Emily hated everyone. Especially her own mother.
She knew with absolute certainty that when she grew up and escaped this place, she would find her.
No, she wasnt planning to throw herself into her arms, crying, “Hello, Mummy!”
She intended to watch firstthen make her pay. For every year spent in the childrens home, for every tear shed while her mother lived free and happy.
Somehow, Emily never doubted thats exactly how her mother had lived.
Emily had always been in the home. For as long as she could remember, it was all shed known.
Shed been moved several times for fightingboys, girls, it didnt matter who stood in front of her.
She was punished, locked in isolation, denied sweets, but she still despised the carers, the other children, the entire world.
By fourteen, she stopped fightingnot because shed grown fond of anyone, but because everyone was already terrified of her.
Bored, she wandered to a far corner of the homes grounds and sat, dreaming of the day shed track her mother down.
One day, she heard an odd melody. She listened. It was unlike anything shed heard before.
Emily loved musicbeautiful sounds always made her freeze. But this tune it was haunting, almost mournful. She couldnt place the instrument.
She stood, pushed through the acacia bushesand there was the new caretaker, the one shed already mocked.
What was he playing? She craned her neck, lost balance, and tumbled right into the bushes.
The man stopped playing and turned. Emily scrambled up, dusting herself off angrily, but before she could leave, he spoke:
“Want me to teach you?”
She froze. Her? Could she really learn to play like that?
She took a step closer. The caretaker looked about fifty-fiveodd for someone his age to be doing such work.
Emily visited him daily. At first, he showed her how to play the flutethese odd little wooden ones he carved himself.
When she finally played a real melody, she hugged him without thinking. That was when they first talked properly.
His name was Nicholas Peterson. He lived in a small cottage on the homes grounds.
“Why?” she asked. “No family? No home?”
“I had both, Emily. Ten years ago, my Catherine passed. I thought Id die tooif not for my son”
Later, he remarrieda beautiful woman, but greedy. “Didnt matter, as long as my Alex liked her.”
Five years later, Alex died in a car crash. The flata spacious three-bed in the city centre, long since signed over to himwas taken by his widow.
She packed him a suitcase and sent him on his way.
“Why didnt you fight?”
“What for, Emily? Everyone I loved was gone. Just waiting my turn now.”
Emily hated Nicholass daughter-in-law more than her own mother.
She even considered revengestarting with her, then her mother.
When Nicholas learned what festered in the girls heart, he was horrified. How did she bear such hatred?
They talked often. He watched Emily soften. She stopped cutting her hair short, grew gentler, stopped using her fists.
One day, he asked, “Emily, you leave next year. Decided what youll do?”
She blinked. “No. Always just thought about revenge.”
“Suppose you find her. Spend money tracking her downthen what?”
She left without answering. A week later, she returned.
“I want to build things.”
They spent the next year preparing her for construction college. University could wait.
On her last day, they sat on their bench until evening.
As the train carried her away, Emily criedfor the first time in years.
“Nicholas, Ill come back. Once Im settled.”
“Lets agreeIm not going anywhere. You finish your studies, stand on your own feet, then visit an old man.”
“Youre not old.”
He gave her a flute as a parting gift.
Fifteen years passed.
Emily married late, struggled to find someone who understood her.
At thirty, she had a daughterCharlotteand soon after, divorced. Her joy was in that little girl.
Now financially secure, she finally filed a search for her mother.
The truth came quicker than expected.
Her mothera lonely woman whod wanted a childlearned she was terminally ill two months before giving birth.
Doctors gave her a year. She made the agonising choice to give Emily up at birth.
Emily found her grave, marked by a large angel statue.
She often thought of Nicholas but, returning years later, couldnt find him.
The home had a new director, most staff replaced.
On free afternoons, Emily took Charlotte to the park. The girl, sharp beyond her years, had a habit of “saving the world.”
At six, shed coax Emily into buying sweets for every child, bread for ducks, or ice creams on hot days.
Today was no different.
“Mum, can we get sausages, bread, and juice?”
Emily frowned. “Whos it for this time?”
“Maybe you shouldnt ask. Less stress.”
“Charlotte, were not going anywhere.”
“Its for an old man. Hes homeless.”
Emily nearly fainted. Charlotte shruggedtold you so.
“He doesnt beg like others. Knows poems and stories no one else does. Youre not stingy, are you?”
Speechless, Emily bought the items.
At the park, Charlotte pointed to a shabby old man by the pond, surrounded by children.
“You wait here.”
That evening, Emily lay reading when a familiar melody drifted from Charlottes room.
She rushed in. “What was that?”
“The old mans teaching me flute! I cant get this bit right.”
Emily took it, played the entire tunethen burst into tears.
Charlotte panicked. “Mum! Was it the music? I wont play it again!”
Emily shook her head, fetched her own aged flute.
“Charlotte where does he stay?”
“By the pond. His things are in the bushes.”
“Get your coat.”
They found him instantly.
“Grandad!” Charlotte called.
He emerged. “Whats wrong, little one?”
“Nicholas Peterson. Good evening.”
He stiffened, turned slowly. Stared.
“Emily it cant be.”
She hugged him tightly.
“Anythings possible. No more feeding mosquitoes. Youre coming home.”
“Home?”
“With me. Without you, Id have nothing. My home is yours.”
All the way back, Nicholas wiped his tears. They blurred his vision, made him stumblebut Emilys steady grip kept him upright.
For the first time in years, he knew one thing: he wouldnt die alone.
