**A Second Chance**
Evelyn Parsons was your typical grandmother, with all her quirks and flaws. But William loved her unconditionally. He had no memory of his father, though Evelyn often muttered that it was better that way. When William asked questions, she’d wave him off with, “You’ll understand when you’re older.” So he grew up piecing things together on his own.
At five, Evelyn took him in, and after that, his mother only appeared sporadically—wedged between her latest suitors.
One day, when she showed up to take William back, Evelyn shooed him off to his room. He played quietly, straining to hear the kitchen argument. At first, it was just muffled voices, but soon the shouting began.
*“How much longer? The boy needs a mother, not some dolled-up floozy!”* snapped Evelyn.
*“So I’m supposed to bury myself alive now? I’m looking for a husband—and a father for my son, if you haven’t noticed!”* his mother retorted.
*“In the places you’re looking, decent fathers don’t exist. Most men won’t love another man’s child—they abandon their own, let alone someone else’s.”*
*“You just don’t—you’re—!”* His mother hurled words William didn’t understand but knew were cruel.
Evelyn had enough and threw her out—again. She stormed into his room, tense and jittery, ruffled his short, spiky hair, then left, slamming the door behind her.
She’d vanish for weeks, then return—either smug or furious, depending on how her latest search for a husband had gone. After she left, William’s hair and clothes still carried the faint scent of her perfume, and he’d breathe it in, remembering.
As he grew older, he dreaded her visits. Afterward, Evelyn would down heart pills with a sharp, bitter smell, clatter dishes, and mutter about raising a heartless cuckoo who’d abandoned her only child. She’d threaten to hand him over next time, but William knew it was just empty threats. He’d wait it out in his room until the storm passed.
Eventually, Evelyn would appear with a plate of warm scones or crumpets, saying, *“Why so glum? Don’t worry, I won’t let her take you. And don’t be cross with me.”*
He understood and never held it against her. When he was upset, he’d go to her for comfort, but she never burdened him with her own troubles. How could an eight-year-old boy console her? So he’d listen patiently to her grumbling and wish for their quiet, cosy routine to return—until his mother showed up again.
William grew, but Evelyn, it seemed, didn’t age. She was frozen in time. By sixth form, she nagged him to study hard. *“If you don’t get into uni, they’ll drag you off to the army. I’m too old for that stress. So if you want me to stick around, you’d better make the grades.”*
So he did, for her sake. Without her, he had no one. His mother was barely part of his life now. He aced his A-levels and got into uni, choosing history—not the most glamorous degree, but one he genuinely loved.
In his second year, he fell for a vivacious girl named Holly. She adored rowdy parties, which William hated, but he endured them for her. Evelyn saw right through him, sighing as she waited up nights. He’d hurry home, torn between guilt and frustration.
One night, Holly gave him an ultimatum: *“If you leave, we’re done.”* He didn’t want to lose her—but Evelyn’s health was fragile. He fled the club, muttering that she should just sleep, that he could take care of himself.
When he got home, light seeped under her door. *“Why won’t she just rest?”* he thought irritably—until he found her on the floor, eyes half-open, one arm twisted awkwardly beneath her. A glass of water had spilled nearby.
*“Nan?!”* He dropped to her side. She tried to speak, but her mouth twisted strangely.
*“Don’t you dare die on me.”* He fumbled for his phone.
The paramedics arrived just in time. *“Any later, and it would’ve been too late,”* one said.
William blamed himself. He’d been so wrapped up in Holly that he hadn’t noticed Evelyn’s dizziness, her unsteady grip on furniture. If he’d stayed home, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.
She was hospitalised, leaving him truly alone for the first time. He visited daily, bringing chicken broth and lemonade Holly had made—though she soon ditched him for the clubs again.
Three weeks later, Evelyn came home, walking gingerly, one arm limp, her speech slurred. William became her full-time carer: lectures, shopping, cooking, cleaning—all while balancing uni.
Then a young nurse named Sophie arrived. He’d thought women like her—soft-spoken, with a long blonde plait—only existed in period dramas. She came daily, giving injections and teaching Evelyn exercises. She scolded William for neglecting her rehab.
*“No time! Between shopping, cooking, and uni…”*
*“Excuses won’t help her,”* Sophie chided, then showed him how to make porridge without lumps.
Soon, Evelyn improved. *“What’ll we do without you?”* William said once. *“She brightens up when you’re here.”*
*“And you?”* Sophie asked suddenly.
*“Me too,”* he admitted.
She started visiting after work, helping with meals and care. She became indispensable. Evelyn grew steadier, walking with a cane.
His mother never visited—probably busy with husband number who-knows-what. The last time she’d come, her heavy makeup and cloying perfume had grated on him. Sophie wore no perfume.
He invited her to their modest wedding but found her flat empty. A neighbour said she’d moved away.
After graduation, William became a lecturer. Evelyn never fully recovered but managed small chores. They had enough money to think about a baby—until Sophie blushed and said, *“We already are.”*
His mother reappeared when Sophie was showing. She barged in, shrieking about ungrateful sons and uninvited weddings, then stormed out after a coughing fit. Evelyn, fragile from her stroke, collapsed. The second one took her.
At the wake, his mother wept drunkenly about being *“orphaned.”* The next morning, William’s keys vanished. Sophie offered hers, but his department sent him home to grieve.
He found muddy footprints inside—and his mother rifling through cupboards. *“So you stole them?”*
She jumped. *“Looking for this?”* He dumped Evelyn’s ruby earrings and ring on the table.
She grabbed them. *“She promised these to me!”*
*“Take them and get out.”*
She left in a huff, and he never learned what *“sacrifices”* she’d made for him—besides giving birth.
She returned a year later. Little Daisy was crawling by then. His mother, older and weary, reached for her. Sophie tensed, but William stopped her.
*“Give her a chance.”*
His mother played with Daisy, who giggled and babbled. *“She’s smiling at me!”* she whispered.
*“Can I visit again?”* she asked on her way out.
*“Of course.”*
She came daily. Sophie relaxed, even leaving them alone. Daisy adored her.
They say grandmothers love grandchildren more than their own children—and William’s mother proved it. She’d had her wild years, but now she poured what remained of her love into Daisy.
And they say a grandmother is a mother’s second chance. So William gave his mother that chance—to be the kind of grandmother Evelyn had been to him.
