*The Day of Forgiveness*
Zoe came back from the city to the village on the last bus. She’d spent the whole day running around—first the hospital, picking up paperwork and certificates, then the funeral home, then back to the hospital to drop off a bundle of clothes for the morgue. Mum had packed it herself ahead of time. Zoe even managed to stop by her own flat to change into a black jumper.
She slumped onto the chair by the table, stretching out her aching legs, too exhausted to even take off her coat. The house had gone cold—she really should’ve lit the stove. She’d left early that morning, and now it was already evening. Her eyes fixed numbly on the muddy footprints on the floor—left by the paramedic, the men who’d carried Mum out, the neighbours. It hadn’t even crossed her mind until now that the door had been left wide open all day, and it was October. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to mop the floors yet. Better leave things as they were, just in case.
Footsteps outside. Zoe jolted up, thinking it might be Rachel finally arriving, but it was just the neighbour, Auntie Nina, Mum’s old friend.
“I saw you come back. D’you need any help?” she asked.
Zoe shook her head and sank back into the chair.
“Blimey, it’s freezing in here. I’ll get the fire going.” Nina hurried out and came back with an armful of logs, bustling about in the kitchen to light the stove.
For a split second, Zoe could’ve sworn it was Mum—that the whole thing had been a bad dream.
“There, that’ll warm up soon,” Nina said, stepping back in. Not Mum. Just Nina. “Don’t worry about the wake. Funeral’s tomorrow, yeah? You go sort things in town—Annie and I’ll handle things here. Rachel knows, doesn’t she? She coming?”
“Phone’s off. Sent her a message. Don’t know. Thanks, though,” Zoe mumbled, barely moving her lips.
“Ah, well. We’re family, aren’t we? Me and your mum were closer than sisters.” There was an edge to her voice, and Zoe caught it, lifting her eyes sharply. “Right, I’ll be off,” Nina said, flustered, heading for the door. But she paused, hand on the knob. “Don’t lock up tomorrow, all right?”
Zoe nodded, biting her lip. The fire crackled, the flames humming in the chimney—the house felt alive again. That suffocating loneliness that had settled in after Mum’s death didn’t feel so heavy now. People always said the dead lingered close in those first few days. Zoe glanced around, but she couldn’t feel or see anything.
Mum had been poorly for a while. After Dad died, she just… gave up. Lost the will for anything. Sometimes Zoe thought she didn’t *want* to live—like she was in a hurry to join him. She’d turned quiet, withdrawn. After school, Zoe moved to the city, did an accounting course at college.
She came back every weekend—thank God the village wasn’t far. Brought groceries, helped out. This past year, Mum had wasted away, weak as a kitten. Zoe took her to hospital, and they got the worst news possible. Mum just… accepted it. Like she was relieved, even. Not upset at all.
When Mum got too weak to even get out of bed, Zoe took time off work and moved in. Warned her boss she might need unpaid leave. A month later, she was gone. Those last two days, she didn’t eat, didn’t speak—just drifted in and out.
Zoe kept talking to her anyway, whether she could hear or not. The sound of her own voice kept the fear at bay. On the last day, Zoe begged her to forgive her, begged her not to leave her alone, stroking that frail, lifeless hand.
She told her Rachel was coming. At the sound of her sister’s name, Mum’s eyelids twitched—but she didn’t open her eyes. Maybe she was already there, in that other place with Dad, where she’d wanted to be all along.
Dad had been a hard worker, didn’t drink much—rare for the village. Plenty of women, single or stuck with drunk husbands, had tried their luck with him, making excuses to get him alone. But he never strayed. Loved Mum too much. You can’t hide things in a village.
He’d always bring back sweets in a little paper bag when he got paid. How they’d loved those small treats.
He died young—or rather, he was killed. Mum never got over it. Zoe was only seven, Rachel was just finishing Year 11. She left for college straight after—or rather, *ran*—and never came back.
Before she lost the ability to speak, Mum had asked Zoe to call her sister, beg her to visit. Zoe tried—calls, texts—but the phone was always off. She wrote one last time when Mum died. No reply. Zoe lied to Mum, said Rachel’s daughter was poorly. She’d come as soon as she was better. Did Mum believe her? Zoe would never know.
She remembered ringing Rachel a year ago when the doctors gave the diagnosis, pleading with her to visit. Rachel hadn’t even flinched.
“She threw me out, remember? Not coming.”
“You’re as bad as each other. She could *die*—just come, talk, forgive—”
“I didn’t kill Dad. I was just a kid. Did she *ever* think how it’d feel, kicking me out?” Rachel’s voice rose.
“She didn’t *kick* you out—she was angry, she said things she didn’t mean. She regretted it—please—”
“No.” The call cut dead.
“So she’s not coming,” Zoe thought and stood. She shrugged off her coat. The house was warmer now, almost stuffy. But she was shivering. *Am I ill? Now of all times.* She flicked on the electric hob, filled the kettle.
Not hungry, but tea would help. She waited at the kitchen table, watching the water. Mum used to scrub this place spotless. Now there were crumbs, stains. Who cared about tidy floors now? Zoe grabbed a cloth and wiped the table anyway—like Mum might see and scold her.
She’d have to decide about the house, but that wasn’t something she could do without Rachel. In the city, you could get anything anytime—but who’d bother making trips out here? Doubt Rachel wanted it either. *Would she really skip the funeral?*
Then—the front door banged. Zoe froze. No footsteps. It was dark now, and she hadn’t locked up after Nina. Had she forgotten something?
Fear slithered under her skin. Zoe shot up, ready to bolt—but where? Out the window? Then someone stepped into the room. Her heart hammered so loud she could hear it. Peering around the stove, she saw Rachel.
“Thank God you’re here!” Zoe threw her arms around her sister, pressing her warm cheek to Rachel’s cold one.
Rachel didn’t move, didn’t hug back.
“Didn’t expect me?” Her voice was brittle, like autumn leaves.
“Course I did! Tea’s on—just sugar and biscuits though. Wait—jam! You hungry? I can do potatoes quick—” Zoe let go, darting to the cupboard—
“No,” Rachel’s flat voice stopped her. “Tea’s fine.”
Zoe straightened, walking back slowly.
“She died here?” Rachel glanced at the bed.
“Yeah. I was with her. She waited for you.” The joy drained from Zoe’s voice.
Rachel tossed her coat onto the bed and walked to their parents’ photo on the wall. Zoe hung it up properly, then stood beside her.
“Funeral’s tomorrow?” Rachel asked, not looking away.
“Yeah, all sorted. Morgue first thing, the vicar’ll do the service. I’ve booked a car from the funeral home—we’ll bring her to the churchyard. Nina’s sorting the wake…” Zoe spoke fast, like reciting to a teacher. Tears ran down, soaking into her black jumper. “Thanks for coming. Didn’t want to do this alone.”
“You mentioned tea.”
“Yeah, come on.” Zoe wiped her face and led the way.
She set out cups, poured the tea leaves. Rachel picked up hers—the one with forget-me-nots.
“Can’t believe this survived.”
“Want jam? Strawberry—last year’s, though.”
“Just biscuits.”
They drank in silence. The house was warm now, smelling of the herbs Mum used to dry by the stove. Zoe’s eyes welled again.
“You grew up. Look like her.” Rachel avoided saying *Mum.* “Married? Job?”
“Just work. Took leave to care for her. You? Why’d you ignore my calls? Thought you wouldn’t even come today.”
“You blame me too?” Rachel shot back.
“No! God—” Too quick. Too fake.
“Liar. I see it,” Rachel sighedThe sisters held each other tightly, finally understanding that forgiveness wasn’t about who was right or wrong, but about letting go of the pain that had kept them apart for so long.
