Twelve Years Later
Im begging you, please, help me find my son! the womans voice quivered on the edge of tears. Theres nothing else I want from this life!
Catherine settled on the sofa beside the presenter, twisting her hands dramatically, as if in utter despair. Shed purposefully dressed herself in the plainest clothes she could find and stayed awake all night before the show, hoping the resulting pallor and weariness would paint her as a suffering mother. She longed to make an impressionto move people to action.
My greatest wish,” she said in a feeble voice, as though every word laboured up from some deep well of agony, is to repair my relationship with my son. Ive tried everything I could think of! Went to the police, in the hope theyd help, but they wouldnt let me even file a report! They said William is a grown man and has been gone for years. If you werent bothered about him before, why turn up now? they said
The presenter listened attentively, head tilted ever so slightly, though, if truth be told, he found her story less than convincing. He suspected matters were quite a bit more commonplace than Catherine made out: the two had quarrelled, shed ignored her son for years, and now here she was, desperate for attention. He agreed entirely with the police. Still, such stories drew viewers, and viewers meant ratings.
So, your falling out with your son is what led to the estrangement?” he asked, calm and measured, glancing toward the audience. Some looked sceptical, others, in contrast, looked sincerely concerned for this unfortunate mother.
Catherine nodded, her eyes shining with fresh tears. Drawing a deep breath and steadying herself, she continued.
Yes. It all began twelve years ago. My son fell in lovehopelessly, and resolved to marry her. I understood youthful passion, yet that girl she was completely wrong for him! I could see where it would end. She smoked, drank, and spent her evenings in all sorts of questionable places. Worst of all, she began to pull William into that same world.
She paused, clinging momentarily to the silence, as if reliving those days. The presenter waited patiently, giving her space.
I tried to talk to him, warn him, explain that it wasnt the right path. But he refused to listen. To him, I was just an interfering mother, unable to let him grow up. One evening, it all became too much. He slammed his fist on the table and shouted, Im leaving!
Catherine stifled a sob, and the presenter immediately offered her a handkerchief. She took it with a grateful glance, blotting her tears with care not to disturb her makeup. After a few moments silence, she drew herself up and went on:
He left. Packed all his things while I was at work. No note, no explanation Changed his number, cut off everyone: friends, familythe whole lot! All for that girl
Her voice faltered, eyelids fluttering shut as she struggled to contain her feelings.
Im sorry,” she whispered, squeezing the handkerchief in her fist, Im finding it hard to keep myself together.
She slowly bowed her head, a few stray locks falling to half-mask her face. The gesture, so deliberately staged, was meant to deepen the impression on viewersthere could be no doubt of her suffering! The script called for sobbing, letting her emotions show, displaying the wounded soul of a grieving mother. Inside, though, Catherine felt little of the pain she displayedonly tense anticipation. Would she succeed in winning peoples sympathy?
The presenter saw through the performance, but decided to play along.
We understand your pain, he said gently, signalling to an assistant for a glass of water. Take your time. Tell us when youre ready.
A pause followed. It lasted just long enough for the drama to build. He timed it impeccablylong enough to show compassion, short enough not to lose momentum.
And what do you know of your sons circumstances now? he enquired at last, leaning in for effect.
Catherine lifted her eyes, wearing a careful blend of despair and hope.
Recently, an acquaintance spotted him in London, she began, her voice waveringwhether from nerves or the strain of acting wasnt clear. They spoke briefly, but it was obvious: William had even changed his surname! How am I to find him? Ive tried everything. Please, someone out there must have seen him?
She turned toward the camera, her face fixed in an expression of profound sorrowjust as shed rehearsed. Her pained gaze lingered on the lens, as if she could reach into the audiences homes and tug at their hearts.
I was in hospital not long ago, she continued, now with a genuine flicker of fear in her tone, and I realised the years have caught up with me. Who knows how long I have left? I dream of seeing my son again, embracing him, telling him Ive long forgiven him and dearly want his forgiveness as well
On the screen, a photo of a young man appeared. He looked to be about twenty, fair-haired with grey-blue eyes, tall, pleasantnothing especially distinctive, the sort of lad youd pass in the street and think nothing of. Catherine stared at the image. Over twelve years, William was sure to have changedaged, grown a beard, cut or grown his hair, perhaps put on weight. All these unknowns made the task seem daunting, almost hopeless, but Catherine forced away such thoughts.
If anyones seen a young man resembling this photo, please contact us at the studio, the presenter said, his voice steady. The number is shown below.
When filming ended, Catherine exchanged farewells with the crew and drifted toward the exit, determined to see her part through to the last.
Stepping outside, she glanced at her waiting friendthe one whod insisted she appear on the programme. A faint but satisfied smile flickered over Catherines lips.
So, how did I do? she murmured, pride clear in her voice. Did I manage to pull at their heartstrings?
Martha had kept a sharp eye on the audience all through the broadcast and knew well their ruse had worked. The ladies in the audience had wiped surreptitious tears; others whispered, shaking their heads. A subtle smirk played at Marthas lips.
One or two were near to sobbing, she replied in a low voice. Im sure youll soon learn where your precious sons living, and then you can demand what youre owed for all your years of sacrifice. I mean, look at him: hes doing famously, and not a farthing for his mother!
Catherine grimaced. Marthas bluntness displeased hertoo direct and a touch too cynical. Yet, there was truth in her words.
Until recently, Catherine had barely given William a second thought. Hed flickered through her mind only now and then, briefly, never with pain or longing. Then, by sheer chance, Martha met someone from home, whod seen William in London. That same acquaintance had told tales of the young mans transformation.
A luxury motor carone you might see at a show rather than on the road. A tailored suit costing thousands of pounds. A watch handmade, engraved, with an intricate mechanismsomething you couldnt just buy off the shelf. And when William emerged from one of Londons most exclusive restaurants, it was plain for all to see: he wasnt just well-offhe lived extravagantly. A few hours spent where a bill rarely dipped below several hundred pounds spoke volumes.
Catherine never truly cared about her sons life. Her concern was altogether differentmoney, and her belief she was owed it! After all, she was his mother. Shed given him life; now it was time for him to repay her.
Oh, theyll find him, she repeated, more to herself than Martha. Just a little patience, and Ill be sorted for good
She was quite certain William wouldnt dare refuse her. By all accounts, he moved in high society; people like that couldnt risk a scandal. Hed have no choice but to play the doting son for the press, if only to polish his reputation. After this sort of publicity, hed be trapped.
Naïve as she was, she didnt yet see the finely set snare her own son had laid for her
***************************
Twelve years ago.
William returned home at nine in the evening. The day had been shatteringhed just finished the most daunting exam of his studies. Equations and dates still whirled in his mind; his eyes ached from endless revision, his muscles from stress. More than anything, he wanted to stumble into his room, collapse on the bed and sleep for a year. But he knew full well such luxury would not be granted.
At the door, he heard raised voices inside: a mans, sharp and cross, and a womans, quiet, apologetic. That man again, in their home William flinched. The fellow always seemed to be there when William came in, as if he waited on purpose to pick a fight.
He slid his key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open cautiously, hoping he might sneak down the hall undetectedhead straight for his room, save all talk for another time. But as soon as he crossed the threshold, he nearly tripped over a pile of cases stacked just by the door.
William froze, looking at the luggage. Why were they here? On closer inspection he recognised them as his ownspecially bought for trips away. His heart dropped; something was amiss.
Whats all this? he called, trying to stay calm. Why are my things here? Whats going on?
His voice rang louder than planned; fatigue and tension had frayed his nerves. He placed his satchel on the floor and crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. Silence fell within the flatvoices from the other room stopped, and after a moment, his mother came out to the corridor.
Her face twisted in disapproval as she saw him; she wrinkled her nose, gave a sharp snort as if shed caught a whiff of something sour, and immediately turned away. William stared after her, bewildered. Something was very different; this went far beyond their usual disagreements.
He took off his shoes and marched to the kitchen, where the voices had come from. The door was cracked open, and he had no trouble seeing the scene: a manArthur. Seated at the table with an air of ownership: one hand on the back of the empty chair, the other holding a tea cup. Arthur glanced at William briefly, appraisingly, then turned back to Catherine.
William stepped in, barely containing his irritation.
And whats he doing here? he demanded of his mother.
Havent you told him yet? Arthur sneered, fiddling with his phone. What are you waiting for?
Dont talk about me as though Im not here! Williams voice trembled with indignation. Ive every right to be here! Certainly more than you! Who do you think you are, bringing your child into my home?
He might have said more, but his mother cut him off. She turned to him, her eyes cold, her tone flat as if discussing the weather.
As of today, youre not living here anymore. Your old room belongs to Arthurs son now.
William stood in shock. He searched her face for a trace of warmth, a hint that this was some cruel joke. But Catherine was straight-backed, lips thin, eyes hard. Arthur gave a small nod, as if confirming a decision already made, and sipped his tea as though entirely uninvolved.
Hold on! What gives you the right to decide where I live? Williams voice shook but he tried to hold steady.
He was stunned, wounded to his core. Hed always known he was something of an obstacle to his mothers new life. But to simply throw him outno warning, no conversationit was unfathomable!
My father meant for me to inherit the flat he protested, grasping for something solid in his world of sudden chaos.
Catherine folded her arms and lifted her chin, just for a moment softening her features with a look of feigned sorrow.
He meant to, but he died suddenly, she remarked dispassionately. He never managed to change the will, so the old one stands. That means Im the sole owner of this flat, and I alone decide who lives here! From today, youre not to set foot in my home. Youre a grown man, still clinging to your mothers apron strings! Arent you ashamed?
Every word was a lash. William felt the injustice boil within him, but fought back tears of humiliation. He was being banished from his own homefrom the place he grew up, where every crack and creak was familiar.
A nervous twitch tugged at his eye, the old tic returning. His thoughts turned wild: Had his fathers accident really been an accident? Or had someone plotted for the flat all along?
He glanced at Arthur, who sat sipping his tea, detached from the whole scene. That only heightened the wrongness of it all.
Are you serious? William turned back to his mother, searching for any sign of regret. Are you truly going to throw your own son out onto the streets?
Catherine only shrugged, as if the matter were trivialchanging the curtains or moving a chair.
Ive already packed your things. From now on, someone else lives here. And dont you dare come back without my permission!
Youre joking? Where will I sleep tonight? he asked, voice low, angry tears smarting in his eyes.
His tone was steady, but the look he gave her was full of disbelief and pain. He still half-hoped it was some ghastly prank, that any moment shed laugh and say, Alright, enough, I just wanted to see your face. But Catherines gaze was cold, without pity.
He ached to leap up, grab Arthur by the collar, shout, Who are you to decide my fate? But instead, William pressed his fists tight, took a deep breath, and remained still.
Youll manage, his mother replied coolly, as if discussing a returned library book. Youve plenty of friendssomeone will put you up. After that, youre on your own.
She made it sound easy, as if his life were nothing. William felt the injustice burning in his bones but tried not to let it show.
And another thing, Catherine added, her chin raised, Ive taken back the money for your final year at university. Earn it yourselfI need those funds more. There’s a wedding coming up.
Those words landed harder than any before. For a moment William was speechless, suddenly realising: his mother meant to cut him off completely. Not just out of her home, but from financial help too, snipping every thread that might soften his fall into adulthood.
But hed never beg her to change her mind. Not now, not ever. Ideas began to flow: take a leave from university, get a job, earn his way back. He was young and ableit would be enough.
William nodded slowly, challenging her with his silence. He looked once more at his mother for a glimmer of affectionthere was only determination. At that moment, he understood: their bond could never be restored.
He would never forgive her.
***************************
Have you watched it? Nick asked eagerly, leaning over the table toward William, phone outstretched. My mate from your hometown sent it. Says the programme was just on.
William lifted his gaze from the folder of documents hed been poring over. His hands loosened, the file dropped to the desk with a faint rustle. He realised hed get nothing more done today. There was a feeling inside himnot satisfaction, exactly, but a wry sense of triumph at the way things had turned out.
Ive seen it, he replied, a faint smirk on his lips. Marthas husband must have advertised our meeting. Just what I wanted. Let my mother see what she lost.
He sat back in his chair, absently brushing a hand over his closely cropped hair. Flashes from the television broadcast played through his mindhis mother, face composed in calculated grief, lamenting the son whod vanished. Twelve years ago, shed thrown him out, without a word, without support. Now she tried to play the part of the heartbroken mother.
Yes, William had taken his quiet revengenot with a scandal, not with bitter shouts, but with a careful display of all she was missing. Hed carved out successa stable job, connections, plans for the futurein another country. All with no help, no approval, no blessing from her.
Now his mother knew of his fortune and surely realised what she might have received, had she behaved differently. If she hadnt preferred a new husband and stepson over her own child. If she hadnt snatched away his tuition fees and driven him out.
Soon she would learn the most important thing of allshed get no help from him. Not a penny, not a word, not the smallest olive branch. The past was over, and his future would be built without her, without her meddling or manipulations.
That woman who gave him life, he thought, could never reach him now. Not in flesh, nor in spirit. And in the end, that, perhaps, was the sweetest justice of allWilliam glanced out the window, where evening had begun to drape the city in silvery haze. Londons skyline no longer intimidated him as it once had; it was as familiar as the four walls of this small office. Down in the street, a blur of strangers hurried home in rowseach one carrying losses, hopes, betrayals of their own. He felt strangely serene.
Nick tapped the table with two fingers, as if seeking some final word. You really arent going to call her?
William shook his head, resolute. She made her choices. Ive made mine.
They sat in silence for a moment, the distant street sounds floating up, along with the pulse of Williams own calm heart. Gone was the trembling, rejected youth of twelve years before; in his place sat a man who had built himself from the ground upalone, yes, but unbroken.
He reached into his drawer and drew out a slim envelope. On it, in his clean, upright handwriting, was scrawled: For when I am ready. Inside was a lettera few pages onlynever sent. He unfolded it, gaze skimming the opening lines. The words spoke not of hate, nor even of forgiveness, but of release: all the heaviness she had left him with, set down at last.
With a gentle sigh, William tore the letter in half, and then again, the pieces fluttering like pale birds to the wastebasket. Nick watched him, eyebrows lifted.
Was that?
Freedom, William said simply.
Later, when William stepped out into the city, dusk shimmered around himalive, expectant. He crossed the cobblestones with steady tread, blending into the flow of life. His storyhis real storyhad left the shadows at last.
And somewhere far away, as a lonely woman in a silent flat scanned faces on the screen and waited for a call that would not come, William breathed in the evening air and walked forwardhis own name, his own fate, carrying him into a night no longer haunted by ghosts.
