Lucy set out the breakfast bowls, spreading jam in her son’s porridge to make a funny face.
“Boys! Breakfast!” she called, pouring freshly brewed tea into their mugs.
Tommy slid into his chair and frowned at his plate.
“I hate porridge,” he grumbled.
“Since when? Oats are good for you. If you want to go ice skating later, you need a proper meal.” James sat across from his son, scooped a spoonful, and took a bite. “Mmm… Delicious. Your mum’s a magician, I swear. No one makes porridge like her.”
Tommy gave his dad a doubtful look but picked up his spoon anyway. When he’d finished, Lucy cleared the empty bowl and nudged his tea closer.
“Everything alright?” She glanced at James. “You’ve been miles away lately. Work trouble?”
“I ate it all. When are we going skating?” Tommy asked eagerly.
“Go play for a bit. Mum and I need to talk.” James caught his son’s sulky look. “Just a little longer, promise.”
For a second, Lucy thought she could read Tommy’s mind—wondering whether to cry because skating might get cancelled or to stomp off and sulk in his room. She smiled and nodded, reassuring him silently that they’d still go, just later.
Tommy slid off his chair and marched out, his little face stormy.
“So, what’s eating you?” Lucy took his vacated seat.
“Don’t know how to say it. Doesn’t even make sense to me,” James muttered, spinning his mug.
“Are you having an affair? Is that it?” Lucy cut straight to it.
“Lucy, what—how could you even think that?” James bristled.
“Well, if it’s not work, what else would have you so tied in knots?” Her patience was thinning. “Yesterday, you said you’d take the bins out. Nodded like you heard me, then forgot. You’re distracted. Just tell me the truth.”
James studied her, then exhaled.
“My mum came to see me.” The words seemed to stick in his throat.
“In a dream? Did she send you a message from beyond the grave?” Lucy joked weakly.
“No. Not a dream. She’s alive.” James shoved his mug away, tea sloshing. Lucy jumped up, grabbed a sponge, and wiped the spill.
“But she’s dead. Or were you lying all this time?” Lucy tossed the sponge into the sink and sat back down.
“I didn’t lie. She was dead to me—that part’s true,” James snapped, frustrated.
“Okay, back up. Dead, alive… Explain. I’m listening.”
James rubbed his face. “I was ten, maybe. Dad drank. They fought all the time. Mum was beautiful, and he was jealous—hit her sometimes. She covered the bruises, but I saw them.”
He swallowed hard. “One night, Dad came home wasted. Started yelling that she drove him to it. Mum stayed quiet at first, but that just made him angrier. I went to my room, heard them screaming. Then—something heavy hit the floor. Silence. I waited, then crept out.”
James’ voice faltered. “Dad was on the tiles, arms out. Blood trickling from his head. And Mum… She stood over him, hands pressed to her mouth.”
“She saw me and shoved me out. Said Dad had fallen, she’d call an ambulance. But the police came instead. They took her. Told me to wait for Auntie June—Dad’s sister. So I did, sitting on the stairs till she arrived.”
James’ fingers tightened around his mug. “Auntie June sobbed over Dad, called Mum a murderer. Said she belonged in prison. Then told me to pack—said I was living with her now. What could I do?”
His voice turned bitter. “She poisoned me against Mum. Said awful things. I screamed that Mum loved Dad, that she’d never hurt him—but no one listened. Uncle Pete—June’s husband—told me to keep quiet. ‘Let people think your parents died in a crash,’ he said. ‘Or kids’ll bully you for having a killer mum.’”
James blinked hard. “Mum never came for me. No letters, no calls. I stopped waiting. Auntie June fed me, clothed me—but I wasn’t wanted. Just a burden.”
He hesitated. “Once, I stole a tenner from her purse. Don’t even remember why. She caught me, slapped me raw. Said next time, she’d dump me in care.”
James shook his head. “All I wanted was to get away. Dunno how I didn’t end up a delinquent. When I finished school, I left. Moved to London, got into uni, met you.”
A ragged sigh. “I lied so long about my parents ‘dying in a crash’ that I couldn’t stop. Even with you. Scared you’d leave if you knew the truth—that I was a killer’s son.”
Lucy reached for his hand. “God, James… You never saw her again? Your mum?”
“No. Till three days ago. She turned up at work. Didn’t recognise her at first—but then I just knew.” His throat worked. “Didn’t want to talk. Still angry she abandoned me, ruined everything. But the way she looked at me… I listened.”
They’d gone to a café near his office. James’ voice softened. “Lucy, I hate admitting it, but… I’m glad she’s back.”
Lucy tensed. “What did she say? Did she—did she kill him?”
James nodded. “Like I said, an accident. Dad swung at her, she shoved him back. He lost balance, hit his head on the table corner…”
“Did she go to prison?”
“Yeah. Dad had fresh bruises—police thought she’d beaten him. No marks on her, though. They called it premeditated. Neighbors and Auntie June testified against her.”
His voice cracked. “She wrote me letters—I never got one. June must’ve trashed them. Mum showed me one reply—June wrote that I’d forgotten her, didn’t want a murderer for a mum.”
James dragged a hand through his hair. “I never knew. And when I grew up, I didn’t look. All these years…”
Lucy squeezed his fingers. “Why now? Why wait so long?”
“Asked her the same. She was scared. Scared I’d hate her. Said she’s watched me all these years—knew everything about me. Saw me. And I never noticed.”
His breath hitched. “Sold her house, moved here just to be near me. Cleaned offices, scrubbed floors—and she’d been a history teacher. Too shamed to work in schools again. Thought I’d be ashamed too.” He laughed bitterly. “She wasn’t wrong.”
“Where is she now?”
“Works at the local museum. Gives tours sometimes.”
Lucy frowned. “Think I’ve seen her. What’s she look like?”
“Tall, thin. Too thin. Sad eyes—”
“Wait. That woman by our building last week? In the long coat and pink beret?”
James nodded. “That’s her. Said she came often, just to see us.”
Lucy hugged herself. “What does she want?”
“You disgusted she killed my dad—even by accident?” James’ voice turned defensive. “She served her time. Just wants to know us.”
Lucy bit her lip. “What do we tell Tommy? ‘Oh, by the way, grandma’s not dead’?”
“Say she lived abroad. Lost touch. That’s not what scares me.” His hands trembled. “I lived decades without her, believing she chose to leave. Now I know she didn’t—but I can’t call her ‘Mum.’ Not yet.”
He looked lost. “At first, I wanted to walk away. Now? I’m ashamed I never looked for her.”
Lucy touched his cheek. “I get it. Childhood wounds don’t just vanish. But—do you believe her? That it was an accident?”
James straightened. “I’ve thought of nothing else. And yes. I do.”
“When are you seeing her?”
“Tomorrow. We’ll all go.”
Lucy paled. “Maybe just you first? Soften Tommy up—”
“Yeah, you’re right.” James forced a smile. “Let’s skate first. We’ve got time to get used to it—having a mum, a grandma.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Funny, isn’t it? People say while your parents are alive, you’re still a child. But I don’t feel like one. I’ve forgotten how.”
“How’d you talk to her? What’d you call her?”
“Nothing. Just listened.” He paused. “Lucy… I think part of me never stopped waiting.”
Standing, he called, “Tommy! Get your coat—skating time!”
—
That night, Lucy lay awake, staring at the ceiling. James slept soundly for the first time in days.Lucy reached for her phone in the dark and dialed her own mother’s number, whispering, “I love you,” before hanging up, realizing that forgiveness had to start somewhere.
