The ache of memory, the impossibility of forgetting
April had been warm, but at the start of May, the weather turned sharply cold, and for two days, snow even fell. The long holiday weekend was approaching.
“I’ve decided to visit Mum’s grave. It’s been too long,” Mary told her daughter the day before the holiday.
“Will you stay long? Are you seeing relatives?” asked Alice.
“Relatives…” Mary hesitated. “Mum died young. I never knew my father. I had no brothers or sisters. I’ll stay with my cousin. She lives in our old flat. I meant to call ahead, but I never saved her number. If she even had one. I doubt she’d go anywhere. Honestly, I hoped to make it there and back in a day.”
“Can I come with you? I’ve never been to the town where you grew up.”
“I thought you had plans for the holiday, so I didn’t ask. Let’s go. It’ll be nicer together,” Mary said, brightening. “You lived there till you were three. Don’t you remember?”
Alice paused, then shook her head. “No.”
“Aunt Nina visited us once when you were older. When she found out I wasn’t coming back, she asked to live in our flat. She always dreamed of leaving the village. I helped her get registered there. If we don’t make it back in time, we’ll stay with her.”
They left for the station early the next morning. Waiting for the bus, Mary glanced around, recognising a face or two—though none acknowledged her, and she couldn’t place their names. The bus was crowded, nearly every seat taken.
“Are you nervous? Facing the past, the memories?” Alice murmured, leaning closer as they settled into their seats.
“The past isn’t always bright and happy. Some things are better left buried,” Mary sighed.
“You mean your father?”
“Him, among others. Let’s not talk about it now,” Mary snapped, sharper than she intended.
Alice sat back and stared ahead.
The bus pulled away from the station, rolling through the town Mary once called home. The hum of the engine lulled Alice to sleep, her head resting against Mary’s shoulder.
Mary envied her. She watched the blur of trees outside the window, too restless to sleep. Memories she had locked away for years now surged forward, unsettling her, making her question this trip back to her childhood town.
***
Years earlier, the setting sun warmed the faces of two girls sitting on a balcony.
“One last exam, and we’re free! We’ll submit our uni applications and wait. Actively,” added Lizzie with a grin. “Sleep, swim, wander—do whatever we want.”
Molly rocked on a stool, hands tucked beneath her.
“What’s wrong? You look pale,” Lizzie frowned, studying her friend. “Or is it…?”
“Is it what?” Molly’s reply was sharp, her gaze fixed elsewhere.
“You know. The girls gossip—they say you and Nathan…” Lizzie trailed off.
Molly froze. Lizzie stared, curiosity bright in her eyes.
“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing between me and Nathan. Let’s go inside—Mum’ll be home soon and yell if she thinks we’re slacking.” Molly stood and slipped through the balcony door.
The front door clicked open. Mum walked in, glanced at the girls, and asked without greeting:
“Finished revising? Ready for your exams?”
“Hello, Aunt Claire. Yes, we’ve been studying,” Lizzie edged toward the door. “I’ll head off, then?”
“Go on, chat properly tomorrow,” Mum sighed, carrying groceries to the kitchen.
Molly followed.
“You look pale. Are you ill?” Mum opened the fridge. “Have you eaten anything?”
Molly shook her head. “Not hungry. Too warm. I’ll go study.” She retreated to her room.
After the school dance, Molly left early, nauseous from the stifling air. She sat on a bench in the neighbouring park until the chill drove her home.
“Why are you back so soon?” Mum set aside her knitting, worried.
Molly sat beside her, the pink party dress making her face seem paler.
“Mum, I’m pregnant,” she blurted, bracing herself.
“What? How—Nathan? I knew those cinema outings would lead to trouble.” Mum clutched her chest.
“It’s not Nathan.” Molly bit her lip till it hurt.
“Then who? Good Lord—were you—?” Mum gasped, eyes shut, struggling for air. “Why didn’t you say? He should be punished—”
“I was scared. Everyone would’ve known, pointed fingers…” Molly’s voice broke.
Mum pulled her close, holding her tight.
“We’ll go to the hospital. How far along?”
“They said… my blood type makes it risky. And it’s too late.”
“Dear God,” Mum whispered. “Alright, a child isn’t a death sentence. We’ll manage. Just tell me everything. Who is he?”
Molly pulled away.
“No. I hate him. If you think I’d marry him, I’d rather drown.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
They talked and wept till dawn. Molly wouldn’t apply to uni that year. She’d go to the city, find work, and Mum would help with rent…
And so she did. Molly moved away, working as a hospital orderly. Mum visited on weekends.
One day, the matron noticed her rounding belly and called her in. Molly confessed, begged not to be fired.
“You should’ve told us, but carrying heavy buckets? Do you understand the risk? No husband? Of course. What am I to do with you? I’ll transfer you to reception.”
Molly nodded, swallowing tears. In October, she gave birth to a girl. Mum met her at the hospital.
“We’ll go home. I’ve bought everything. Aunt Nina and Gran helped. No one judges you. People talk, then forget. Look how beautiful she is—our little Alice.”
Molly shivered returning to her hometown. She saw Steven twice while pushing the pram, turning away each time—but he either didn’t recognise her or didn’t care. A year later, she enrolled in university by correspondence.
When she learned her attacker had married (she saw his wedding photoshoot in the park), she didn’t calm—but she stopped flinching at the sight of him.
“I can’t stay where everything reminds me…” she told Mum.
When Alice turned three, Molly left for the city, leaving her with Mum at first. She found work, rented a flat, then brought Alice to live with her.
She buried the memories deep, refusing to let them surface. She adored her daughter, couldn’t imagine life without her—and tried never to think of how she’d come to be.
When Alice was nine, Mum fell ill. Molly brought her to the city for treatment, but she never went home again. Two years later, she was gone. Molly buried her back home, beside Gran.
A year after that, Mum’s cousin Nina arrived, asking to live in their flat if Molly wasn’t coming back. Molly visited the grave a few times, but mostly lit candles at the local church.
***
Now, new buildings and cranes loomed ahead. Mary shifted in her seat. Alice woke, stretching.
“Did you sleep? Is this your town?” she asked, eyeing the passing buildings.
The bus stopped at a small station. They stepped out, stretching stiff legs.
“Are we seeing Aunt Naomi?” Alice asked.
“No, straight to the cemetery. We’ll visit her after if there’s time,” Mary said, heading for another bus stop.
Noticing Alice’s tired look, she handed over a sandwich and water.
Alice bit in hungrily. “Aren’t you having any?”
Mary shook her head.
The sight of her hometown made Mary’s heart race, memories flooding back. At the cemetery, she faltered—it had expanded, everything unfamiliar. They wandered between graves, searching for dates on headstones.
“Let’s rest,” Mary sighed, sitting on a bench. “It’s like she’s hiding. Angry, maybe, that I stayed away so long.”
“Wait here, I’ll keep looking,” Alice said, darting off.
“Don’t go far!” Mary called after her.
The silence unnerved her, thoughts turning to life’s brevity. She was nearing the age Mum had been. “Gone too soon—worrying over me, over Alice. If I saw Steven now, I wouldn’t run. I’d tell him everything he stole from us.”
Mary lost sight of Alice and stood, scanning the graves. *If I let hate fester, I won’t outlive Mum.*
“Mum!” Alice’s voice rang out. “Over here!”
Mary hurried toward her, stumbling on an uneven path, her knee striking a railing. *Should’ve gone round.*
As she straightened, her eyes fell on a black granite headstone—and froze. The face smirking from the portrait was one she’d never forget. Steven.
She gasped, realising she’d beenMary looked at the weathered date on the stone and realized she had carried the weight of him far longer than he had even lived.
