Elsie despised everyone. Most of all, she despised her mother.
She knew with certainty that once she grew up and escaped this place, she would find her.
No, she had no intention of throwing herself into her mothers arms, crying, *Hello, Mummy!*
She intended to watch first, then take revenge. For all the years spent in the orphanage, for every tear shed while her mother lived in comfort somewhere, untouched by guilt. Somehow, Elsie never doubted that was exactly how her mother lived.
She had always been in the orphanage. For as long as she could remember, she had belonged to no one.
They moved her several times because she fought constantly. It didnt matter who stood before herboy or girl.
They punished her, locked her in isolation, denied her sweets, but she still hated the caretakers, hated the other children, hated the world.
By fourteen, she stopped fighting. Not because shed grown fond of anyone, but because everyone already feared her.
Elsie grew bored. She would wander to the far corner of the orphanage grounds and sit, dreaming of the day shed find her mother and make her pay.
One day, she heard an odd melody. She listened. It was unlike anything shed ever heard.
Music had always moved her, but this it was beautiful, sorrowful, almost mournful. Yet she couldnt place the instrument.
She stood, crept toward the acacia bushes, and carefully parted the branches. Their new groundskeeper sat there. She had already mocked him mercilessly.
What was he playing? She couldnt see. As she stretched closer, she lost her balance and tumbled straight into the bushes.
The man stopped playing and turned. Elsie scrambled up, brushing off leaves angrily, ready to leave. But then he spoke:
Want me to teach you?
She blinked. *Her?* Could she ever play like that?
She took a step closer. The groundskeeper looked about fifty-five. Why was a man his age working such a job?
Elsie returned every day. At first, he simply showed her how to play the flutecarved by his own hands, simple yet graceful.
When she finally produced her first clear notes, she threw her arms around him without thinking. That was when they first truly spoke.
His name was Nicholas Whitmore, and he lived in a small cottage on the orphanage grounds.
Why? she asked. No family? No home?
I had everything once, Elsie. A home, a family Ten years ago, my Catherine passed. Thought Id die of grief if not for my son.
Hed remarrieda pretty woman, but greedy. So long as my boy liked her, I didnt mind.
Five years later, his son died in a car crash. The flat, long since signed over to him, was lost.
Three bedrooms, right in the city centre. My daughter-in-law packed my bags and sent me on my way.
Why didnt you fight?
For what, Elsie? Everyone I loved was gone. Im just waiting my turn. I want to be with them.
For the first time, Elsie hated someone more than her own mother.
She even considered revengefirst the daughter-in-law, then her mother.
When Nicholas learned what festered in the girls heart, he was horrified. How could she bear such hatred?
They spoke often. Slowly, Elsie softened. She stopped cutting her hair short, grew gentler, stopped solving disputes with her fists.
One day, he asked, Elsie, you leave next year. Any thoughts on what youll do?
She stared blankly. No Never thought beyond revenge.
Suppose you get it. Youll searchsomehowthen what?
She left in silence, stayed away a week, then returned. I want to build.
For a year, they prepared for her application to a trade school. University was too longperhaps later.
On her last day, they sat on their bench until evening.
As she boarded the train, Elsie wept for the first time in years.
Nicholas, Ill come back. Once Im settled.
Lets agreeyou finish school, stand on your own feet, *then* visit an old man.
Old? You?
At parting, he gave her a flute.
Fifteen years passed. Elsie married late, never finding someone who understood her.
At thirty, she had a daughter, Katherine, and soon after, divorced. All her joy lay in that little girl.
Now she could afford many things. When she finally earned enough, she hired someone to find her mother.
The truth came faster than expected.
Her mother, a poor, lonely woman, had learned she was ill two months before giving birth.
Back then, cancer was a death sentence. Doctors warned her weakened body would not survive.
She made the hardest choiceto leave her baby at the hospital. No one judged her.
Elsie found her grave, marked by a grand angel statue.
She often thought of Nicholas, but when she returned years later, he was gone.
The orphanage had a new director, new staff.
In her free time, Elsie took Katherine to the park. The girl, sharp beyond her years, had a habit of rescuing the world.
At six, she persuaded her mother into all sorts of expensestreats for every child, bread for ducks, ice cream in summer.
One day, she asked, Mum, can we buy sausage, bread, and juice?
Elsie frowned. Whos the victim this time?
Maybe you shouldnt ask. No need to worry.
Were not going anywhere.
Its an old man. He has no home.
Elsie nearly fainted.
Katherine smiled. He doesnt beghes shy. But he knows stories and poems no one else does. Dont you care?
Elsie, a grown woman, a leader in a major firm, had no answer.
Silently, she bought everything, and they walked to the park.
Katherine sat on a bench. Wait here. Hes by the pond.
Elsie saw a shabby old man, children gathered around him.
That evening, as Elsie read, a familiar melody drifted through the house.
Silence. Then it came again.
She rushed to Katherines room. The girl looked up, startled.
Mum, did I wake you?
What was that?
The old mans teaching me the flute. I cant get this part right.
Katherine sighed. A flute lay in her hands.
Elsies eyes filled with tears.
Let me show you. This part took me ages too
She played the whole tune, then broke down. Memories crashed over her.
Katherine panicked. Mum, does the music upset you? I wont play it again
Elsie shook her head. She left, returning with a darker, older flute.
Katherine, where does this man live?
By the pond. His things are in the bushes.
Get your coat.
They found him at once. Katherine called, Grandad!
He emerged. Whats wrong, little one?
Nicholas Whitmore, Elsie said softly.
He froze, turned slowly, stared.
Elsie It cant be.
She hugged him tightly. No more sleeping rough. Youre coming home.
Home?
Mine is yours. Without you, Id have nothing.
All the way back, Nicholas wiped his tears. They blurred his vision, made him stumble. But Elsie held his arm steady.
And in his heart, he knewhe would not die alone, forgotten.
