The pain of remembering, the inability to forget.
April had blessed them with warm weather, but early May brought an unexpected chill, even a light snowfall for two days. The long holiday weekend loomed ahead.
“I’ve decided to visit Mother’s grave. It’s been too long,” Mary said to her daughter the evening before the holiday.
“Will you stay long? Visiting relatives?” Helen asked.
“Relatives…” Mary hesitated. “Mother died young. I never knew my father. No brothers or sisters. I’ll stay with Cousin Nina. She lives in our old flat. I meant to call, warn her, but I never saved her number. Maybe she never had one. Doubt she’d go anywhere. But I meant to make it a day trip—there and back.”
“Can I come? I’ve never seen where you grew up.”
“I thought you had plans. I didn’t want to impose. Of course, come. It’ll be nicer together.” Mary brightened. “You lived there till you were three. Don’t you remember?”
Helen shook her head, frowning for a second.
“Nina visited us once. You were older then. When she realised I wasn’t coming back, she asked to live in our flat. Always wanted to leave the village. I helped her sort the paperwork. We’ll stay with her if we don’t make it back in time.”
Early the next morning, they took the bus from the station. Waiting in the cold, Mary glanced at passing faces—some familiar, though none acknowledged her. Nor could she place names to them. The bus was crowded, nearly every seat taken.
“Nervous? Confronting the past isn’t easy,” Helen murmured, studying her mother’s face as they settled in their seats.
“Not all memories are happy. Some are best left buried,” Mary sighed.
“You mean Father?”
“Him, yes. Let’s not speak of it now,” Mary cut in, sharper than she’d meant.
Helen leaned back, staring ahead.
The bus rolled through streets Mary once knew. The engine’s hum lulled Helen to sleep, her head dropping onto Mary’s shoulder.
Mary envied her. She watched the blur of trees along the road, willing sleep that wouldn’t come. Too many years spent burying memories, now clawing their way out, disturbing her peace, making her question this trip…
***
The setting sun warmed the faces of two girls lounging on the balcony.
“One more exam, then freedom! We’ll submit our applications, then wait—actively,” Jane added with a grin. “Sleep, swim, wander, do as we please.”
Mary fidgeted on the stool, palms pressed against her thighs.
“What’s wrong? You’re pale,” Jane frowned, studying her friend. “Unless you’re—”
“Unless what?” Mary snapped, avoiding her gaze.
“You know. The girls whisper about you and Nicholas.” Jane hesitated.
Mary stilled, gripping the stool.
“Don’t be absurd. Nothing happened,” Mary muttered, standing abruptly. “Let’s go inside. Mother will scold us for not studying.”
The front door clicked open. Her mother stepped in, arms laden with groceries.
“Finished revising?” she asked without greeting.
“Yes, Aunt Clara. We’ve been working hard,” Jane said, edging toward the door. “I’ll head home, then?”
“Go on. Chat tomorrow,” Mary’s mother sighed, heading to the kitchen.
Mary followed, avoiding her gaze.
“You’re pale. Haven’t eaten?” Her mother frowned.
“Not hungry. Too hot. I’ll go study.”
She left her graduation early, nauseous from the heat. She sat on a bench in the next street, until the cold drove her home.
“Why so soon?” Her mother asked, setting down her knitting.
Mary sank onto the sofa beside her.
“What’s wrong?”
The pink dress highlighted her pallor.
“I’m pregnant,” Mary blurted, bracing for her mother’s reaction.
“Nicholas? I knew your outings would lead to trouble—”
“Not him.” Mary bit her lip.
“Who?” Her mother gasped. “Did someone—?”
“I don’t know. I was scared. Everyone would’ve pointed fingers…” Mary’s voice trembled.
Her mother pulled her close.
“We’ll go to the hospital. How far along?”
“Too late. They said my blood type makes it dangerous.”
“Dear God,” her mother whispered. “A child isn’t a curse. We’ll manage. But tell me—who?”
Mary pulled away.
“No. I hate him. If you think I’d marry him, I’d rather drown.”
They wept until dawn. Mary wouldn’t attend university that year. She’d leave for the city, work, rent a flat with her mother’s help.
She found work as a hospital cleaner. When her supervisor noticed her swelling belly, she was transferred to reception. In October, she gave birth to a girl.
“Come home,” her mother said at the hospital. “We’ve prepared everything. Aunt Jane helped. No one judges you.”
Mary shuddered returning home. Twice, she spotted Stephen, turning away before he noticed her. A year later, she enrolled in night classes.
When she saw him marry another, she stopped flinching at his shadow.
“I can’t stay where everything reminds me,” she told her mother.
When Helen turned three, Mary left for the city, taking her daughter later.
Her mother fell ill when Helen was nine. Mary brought her to the city for treatment, but she never returned home.
Two years later, she buried her beside her grandmother.
Then Aunt Jane asked to live in their old flat, since Mary wouldn’t return.
***
The bus approached the outskirts, cranes and new buildings rising in the distance. Mary tensed. Helen yawned awake.
“Did you sleep? Is this our town?”
The bus halted at a small station. They stretched their stiff legs.
“Will we visit Aunt Nora?”
“Later. First, the cemetery. If we have time, we’ll see her.”
At the gravesite, Mary faltered. So much had changed. They wandered, checking dates on headstones.
“Let’s rest.” Mary sank onto a bench. “It’s hiding from us. Angry I stayed away so long.” She glanced at the sea of graves, flowers piled on fresh plots.
“Stay here. I’ll look.” Helen bounded off.
“Don’t go far,” Mary called, uneasy.
The silence weighed heavy. Mary’s age now matched her mother’s at death.
She spotted Helen waving in the distance. Rising too quickly, Mary stumbled, knee striking a railing.
A black granite headstone loomed.
Her breath caught.
She’d never forgotten his face, that smirk.
Stephen stared back from the stone.
Grout pushed through cracked tiles inside the railing. Faded plastic flowers lay before the grave.
Fourteen years dead.
She’d been afraid all this time.
At first, joy surged—he’d gotten his due. Then grief for wasted years, avoiding this place for fear of seeing him. Then shame for that fleeting triumph.
But the anger remained. He’d broken her. She’d never married. Intimacy sent her fleeing.
Memories crashed over her—his weight, his hands, that night.
“Mum?” Helen’s voice startled her.
“Just someone I knew,” Mary lied.
She found her mother’s grave well-kept, likely by Nora.
At the flat, Nora panicked. “Are you reclaiming it? Selling?”
Mary reassured her. “Just visiting the graves. Thank you for tending them.”
They left that evening.
Home again, Helen sighed. “You were right to leave.”
Mary remembered the face on the stone. She’d never tell Helen the truth.
Some memories never fade.
Best not to dwell on them.
“So, have you decided where to apply?” Mary asked.
Life moved on.
