor neighbour in the wing, Evelyn Clarke, stopped by with a card and a small wrapped present. Even the care assistant, Mary, handed Margaret an apple as a birthday treat. The home itself was respectable, but the staff, for the most part, seemed indifferent.
Everyone knew that places like Brookfield were where families sent their elders to die out their days, a burden they preferred not to shoulder at home. Margarets own son, Tom, had claimed he was sending her there for rest and a bit of treatment, but in truth he just wanted her out of the way of his new wife, Claire.
The flat had originally been Margarets, and Tom had later persuaded her to sign a deed of gift, promising she could stay as she always had. In practice, the whole family moved in with her, and a constant feud with Claire began. Claire was never satisfied she left the bathroom a mess, never cooked properly, and complained about everything. Tom initially defended her, then grew weary and started shouting himself. Margaret noticed they whispered whenever she entered a room, only to fall silent as soon as she stepped inside.
One morning Tom tried to convince her that she needed to rest and recuperate. Margaret stared into his eyes and asked, So youre putting me in a nursing home, son? He flushed, fumbled for words, and answered apologetically, Its not a home, Mum, its just a care centre. Youll be here a month, then well bring you back. He hurriedly signed the paperwork, drove off promising to return soon, and never really did. He showed up only once, bearing two apples and two oranges, asked how she was, and vanished before she could finish her reply. Its now been two years since shes been here.
After a month passed and Tom still hadnt visited, Margaret tried the landline. Strangers answered; Tom had sold the flat and vanished without a trace. She spent a couple of nights weeping, aware that no one would take her back home. The hardest part was that shed once driven a wedge between her own daughter and her husband for the sake of her sons happiness.
Margaret had grown up in a small Yorkshire village, where shed married her schoolmate Peter. They lived in a modest house with a little farm. Life was simple and never hungry, but a city trader named George visited Peters parents and sang the praises of city life good salaries, council houses handed out on the spot. Peter, eager for a better future, sold the farm, moved to Leeds, and was promptly given a flat and a set of secondhand furniture, plus an old Zaporozhianstyle car that later smashed in an accident.
Two days after the crash, Peter died in the hospital. Margaret was left alone with two young children. To keep them fed and clothed, she spent evenings mopping corridors in apartment blocks. She hoped the kids would grow up and help, but that never happened.
Tom fell into trouble and had to borrow money just to stay out of prison; she repaid those debts for two years. Her daughter Lucy married, had a baby, and for a while everything seemed fine. Then Tom fell ill repeatedly, and she quit her job to shuttle him between hospitals. Doctors struggled to pin down his condition, eventually discovering a rare disease treated only at a specialist institute with a long waiting list. While Lucy was ferrying him to appointments, her own husband left her, though he at least left the flat behind. In the hospital she met a widower, James, whose own daughter suffered the same ailment. They grew close, moved in together, and after five years James fell seriously ill, needing money for an operation. Margaret had saved enough and intended to give it to Tom as a downpayment for a new flat.
When Lucy asked for that money, Margaret felt it would be selfish to give it to a stranger when her own son needed it more, so she declined. Lucy took it as a betrayal, telling her mother she was no longer a mother to her and that she should not be called upon in hard times. They went twenty years without speaking.
Lucy eventually recovered, took her children, and moved to a seaside town. If she could turn back time, Margaret would have acted differently, but the past is set in stone.
One afternoon Margaret rose slowly from the bench and shuffled back toward the homes entrance. Suddenly she heard, Mum! Her heart leapt. She turned to see Lucy, legs wobbling, about to fall, but Lucy caught her just in time.
Finally Ive found you, Lucy breathed. Your brother wouldnt give me the address, so I threatened him in court for selling the flat illegally. He fell silent after that.
They entered the lounge and sank into a sofa.
I’m sorry, Mum, for not keeping in touch all those years, Lucy said, her voice shaking. I was angry, then I kept postponing, ashamed. A week ago you appeared to me in a dream, walking through a forest, crying.
I stood up, feeling a heavy weight in my chest, Lucy continued. I told my husband everything, and he told me to come back and make peace. I came here, but strangers answered the phone, knowing nothing.
I spent ages hunting for my brothers address, finally found it, and here we are. Pack your bags, well go together. You know the big house by the sea? My husband says if youre unwell, youll come with us.
Margaret clung to Lucy, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks.
May the Lord, your God, keep your fathers memory and bless your mother, so your days may be long upon the earth He gives you, Lucy whispered.
