Charlotte had just been hired as a cleaner in London and was heading to her first job. It was a lovely townhouse in Chelsea, but something stopped her in her tracksin the study, a framed photo of her mother sat on the mantelpiece. Then a man walked in.
“Ill do a brilliant job,” Charlotte repeated to herself for courage. She and her best friend, Emily, had moved to London just days earlier to chase their dream of starring in the West End.
But first, they needed work to afford rent. Luckily, Emily had landed a job in a boutique, while Charlotte signed up with a cleaning agency.
It was perfectthe hours were flexible, and she enjoyed tidying up; it calmed her nerves. If the house was empty, she could even practise singing.
Just before stepping inside, though, her mothers face flashed in her mind. Her mum, Margaret, had never approved of her dreams, let alone her moving to London.
Charlotte had grown up in Manchester, which wasnt too far. Shed never known her father, and her mother had never spoken about him. For some reason, Margaret despised London. Shed smothered Charlotte her whole life, pushing her to run away.
When she and Emily packed their bags, Charlotte knew her mother would never allow it. She half-expected Margaret to fake an illness just to keep her home. But Charlotte had to fight for her dreamsthis was her life. So she left a note on her mothers dressing table while she slept and slipped away.
Days had passed without a word from Margaret, which was odd. Maybe she was just furious. Hopefully, shed forgive Charlotte after her West End debut. For now, she had a house to clean.
According to the agency, an older man lived here alone, so the place shouldnt be too messy. Charlotte found the key under the doormat, as instructed, and got to workfirst the kitchen, then the lounge, before moving to the bedroom.
She paused at the studys thresholdno rules barred her from entering, so she stepped in, careful not to disturb the desk.
A grand fireplace dominated the room, shelves above it, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the opposite wall. It looked like something from a film.
She tidied quickly, then froze. Among the photos on the mantel was one of her motheryounger, but unmistakably her. “Why is Mums picture here?” she whispered.
Footsteps sounded behind her. An older man entered. “Ah, hello! You must be the new cleaner. Im Edward Whitmore,” he said warmly. “Finished in here?”
“Nearly, sir. Butmay I ask something?” She hesitated, pointing to the photo. “Whos this?”
He leaned in, adjusting his glasses. “Ah, thats Margaret. The love of my life.”
Charlottes pulse quickened. “What happened to her?”
“She died in a coach crash. She was pregnant at the time. I couldnt even attend the funeralher mother loathed me. I tried to move on never could.” His voice cracked as he removed his glasses and sat down.
“Sir, Im sorry to pry, butthis woman looks exactly like my mother. Its uncanny.”
Edward frowned. “What do you mean?”
“My mothers name is Margaret. Shes older now, but the resemblance is striking. Im almost certain its her.”
“Margaret? Your mother?” His voice wavered. “Where did you grow up?”
“Manchester,” she said. Then it hit herif this was Margaret, Edward could be her father.
Edward covered his mouth. “Thats impossible May I have her number?”
She gave it to him. “Could you stay while I call?” he asked. She nodded.
He dialled, and after a few rings, her mother answered. “Hello? Charlotte, is that you?”
Edward glanced at Charlotte. “Is this Margaret Hayes?”
“Yes. Whos calling?”
“Margaret, its Edward.”
A pause. “Edward who? WaitEdward Fletcher? What could you possibly want after all these years?”
Charlotte and Edward exchanged confused looks. “What do you mean? I thought you died!”
“What?”
Edward explainedthe crash, losing his fiancée and unborn child, being barred from the funeral. But Margaret had no idea what he was talking about.
“My mother told me you called and ended things. I raised Charlotte alone,” Margaret said flatly.
“Thats not true. Id never have left you. Ive missed you every day.” His voice broke. Margaret stayed silent.
“I cant believe Mum would do that. But it sounds like her. I dont know what to say.” A pause. “Waithow did you find out Im alive?”
“Mum, Im here,” Charlotte cut in, quickly explaining.
Margaret sighed. “I cant believe this. And I cant even ask her whyshes been gone for years. Charlotte, when are you coming home?”
“Im not leaving until I make it in the West End. And now Ive got another reason to stay,” she said, smiling at Edward.
“Fine. But Im coming to London soon,” Margaret said before hanging up.
Edward and Charlotte stared at each other.
“So I guess youre my dad,” she said lightly. He laughed, breaking the tension.
Whats the lesson here?
Let your children chase their dreams. Charlotte ran away because her mothers overprotectiveness suffocated her. Guide them, but let them choose their path.
Some parents dont always act in your best interest. Margarets mother committed an unforgivable actone theyll never understand.
