The ache of remembering, the impossibility of forgetting.
April had teased with warmth, but by early May, the cold snapped back without warning—snow fell for two days straight. The long holiday weekend loomed.
“I thought I’d visit Mum’s grave. It’s been too long,” Mary told her daughter the night before.
“Will you stay long? Are you seeing family?” asked Ellen.
“Family…” Mary paused. “Mum died young. I never knew my father. No brothers or sisters. I’ll stay with my cousin. She lives in our old flat. Meant to call ahead, never saved her number. If she even had one. Doubt she’ll be away. But honestly, I’d rather go and come back the same day.”
“Can I come? I’ve never seen where you grew up.”
“I thought you’d made plans. Didn’t want to intrude. Of course, come along. It’ll be nicer together.” Mary brightened. “You lived there till you were three. Don’t remember?”
Ellen shook her head.
“Nina visited us once. You were older then. When she learned I wasn’t coming back, she asked to stay in the flat. Always dreamed of leaving the village. I helped her with the paperwork. If we’re late, we’ll stay with her.”
At dawn, they reached the station. Waiting for the coach, Mary scanned the faces—a few looked familiar, but none approached. She couldn’t place them anyway. The bus filled quickly, seats nearly gone.
“Nervous?” Ellen tilted her head, studying her mother once they settled in. “Meeting the past again, all those memories…”
“The past isn’t always kind. Some things… aren’t worth remembering,” Mary sighed.
“You mean Dad?”
“Him too. Let’s not talk about this now.” Mary’s voice cut sharper than intended.
“Fine.” Ellen leaned back, staring ahead.
Soon, the coach rolled from the station, through streets Mary once called home. The engine’s drone lulled Ellen to sleep, her head lolling against Mary’s shoulder.
Mary envied her. Beyond the window, trees blurred past. Sleep wouldn’t come, no matter how she willed it. The memories she’d locked away for years now clawed free, unsettling her, making her wonder if coming back was a mistake…
***
The setting sun warmed the faces of two girls on the balcony.
“Last exam tomorrow, then freedom! We’ll submit uni applications and just… wait. Actively,” Liz added. “Sleep, swim, do whatever we want.”
Molly rocked on her stool, palms tucked beneath her.
“You alright? You look pale,” Liz frowned, leaning closer. “Or is it… you know.”
“What?” Molly snapped, avoiding her gaze.
“You know what. The girls whisper about you and Nick…”
Molly froze. Liz watched, curiosity burning.
“Don’t be stupid. Nothing happened. Nothing ever will.” Molly stood. “Mum’ll be back soon. If she catches us not revising…” She slipped inside.
The front door clicked open. Mum marched in, dropping groceries.
“Studied hard, I hope?”
“Hello, Aunt Jane. We did,” Liz edged toward the door. “I’d better go?”
“Go on, chatter tomorrow,” Mum sighed, vanishing into the kitchen.
Molly followed.
“You’ve gone pale. Feeling ill?” Mum eyed her. “You’ve not eaten.”
“Not hungry. Too hot.” Molly fled to her room.
On prom night, Molly left early. The heat made her stomach churn. She sat on a bench in the next street till the cold bit through her dress.
“Home already?” Mum set aside her knitting.
Molly sat beside her. The pink gown only made her pallor worse.
“Mum… I’m pregnant.” The words tumbled out.
“What? Nick? I knew those cinema dates would—”
“It’s not Nick.” Molly bit her lip hard.
“Then who? God, were you—?” Mum gasped, clutching her chest. “Why didn’t you say? He should’ve—”
“I was scared. Everyone would’ve pointed, whispered…” Molly’s voice cracked.
Mum pulled her close.
“We’ll get you to hospital. How far along?”
“I went already. They said… my blood type makes it risky. Too late anyway.”
“Christ help us.” Mum exhaled. “Alright. A baby’s not the end. But you must tell me—who is he?”
Molly pushed away.
“No. I hate him. If you force me to marry him, I’d rather drown.”
“What are you saying?”
They talked and wept till dawn. Uni would wait. Molly would go to the city, find work. Mum would help with rent…
So it was. Molly left, became a hospital orderly. Mum visited weekends.
One day, the matron noticed her rounding belly. Called her in. Molly confessed, begged not to be sacked.
“Hiding the pregnancy—fine. But lifting buckets? Have sense! No husband, I suppose? Figures. I’ll move you to reception.”
Molly nodded, swallowing tears. In late October, she had a girl. Mum met her at the hospital.
“We’re going home. Bought everything. Aunt Nina helped. No one blames you. People talk, then forget. Look—she’s beautiful. A proper little Ellen.”
Returning to her hometown made Molly shudder. Twice, she spotted Steven pushing the pram—turned away. He passed without recognition—or pretended to. A year later, she enrolled in uni by correspondence.
And when she saw his wedding photos in the park, she stopped flinching at the sight of him.
“Mum, don’t stop me—I can’t stay where everything reminds me…”
When Ellen turned three, Molly moved to the city, leaving her with Mum briefly. Found work, a flat, then brought Ellen along.
She buried the memories deep. Loved her daughter fiercely. Tried not to dwell on how she’d come to be.
At nine, Ellen fell ill. Mum came for treatment, never left. Two years later, she was gone. Molly buried her back home, near Gran.
Then Mum’s cousin, Aunt Nina, asked to stay in their flat if Molly wasn’t returning. Molly visited the grave twice after, but mostly lit candles at the local church.
***
New high-rises and cranes emerged ahead. Mary fidgeted. Ellen woke, yawning.
“Did you sleep? Is this our town?” Ellen squinted at the passing buildings.
The coach halted at a small station. They stretched stiff limbs.
“Going to Aunt Nell’s?”
“Grave first. If there’s time, we’ll see her after.” Mary led them to the bus stop. Seeing Ellen’s frown, she pulled out sandwiches.
Ellen devoured hers.
“You’re not eating?”
“Not hungry.”
Mary’s pulse quickened as memories surged. At the cemetery, she hesitated—new graves sprawled where none had been. They wandered, tracing dates on headstones.
“Let’s rest.” Mary sank onto a bench. “Like she’s hiding. Probably cross I stayed away.” She eyed the sea of flowers, fresh wreaths.
“Sit. I’ll look.” Ellen sprang up.
“Don’t go far. It’s still a cemetery.”
Mary watched her weave between graves. *Glad we came straight here. No rush. Mum, are you really angry?* Ellen vanished near newer plots.
The silence unsettled her. Time felt short—she was nearing Mum’s age at death. *Died too soon. Worried for me, for Ellen. If Steven crossed me now, I wouldn’t run. I’d scream every hurt at him.*
Mary lost sight of Ellen, stood searching. *Hate festers. Carry it, and I’ll die younger than Mum.*
“Mum!” Ellen called from afar. “Found it!”
Mary hurried toward her voice, stumbling on uneven ground. Her knee struck a railing.
*Should’ve gone round.* She straightened, dusted her dress, then froze.
Black granite. That smirk. Steven’s face stared from the headstone, that same crooked smile.
She realised she’d been holding her breath. Weeds sprouted between tiles inside the railing. Flowers, long faded, lay before the stone. The date—fourteen years dead. All this time, she’d feared returning, afraid she’d see him.
First, joy surged. *Got what he deserved.* Then regret—time lost with Mum because of him. Then shame for that joy.
But the hurt remained. He’d shattered her life. She’d never married, fleeing every time intimacy loomed.
Nausea rose. The memory crushed her chest, squeezed her skull—
*…Molly slipped on icy pavement. Steven, two years older, appeared, offering his arm. In the stairwell, he pinned her, hand over her mouth…*
Mary stifled a moan.
“Mum? Stuck on an old friend?” Ellen stood beside her, studying the stone.
“No—I mean, yes.” Mary fought to steady her voice.
“Handsome. Died youngAs the evening fog curled around the gravestones, Mary took Ellen’s hand and walked away, knowing some wounds never heal but could, at last, stop bleeding.
