“Excuse me, sir… Todays my mums birthday. I want to buy flowers, but I havent got enough money…” I bought the boy a bouquet. Some time later, when I visited the grave, I saw that very bouquet there.
When Oliver wasnt even five, his world fell apart. His mother was gone. He stood in the corner of the room, bewilderedwhat was happening? Why was the house full of strangers? Who were they? Why was everyone so quiet, so odd, speaking in hushed voices and avoiding his gaze?
He didnt understand why no one smiled. Why they kept saying, “Be brave, lad,” and hugged him as if hed lost something precious. But he hadnt lost anythinghe just hadnt seen his mum.
His father was distant all day. He didnt come near, didnt hold him, didnt say a word. Just sat apart, hollow and detached. Oliver crept to the coffin and stared at his mother. She wasnt like she used to beno warmth, no smile, no lullabies at night. Pale. Cold. Still. It frightened him, and he didnt dare step closer.
Without her, everything turned grey. Empty. Two years later, his father remarried. The new womanMargaretnever became part of his world. If anything, she seemed annoyed by him. She nagged about everything, picking faults as if searching for reasons to be cross. And his father said nothing. Didnt defend him. Didnt step in.
Every day, Oliver carried a pain he hid inside. The ache of loss. The longing. And with each passing day, he wished more fiercely to return to the life hed known when his mother was alive.
Today was specialhis mothers birthday. He woke with one thought: he had to go to her. To the grave. To bring flowers. White liliesher favourite. He remembered them in her hands in old photos, glowing beside her smile.
But where would he get the money? He decided to ask his father.
“Dad, can I have a bit of money? I really need it…”
Before he could explain, Margaret stormed in from the kitchen:
“What now? Begging for money already? Do you have any idea how hard your father works?”
His father glanced up, trying to cut in:
“Margaret, wait. He hasnt even said why. Son, what do you need?”
“I want to buy flowers for Mum. White lilies. Its her birthday today…”
Margaret scoffed, folding her arms.
“Oh, flowers! Money for flowers! Next youll want a fancy dinner! Pick some from the gardenthatll do!”
“Theyre not there,” Oliver said quietly but firmly. “They only sell them at the shop.”
His father studied him, then turned to his wife.
“Margaret, go finish lunch. Im hungry.”
She huffed and vanished into the kitchen. His father went back to his paper. Oliver understoodhe wouldnt get the money. Not another word was said.
He slipped upstairs, dug out his old piggy bank, and counted the coins. Not much. But maybe enough?
Without wasting time, he dashed to the florist. Through the window, he spotted the snowy white lilies. So bright, almost magical. He froze, breath caught in his throat.
Then he stepped inside.
“What dyou want?” the shopkeeper asked sharply, eyeing him. “Wrong place, lad. No toys or sweets here. Just flowers.”
“Im not messing about… I really want to buy. Lilies. How much for a bunch?”
She named the price. Oliver emptied his pockets. He barely had half.
“Please,” he begged. “Ill work! Ill come every day, sweep, dust, mop… Just let me take them now…”
“Are you daft?” she snapped. “Think Im made of money? Clear off! Or Ill call the policebeggings not welcome here!”
But Oliver wouldnt give up. He needed those flowers today.
“Ill pay it all back! I swear! Please…”
“Oh, listen to this little actor!” she shouted, loud enough for passersby to turn. “Wherere your parents? Maybe social services should hear about this? Last warningget out!”
Just then, a man walked up. Hed seen the whole thing. He couldnt stand injustice, especially not toward a child.
“Whats all this shouting?” he asked the shopkeeper sternly. “Hes just a boy.”
“And whore you?” she snapped. “If you dont know the situation, keep out of it. He near enough tried to nick a bunch!”
“Right, near enough,” the man shot back. “Youre hounding him like hes a thief! He needs help, not threats. Have you no heart?”
He turned to Oliver, who stood shrinking in the corner, wiping his cheeks.
“Hey, mate. Im James. Whats the trouble? Wanted flowers but short on cash?”
Oliver sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
“Wanted lilies… For Mum… She loved them… Shes been gone three years… Its her birthday… I wanted to take them to the cemetery…”
Jamess chest tightened. The boys words cut deep. He crouched beside him.
“Your mumd be proud of you. Not many lads your age remember like this. Youre going to grow up right.”
Then he turned to the shopkeeper.
“Show me the lilies he wanted. Ill take two bunchesone for him, one for me.”
Oliver pointed to the display. James hesitatedthose were the very flowers hed meant to buy. He didnt say it aloud, but the thought struck him: *Coincidence or a sign?*
Soon, Oliver was leaving with the lilies clutched tight, hardly believing it had worked. He turned to James shyly.
“Mr. James… Can I give you my number? Ill pay you back. Promise.”
James chuckled.
“Knew youd say that. But no need. Todays special for someone I care about too. Ive waited ages to tell her how I feel. So Im in a good mood. Besides, seems weve got the same tasteyour mum and my Emily both loved these.”
For a moment, he drifted into memory.
He and Emily had been neighbours. Met by chanceone day, some louts cornered her, and James stepped in. Got a black eye for it, but never regretted it. That was the start.
Years passedfriendship turned to love. They were inseparable. Everyone said they were perfect.
When James turned eighteen, he was called up. For Emily, it was a blow. The night before he left, they were together for the first time.
All was fine until James took a bad hit to the head. Woke up in hospital with no memory. Not even his name.
Emily tried calling, but the phone never rang. She suffered, thinking hed left her. In time, she changed her number, tried to move on.
Months later, his memory trickled back. Emily returned to his thoughts. He called, but no answer. He never knew his parents had lied, telling her hed walked away.
Coming home, James bought lilies and went to surprise her. But what he saw shattered him: Emily, arm in arm with another man, pregnant, happy.
His heart broke. Without waiting for answers, he ran. That night, he left for another city, started anew, but never forgot Emily. Even married, hoping to heal, but it didnt last.
Eight years passed. One day, James realised he couldnt live with the emptiness. He had to find Emily. Had to explain. And now here he was, back in his hometown, lilies in hand. And there he met Olivera meeting that might change everything.
“Oliver… yes, Oliver!” James snapped back to the present. The boy was still waiting.
“Need a lift anywhere?” James offered gently.
“Thanks, but no,” Oliver said politely. “I know the bus. Been to Mum before… Not my first time.”
With that, he hugged the lilies to his chest and ran for the bus stop. James watched him go, something stirring inside. Their meeting wasnt chance. There was something painfully familiar in Oliver.
When the boy was gone, James headed to Emilys old street. His heart pounded as he asked a neighbour if she still lived there.
“Oh, love,” the woman sighed. “Shes been gone three years…”
“What?” James recoiled.
“After marrying Richard, she moved away. Good man, took her on while she was expecting. They loved each other. Then their boy was born. And then… well. Thats all I know.”
James left numbtoo late, always too late.
*Why did I wait so long?*
Then the neighbours words echoed: *”…expecting…”*
“Wait. If she was pregnant when she married Richard… that child could be mine?”
His head spun. Somewhere in this city, his son might
