He waited for her every day, until he realised she wasn’t coming.
“Tom, have you decided what you’re doing this summer?” Emily perched on the edge of the desk, crossing her legs, fingers laced over her denim-clad knee. “Are you even listening?”
“Mhm,” Tom murmured, eyes fixed on his laptop screen.
“What’s so interesting?” Emily kicked her foot impatiently.
But Tom couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He read the message over and over, biting his lip.
“I can leave if you’re busy,” Emily huffed, lips pursed. “Should I just go?”
She’d spent all morning getting ready—lining her eyes just right, slipping into skinny jeans and a white T-shirt with bold black letters across the back: *Don’t Worry, Be Happy!*—just how he liked it. And he hadn’t even glanced at her. Emily slid off the desk and swayed toward the door, pausing to glance back. Tom still hadn’t moved, lost in the glow of his screen.
“I’m leaving!” There was warning in her voice, a silent *you’ll regret this*.
Her hand curled around the doorknob. One last look at the back of his head.
“Fine, then.” She tossed her long blonde hair and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
She descended the dorm stairs slowly, waiting for Tom to come running after her. When he didn’t, she rushed the rest of the way, lips trembling. Past the porter’s desk, out into the bright, warm sunlight.
Tom never even noticed she’d left—or that she’d been there at all. His eyes traced the same words again and again, fixed on the smiling profile picture. It was *her*—his mum. Older now, with traces of the beauty she’d once had, hidden under layers of makeup. But it was her. And yet, he’d forgotten her face.
Fifteen years ago, he’d thought her the most beautiful woman in the world. Maybe she hadn’t been the gentlest mother, not the kind who’d cuddled him like little Tommy wanted—but he’d loved her fiercely. Her face had faded, but he remembered that last morning in painful detail.
She’d stood before the mirror—tall, slender, in a fitted blue dress. *Brush, brush*—the soft strokes smoothing down her glossy hair. She’d tossed it back, set the brush down, and looked down at Tommy staring up at her.
Something had been *off* that morning. She hadn’t rushed him, hadn’t scolded him for dawdling like usual. No snapping about being late for nursery. The ease of it made his chest tighten.
“Mum?” he’d ventured.
“We’re going,” she’d said flatly. “Just… a different place.”
Tommy had frowned.
“It has to be this way,” she’d cut in before he could ask. “Come on.”
And he’d followed, scrambling to keep up with her strides. The fact that she *wasn’t* looking back, wasn’t hissing at him to hurry, made the fear worse.
The car ride had felt endless. Brick buildings gave way to terraced houses, then countryside. Blue-and-white bus shelters dotted the roadside.
The car stopped before iron gates, a three-storey building looming behind them. *This doesn’t look like nursery*, Tommy had thought.
They walked the long path to the entrance, a blue plaque by the door—not the red one like his old nursery. He couldn’t read it, but even if he had, the words *children’s home* would’ve meant nothing.
Inside, the corridor smelled of porridge. “Where are the kids?” he’d almost asked—but then they’d stepped into an office crammed with files and folders.
“Hello, Thomas Wright.” The grey-haired woman had studied him. Her gaze was strange—pity or disapproval, he couldn’t tell.
“I think you’ve said your goodbyes,” she’d said to his mum. “You may go.”
A bony hand closed around Tommy’s wrist.
“Mum!” He’d ripped free and bolted—but the hall was empty. Just the faintest trace of her perfume. The hand grabbed him again, dragging him away as he screamed, suddenly understanding: she’d left him.
He’d spent that day pressed against the window, waiting for her to reappear.
He waited every day after—until, by ten, he knew she wouldn’t come. Her face blurred in his memory. The scent of her perfume vanished.
He studied hard—for her. *Just in case*. He got into uni. A dorm room of his own. Strange, after sharing with fifteen others at the home.
And now—this message. He stared at the photo. Dyed auburn hair with dark roots. Thick eyeliner, lips stretched into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. He reread the words:
*Thomas, hello. It’s Lisa Wright. Your mum. You look so much like your father—when I saw your photo online, I knew it was you. I want to see you. To explain. Please reply.*
*Now* she wanted to see him? After fifteen years of waiting?
*5 p.m. The Riverside Café*, he typed back, coldly. Let her feel the distance. Let her know he wouldn’t embrace her like some happy reunion. He had a right to know why.
Or maybe he *wouldn’t* go. Let *her* wait.
But curiosity won. He spotted her instantly at the café. She brightened, eyes darting to his face. When she smiled, he noticed the missing tooth. He forced himself not to stare.
The sickly-sweet perfume clawed at his nostrils. Was it the same one?
“I’m so glad you came. Are you hungry? I saw your photo—that race you won. Do you still run?”
“I graduated. Third year at uni now. That race was four years ago. Took you long enough to message.”
He made his voice harsh, punishing her for every lonely night. She shrank, smiling weakly.
“Why did you leave me?”
She fidgeted with her fork, chipped nail polish catching the light.
“I wanted to come back. I was your age when you were born. Your dad left us. My parents lived in the middle of nowhere—I couldn’t go back. I met someone. I… never told him about you.”
Her fingers tightened. “He died two years ago. I’m so sorry, Thomas. Can you ever forgive me? You could live with me—I’ve got a flat now. The dorms must be—”
“Better than the home,” he snapped.
Rage simmered. He couldn’t call her *Mum*. He wanted to walk out—but couldn’t. Somewhere deep, something old and small still reached for her.
She’d struggled. So had *he*.
“You can visit,” she whispered. “Whenever you want.”
He never moved in, but he visited—sometimes with Emily.
Living alone was hard. You needed family, even the ones who’d failed you. When he looked at other women, none could ever be his mother. But this one—weathered, tired, smiling too hard—still felt like home.
