**Diary Entry**
It hit me like a cold gust of wind when Dennis finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisperas if he feared his own words. *”Weve decided it would be better if you lived separately.”*
*”Separately?”* I stared at him, bewildered. *”What do you mean, my dear? Where?”*
Sophie stood behind him, arms crossed, her expression icy. *”Dont worry, Mum, weve sorted everything. Theres a lovely care homeclean, with doctors, company, three meals a day. Everything you need. Youll be much happier there.”*
I stayed silent. Something tightened in my chest.
*”Lovely home,”* *”happier there”*but all I heard was: *”We dont need you anymore.”*
I didnt cry. I didnt beg. I just nodded.
*”If it makes things easier for everyone,”* I murmured.
A week later, a small brown suitcase stood by the door. Dennis helped me carry it downstairs, avoiding my gaze.
*”Im sorry, Mum. This is for the best, youll see,”* he mumbled.
*”Yes, love,”* I whispered. *”Easier. For you, certainly.”*
Outside, a fine, chilly drizzle fell as the taxi pulled up to a grey, two-storey building on the citys edge. The sign read: *”Golden Sunset Care Home.”*
Inside, the air smelled of bleach and overcooked porridge. A middle-aged nurse with a bored expression gestured vaguely. *”Room six. Its warm, has a telly.”* Then she was gone.
The room was small, with one window overlooking a gnarled oak. The blanket was rough, the colours faded. I ran my hand over it.
*”So this is it,”* I thought.
The first few days, I barely spoke. I ate, slept, listened to muffled noises from other roomssometimes weeping, sometimes shouting. Time blurred. Morning and evening felt the same.
I was convinced life had ended.
Then, one day, a new face appeared in the corridora young woman with a bright smile, wearing a scarf, carrying a basket of homemade scones.
*”Good afternoon!”* she chirped. *”Im Margaret, a volunteer. Ive come to chat, maybe read a little. Youre Mrs. Harper, yes?”*
*”Yes,”* I said.
*”A neighbour mentioned you used to be a teacher?”*
Surprised, I nodded.
*”Primary school. English literature.”*
*”Thats wonderful!”* Margaret beamed. *”The childrens shelter nearby needs someone to help with reading. Theyre behind, but eager. Would you come?”*
For a moment, I couldnt speak. My heart thudded.
*”Children? Teach them?”* I asked, barely daring to believe it.
*”Yes! If youd like, I can drive you.”*
A week later, we rattled along in an old minibus. Through the window, the outskirts of London passedhouses, markets, people. I pressed my hand to the glass and sighed softly.
The shelter was a noisy, colourful world. Boys and girls darted down corridors, laughter filling the air. But when I began reading *”The Secret Garden”* aloud, silence fell.
My voice trembled, yet warmth seeped into every word. The children listened as if under a spell.
*”See how they hang on your every word?”* Margaret said later. *”Theyve missed kindness like yours.”*
From then on, I visited weekly. We read, practised writing, shared storiesabout life, history, humanity. And each time I returned to the care home, my heart felt lighter.
Months passed. One afternoon, the shelters director called me in.
*”Mrs. Harper, wed like to offer you something. One of our tutors retired. The children adore you. Would you stay part-time? Youd have a room here.”*
I was stunned.
*”Me? But Im seventy-eight”*
*”Exactly! We need hearts like yoursnot paperwork, but people.”*
When I moved in, it felt like a new beginning. The children swarmed around me, shouting, *”Mrs. Harper, youre back!”*
I laughed, hugged them, and for the first time in years, felt truly happy.
Back in the old flat, Dennis scrolled through his phone one evening, pausing on an article: *”A retired teacher finds a new homeand purposewith forgotten children.”*
There was my photo.
Surrounded by children, holding a little boys hand, smiling.
The caption read: *”Shes everything to those who have no one.”*
Dennis stared at the picture for a long time. Sophie asked, *”Whats wrong?”*
All he said was: *”Forgive me, Mum.”*
I never knew he spoke those words.
I simply lived onquietly, peacefully, but full of love.
And when the children brought me a drawinga big red heart with the words *”Youre our heart, Mrs. Harper!”*I knew God had taken my home only to give me a new family.
