“Excuse me, sir… Today is my mum’s birthday… I want to buy flowers, but I haven’t got enough money…” I bought the boy a bouquet. Later, when I visited the grave, I saw that same bouquet lying there.
When Oliver was barely four years old, his world fell apart. His mother was gone. He stood in the corner of the room, bewilderedwhy was the house full of strangers? Why did everyone speak in hushed tones, avoiding his gaze? The boy didn’t understand why no one smiled, why they kept telling him, “Be brave, little one,” as if he had lost something precious. But he hadnt lost anythinghe simply hadnt seen his mother.
His father was elsewhere all day, distant and silent. He didnt embrace Oliver or say a wordjust sat alone, hollow-eyed. Oliver approached the coffin and stared at his mother. She wasnt herselfno warmth, no smile, no bedtime stories. Pale, still, and cold. It frightened him. He stepped back.
Without her, everything turned grey. Empty. Two years later, his father remarried. The new womanMargaretnever became part of his world. She sighed at everything, found fault in him as if searching for reasons to be cross. His father said nothing. Didnt defend him. Didnt intervene.
Every day, Oliver carried a quiet pain insidethe ache of loss. And with each passing day, he yearned more for the life hed had when his mother was alive.
Today was specialhis mothers birthday. He woke with one thought: he had to see her. To bring flowers. White liliesher favourite. He remembered them in old photographs, bright beside her smile.
But where could he get the money? He asked his father.
“Dad, could I have a bit of money? I really need it…”
Before he could explain, Margaret snapped from the kitchen:
“Oh, here we go! More demands! Do you think money grows on trees?”
His father glanced up. “Margaret, wait. He hasnt said why yet. Oliver, what do you need?”
“Flowers for Mum. White lilies. Its her birthday today…”
Margaret scoffed, arms crossed. “Flowers! As if weve money to spare! Pluck some from the gardenthatll do!”
“Theyre not in the garden,” Oliver said quietly. “They only sell them at the shop.”
His father sighed and returned to his paper. Oliver understoodno money would come.
He went to his room, emptied his piggy bank. Not much, but perhaps enough?
He hurried to the florist, where white lilies shone in the window. Breathless, he stepped inside.
The shopkeeper eyed him. “Lost, are you? No toys herejust flowers.”
“I want to buy lilies. How much for a bouquet?”
She named the price. Oliver counted his coinsbarely half.
“Please,” he pleaded. “Ill work! Sweep, cleananything. Just lend me the bouquet…”
“Are you serious?” she scoffed. “Im not running a charity! Off with you, or Ill call the authorities!”
But Oliver didnt budge. He needed those flowers. He begged again.
The woman raised her voice. “Where are your parents? Should I ring social services?”
Just then, a man entered, witnessing the scene. He couldnt abide injusticeespecially toward children.
“Why shout at him?” he said sternly. “Hes just a boy.”
“And who are you?” the woman snapped. “If youre not buying, dont interfere!”
The man ignored her, crouching beside Oliver. “Hello, lad. Im Thomas. Why the tears?”
Oliver sniffled. “I wanted lilies… for Mum. She loved them. Shes been gone three years… Todays her birthday…”
Thomass chest tightened. He spoke gently. “Your mum would be proud. Not many remember like you do.”
Then to the shopkeeper: “Pack two bouquetsone for him, one for me.”
Oliver pointed to the liliespristine, glowing. Thomas hesitated. Strange, hed planned to buy those very flowers. A coincidence?
Soon, Oliver held his bouquet like treasure. He turned to Thomas. “Sir… could I give you my number? Ill pay you back.”
Thomas chuckled. “No need. Todays a special day for someone dear to me too. Seems weve the same tasteyour mum and my Emily loved these flowers.”
For a moment, he drifted into memory.
He and Emily were neighbours, childhood friends turned sweethearts. Everyone said they were meant to be.
At eighteen, Thomas joined the army. Before leaving, they shared their first night.
Then disastera head injury in service stole his memory. Emily called, but he never answered. Heartbroken, she changed her number.
When his memory returned, he calledno reply. His parents had lied, telling her hed moved on.
He returned with lilies, hoping to surprise heronly to see her arm-in-arm with another man, pregnant. Devastated, he fled.
Years passed. He married, but it failed. The emptiness remained.
Now, he was back, lilies in hand, determined to find Emily. And here hed met Olivera boy who stirred something in him.
“Oliver… need a lift?” Thomas offered.
“No, thank you. I know the bus.”
With that, Oliver clutched his bouquet and ran. Thomas watched him go, struck by an odd familiarity.
Later, Thomas stood at Emilys old doorstep, heart pounding. An elderly neighbour answered.
“Emily? Oh, love… shes been gone three years.”
Thomas staggered. “What?”
“Married Daniel, moved away. Had a son. Then… well. Gone.”
Thomass breath caught. “…pregnant?”
“Aye. Lovely boyOliver.”
His knees nearly buckled. Oliver. His son.
At the cemetery, he found Emilys graveand atop it, fresh white lilies.
“Oliver…” he whispered. “Its you.”
He touched the stone, tears falling. “Forgive me.”
Then he ranback to Olivers house. The boy sat on a swing, kicked out by Margaret earlier.
Thomas hugged him fiercely.
Daniel emerged, recognising him at once.
“Thomas. I wondered if youd come. You know Olivers yours.”
Thomas nodded. “Im taking him home.”
Daniel sighed. “Aye. I was never his father. Emily always loved you. Before she passed, she wanted to find you… tell you about Oliver. Never got the chance.”
Thomas swallowed hard. “Thank you… for looking after him.”
The next morning, they left togetherfather and son at last.
In the car, Oliver said quietly, “I always knew Daniel wasnt my real dad. Mum spoke of someone else. I knew wed meet one day.”
Thomas held him close, weepingfor lost time, for love found.
“Forgive me for being late. Ill never leave you again.”
And in that moment, Oliver understood: love outlives even the deepest loss, and sometimes, the heart finds its way home when we least expect it.
