The morning greeted me with silence. Normally, my mum, Victoria, would wake me with a soft voice before breakfast, but that day she was gone. I opened my eyes and knew—she’d left for good. The wardrobe gaped open, empty; her worn boots weren’t by the door, and her bed was neatly folded in the corner. On the kitchen table lay a note, as lonely as her heart. I froze, staring at it, and something inside me snapped.
Standing outside the care home in some forgotten village near Manchester, I clenched my fists to stop the shaking. Through the grimy window, I saw her—my mum, older now, hunched, standing alone by the pane. Once, I’d chosen a new life with my wife, pushing her aside for fleeting happiness. Now the guilt of that betrayal ate me alive. How could I have done that to the woman who gave me life?
Dad left when I was just a kid. Walked out without looking back, leaving Mum to raise me alone. She was only thirty—beautiful, full of life—but she chose me over everything. Men offered her marriage, promised comfort, but on one condition: she had to give me up. She turned them all down without hesitation. Her choice was always me. Victoria worked as a pastry chef at a local bakery, pulling double shifts to pay for our tiny flat and my schooling. Her hands were always red and swollen from dough, never resting. But she never complained. Not once.
I remember her coming home from the night shift, boiling the kettle and pulling out a warm bun for me. Sometimes, when wages were late, she’d watch me eat before finishing the crumbs herself. Too young to realise—she was scared I’d go hungry. Her love was boundless, selfless. She was my whole world. “I’ll never remarry,” she’d say, “so no one can ever hurt you.” And I believed her. With a mum like that, who else did I need?
My childhood was happy, despite the hardships. Mum went sleepless, skipped meals, but always smiled. Everything changed when the bakery shut down and arthritis twisted her fingers. Every movement was agony, but no one would hire her—broken down by pain and age. I was finishing school, working odd jobs at the local shop—sweeping, stacking boxes, minding the till. They paid me in food and scraps, but I saved every bit for her meds. I knew how proud she was of my grades, so I studied harder than anyone. When I left school with top marks, I got into a good uni in Manchester. We moved, hoping for a fresh start.
In the city, things looked up. I worked at a café and a warehouse—enough for rent and little joys. We got a tiny room in student halls, and I tried to make her life brighter—took her to the theatre, bought her dresses, showed her the city. She smiled, but I saw the pain in her hands never eased. It was good—until I met *her*. The girl who turned my world upside down.
Her name was Olivia. Met her in my second year. Bright, bold, from a posh family—she seemed out of my league. My mates were jealous I’d landed someone like her. We got serious fast, and soon she wanted us to move in. I wasn’t ready, but she gave me an ultimatum: together or nothing. I caved. We couldn’t live at hers—her parents hated the idea of me, some baker’s son. So it had to be my room.
I never introduced Olivia to Mum. I was ashamed. My mother, worn by years of work, next to Olivia’s mum—polished, perfect. I knew it was rotten, but I couldn’t stop myself. Finally, I sat Mum down, guilt heavy in my gut. I was about to kick her out.
“Mum, I’ve met someone. We’re moving in together,” I mumbled, avoiding her eyes.
“Oh, love, I’m so happy for you! When do I meet her?” Her voice trembled with joy.
“Not yet, Mum. But—where will *you* go?”
She hesitated. I watched her face fall.
“I’ll… go back to the village. Stay with Aunt Margaret,” she said quietly.
“How long can you stay there? Will she even take you?” I pressed, though I knew Aunt Margaret—bitter, lonely—would never welcome her.
“Don’t worry, love. She’ll be glad for the company. You save your money, eat well, take care of your girl.”
I saw it in her eyes—the hurt. But Olivia had me blinded. I sent Mum away, knowing she had nothing. I went to sleep, and by morning, she was gone. Left without a sound, just a note:
*”Thomas, don’t worry about me. I blinked, and you were grown. I know you’re ashamed of me, and I don’t blame you. Tell your girl you’ve no mother—it’ll be easier. Be happy, love. If you need me, I’m at Aunt Margaret’s.”*
Tears burned. I knew she was out there—sick, homeless—but Olivia was moving in. We married, and I let her convince me not to invite Mum. Told everyone she’d died. Years passed, work swallowed me, and I never looked for her.
When our daughter was born, I finally understood what it meant to be a parent. I confessed the truth to Olivia. She exploded:
“So what, you’ll drag her here now? What if she brings her illnesses near our baby? Think of *her*!”
“Liv, she’s family. I have to know she’s alright.”
I started searching. Aunt Margaret had died years ago—Mum couldn’t be there. No one in the village had seen her. Desperate, I went to the river where we’d built a birdhouse together. Inside, I found a faded letter:
*”Thomas, if you’re reading this, you came looking. I’m at Greenfield Care Home, near your old uni. I’ve seen you—happy—and didn’t want to bother you.”*
I raced into town, heart pounding. At the home, they told me she’d been found begging on the streets one winter. *My mum*—begging? I couldn’t take it. In her room, I saw an old woman in frayed clothes. She didn’t recognise me at first.
“Mum… it’s me,” I choked out, falling to my knees.
She stroked my hair, crying.
“You found me, love. I waited.”
“Come home. You’ve got a granddaughter.”
“A granddaughter?” Her eyes lit up.
At home, Olivia screamed when we walked in:
“*Who* is this? You said your mum died in a car crash!”
I lost it. Slapped her. Told her we were done. She threatened to keep our daughter from me, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t forgive myself. But while we fought, Mum slipped away again.
I ran outside, heart hammering. A crowd, a crumpled car—Mum on the tarmac… My guilt crushed me. There’s no love stronger than a mother’s. She chose me. I chose to betray her. Now I live with that pain, every breath a reminder of what I did.
Cherish your mums. Love fades, marriages end—but a mother’s forever. If you’ve got yours, you’re luckier than most. Hold onto her… before it’s too late.
