Valerie Sinclair stood by the window, watching the caretaker sweep away the last golden leaves. October had been especially rainy this year, and the leaves clung stubbornly to the wet pavement, as if refusing to let go. In her hand was a crumpled note, delivered an hour earlier by their neighbor.
“Val, some woman came by for you,” Lucy from next door had said, handing her the scrap of paper. “Said it was urgent. Didn’t wait around, just rushed off.”
The handwriting was messy—unmistakably her younger sister Natalie’s. She’d always written like a chicken scratching at the dirt. Their schoolteachers had nagged her about it, but Nat just shrugged and said she wasn’t planning on becoming a novelist.
The note read: *Mum’s waiting for you. Come quick. It’s bad. Nat.*
Valerie’s throat tightened.
“You alright, love?” Lucy asked, frowning. “You’ve gone pale.”
“Fine,” Valerie muttered and shut the door.
Now she stood there, gripping the note, unsure what to do. Her mother… How long had it been since they last spoke? Eight years? Ten? After their awful fight, she’d cut off all contact, even forbidding Natalie from mentioning her when she visited.
“Let her think she only has one daughter,” Valerie had said back then. “If that’s how it is, then so be it.”
It had all started over something so small. Mum wanted to sell their family cottage in the countryside—the one where she and Natalie had grown up, where their memories lived. It had been their grandmother’s, and legally, both sisters had equal claim. But Valerie refused.
“Mum, have you lost your mind?” she’d shouted in their tiny flat’s kitchen. “That’s our family history! Dad dug those garden beds, Nat and I played hide-and-seek there!”
“Val, love, calm down,” Mum had replied, exhausted. “The place is falling apart. The roof leaks, the taxes pile up. We can’t afford repairs, but selling it would at least give us something.”
“I don’t care about the money!” Valerie had slammed her fist on the table. “If you sell that house, you’re dead to me!”
Her mother had just stared at her, eyes heavy with sadness. Then, quietly:
“Alright, Val. Your choice.”
And she sold it. Without Valerie’s consent, arranging it all through Natalie. She gave the money to Nat, saying,
“Put it toward a flat. No point spending your life renting.”
Valerie only found out by chance, bumping into a neighbor from the village on the bus.
“Oh, Val, your cottage’s been torn down,” the woman chirped. “New owners plowed the lot for a veg patch. Said they’re building a holiday home.”
That evening, Valerie stormed into her mother’s flat and unleashed every bitter, merciless word she’d bottled up. Mum sat crying while Valerie screamed.
“You betrayed me! You betrayed Dad’s memory!” she sobbed. “All for money! For Nat, who’s never done anything but take!”
“Val, please,” Mum whispered.
“I don’t want to see you again. You hear me? You’re nothing to me now!”
She left, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled.
Months of silence followed. Natalie tried to mediate—calling, visiting, pleading.
“Val, you’re being childish. Mum cries every day. She did this for us, so we’d have security.”
“Let her cry,” Valerie sneered. “Should’ve thought sooner.”
“It’s just a house! She’s our mother!”
“She had no right!” Valerie shouted. “No right to decide without me!”
Nat would leave in tears. And Valerie stayed alone, wrapped in her own stubborn hurt.
Years passed. Valerie married, had a son, Charlie. Her husband, James, sometimes asked about her family.
“Don’t have any,” she’d say flatly. “I’m on my own.”
James never pressed. His own family was complicated—he understood.
Charlie grew up without a grandmother or aunt. When he asked why, Valerie would say,
“She lives too far to visit.”
“Then why don’t we go to her?”
“Because she doesn’t want us,” Valerie would reply, quickly changing the subject.
Natalie tried seeing Charlie a few times—waiting outside school, bringing gifts. But Valerie forbade it.
“Mum, she’s nice,” Charlie said once after sneaking a chat. “Bought me ice cream. Told funny stories.”
“Don’t speak to her again,” Valerie ordered. “She’s not a good person.”
“But why?”
“Because I said so.”
Confused but obedient, Charlie listened. Meanwhile, Valerie yelled at Natalie over the phone.
“How dare you approach my son? Don’t you have your own life?”
“He’s my nephew!” Nat cried. “I just want to know him!”
“Well, you won’t. Stay away.”
After that, Natalie stopped trying.
Now, Valerie stared at the note, her chest tight with dread. *It’s bad.* What did that mean? Sick? Or—
She dialled Natalie’s number. The line rang too long.
“Hello?” Nat sounded exhausted.
“It’s me.”
A pause. Then a shaky breath.
“Val? You got my note?”
“What’s wrong with Mum?”
“Stroke. Three days in ICU. The doctors say…” Her voice cracked. “Say she might not make it.”
Valerie’s legs gave out. She sank onto a chair.
“When?”
“Tuesday morning. The neighbor found her. Val… she keeps saying your name. Even now.”
“I… I don’t—”
“Come. Please. She might… she might know you’re there.”
Valerie hung up, sitting in silence. Memories flashed—Mum singing lullabies, bandaging scraped knees, laughing at their silly plays.
“Mum, I’m home!” Charlie burst in, grinning, schoolbag slung over his shoulder. “Why do you look so sad?”
Valerie studied him. Fifteen now, but still her little boy.
“Sit down. I need to tell you something.”
Charlie frowned. Her tone was never this serious.
“What’s wrong?”
“You have a grandmother.”
He blinked. “What? But you said—”
“I lied. You have a grandmother. And an aunt. I haven’t spoken to them in years. Because of me.”
Valerie told him everything—the cottage, the fight, the silence. Charlie’s eyes widened.
“Mum… is she nice?”
“The kindest,” Valerie whispered.
“Then why—?”
“Because I was stupid, Charlie. Too stubborn to forgive.”
He chewed his lip. “Can we see her?”
“She’s in hospital. Very ill.”
“Then let’s go now!”
Valerie hesitated, then nodded. Within half an hour, they were speeding toward the city where her mother lived.
The hospital smelled sterile and grim. Natalie met them in the corridor, looking older, greyer. She hugged Valerie fiercely.
“I’m so glad you came,” she whispered. Then, spotting Charlie: “Oh, my—he looks just like Granddad!”
“Your Aunt Nat,” Valerie introduced.
Natalie burst into tears. “You’ve gotten so tall!”
Charlie smiled shyly. “Mum says you’re kind.”
Natalie shot Valerie a look.
“She… told you that today,” Valerie admitted.
They entered the ICU. Mum looked small, swallowed by tubes and machines. Valerie froze.
“Mum,” Natalie called softly. “Look who’s here.”
No response. Just labored breathing and beeping monitors.
“Val’s come. And Charlie—your grandson.”
Valerie stepped closer. When had her mother gotten so frail?
“Mum,” she whispered. “It’s me.”
Nothing.
“Mum, I’m sorry. So sorry. I was wrong.”
Charlie hovered beside her. “Grandma? I’m Charlie.”
Suddenly, Mum’s eyelids fluttered. She opened cloudy eyes.
“Val?” she rasped.
“I’m here.”
“My girl…”
Her hand twitched. Valerie caught it.
“Mum, I missed you. So much.”
“Sorry… the cottage… thought… better…”
“Shh. Doesn’t matter now. Just you.”
“Grandson… handsome…”
Valerie smiled through tears. “Yes. Charlie.”
Mum managed a faint smile before her eyes closed again.
They stayed until morning. Valerie talked nonstop—about Charlie, work, the lost years. Natalie dozed in a chair while Charlie whispered questions.
“Was Mum really that stubborn?”
“Worse,” Nat chuckled. “Once she dug her heels in? No budging her.”
“And Grandma?”
“Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Always helping, always kind.”
Charlie shot Valerie a look. “How could you stay mad at her?”
Valerie had no answer.
By dawn, Mum worsened. Doctors rushed in. Later, the consultant pulled them aside.
“We’ll do everything we can, but you should prepare yourselves,” he said gently.
