“Mum, your phones ringing again,” called Matthew from behind Emily.
“Who is it?” Emily turned her head towards her son.
“Dunno,” he shrugged.
“Bring me the phone, will you?”
“Be right back!” Matthew dashed off but quickly returned, shoving the mobile into her hand.
“Ta, love. Go play. Dinners nearly ready,” Emily said as he scampered away. She glanced at the screen.
The same numberagain. The hospital. How had they even gotten her number? She covered the frying pan, turned off the hob, then silenced the phone and tucked it behind the curtain.
As she set the table, her mind dwelled on the calls. Later, she found her husband, Oliver, at his computer. She crept up behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and resting her chin on his head.
“Whatre you up to?”
“Just scrolling. Dinner soon?”
“All done. Matthew, dinner!” Emily straightened up. “Make sure he washes his hands,” she told Oliver, pulling awaybut he caught her wrist.
“Hold on. Who called?”
“Dunno. Unknown number. Didnt answer. Werent you hungry?” She tugged free and headed to the kitchen.
That night, she switched her phone back on. Too late for calls now.
Sleep wouldnt come. Why had she answered the first time?
“Calling from St. Marys Hospital. Your mothers with us. Could you come in? We need to discuss”
“Sorry, I dont have a mother,” Emily had snapped before hanging up. Theyd rung relentlessly since. “Better go, or theyll turn up here. Wish shed just died,” she muttered. To her, her mother had been dead for years.
The next day, after her shift, she drove to the hospital. The ward manager looked up sharply when she entered.
“Finally. Your name?”
“Emily.”
“Last name?”
“Just Emily,” she said flatly.
“Youve not visited once. Were discharging your mother, yet you ignore our calls. Shameful.”
“I *told* youI dont have a mother,” Emily repeated through gritted teeth.
“And who is Margaret Anne Whitmore to you?”
Emily clenched her fists. “Howd you get my number?”
“From *her* phone. Youre saved as Emmy, my girl.”
“And howd *she* get it?”
“Ask herif she regains speech.” The doctor spread his hands. “Paralysed after a stroke. Didnt you know? How could you, Emily”
“Serves her right.” The words tumbled out unbidden.
The doctors eyes narrowed. “Pardon?”
Emily held his gaze. “You heard me. She dumped me at some relatives, then vanished. The relative shoved me into care. Twenty years without a word. She was dead to me. Satisfied?”
The doctors expression softened. “Your grievances are yours. But we cant keep her here. If you refuse to take her”
“Spot on.”
“Then shell go to a care home. Youre her only kin. Sign the forms, and”
“Gladly,” Emily cut in.
“Wait. Private cares costly. Wholl pay?”
“I said no.”
“And if you didnt exist? Social services would step in. But we need financial guarantees”
“Am I free to go?” She hovered by the door.
The doctor handed her a card. “Room four.”
In the corridor, warring impulses gripped her. Part of her wanted to flee; another craved to gloat over her mothers downfall.
She pushed the door ajar. Three elderly women lay inside. Two stared blankly; the thirds eyes were shut. Emily stepped toward the latterthen spun on her heel and left.
Shed glimpsed her mother six months ago, but now? Gaunt. Aged. Pity flickeredthen died.
On the drive home, her thoughts churned. *Shes still my mother. But she left me. What if Id needed her?*
The social workers card burned in her pocket. Daily, she visited their office, signing forms. “Might go to court,” theyd warned.
“Somethings off,” Oliver said one evening. “Youre distant.”
“Just tired,” Emily lied, leaning into him. *I cant lose him.*
###
Once, Emily had parents. Their faces blurred now, but she remembered the shouting. Her mother, always late; her father, furious. Little Emmy would pretend to sleep, waitingonly to wake to their screams.
Then came the day her mother took her to a scowling strangers house. “Back soon,” shed lied. The woman called the police when “Auntie Maggie” never returned. Emmy wound up in care.
Years later, she tracked down the woman. The truth spilled out: Her mother had trapped a man with a pregnancy, married him. When he doubted paternity, the rows began. Then her affairs. Finally, he kicked them both out.
Emmy never sought him. He wasnt her father.
After care, she trained as a hairdresser, met Oliver at the salon. When he proposed, she refused. “Your parents wont let you marry a care-leaver.”
Oliver lied for her. “Her parentsa doctor and an engineerdied in a crash.”
“Thats wicked!”
“Poetic license,” hed grinned.
They wed. His mother welcomed her. A son, Matthew, came. Then, six months ago
“Emily?” A frail voice in the park. Her mother.
“Youre mistaken. Stay away, or Ill call the police.”
###
Now, as rain pattered against the church windows, Emily lit a candle. Forgiveness eluded her. Yet the priest had urged action: “Do what you can. Tell your husband. Hatred will consume *you*.”
Her mother was placed in a modest care home. Emily topped up the fees, telling Oliver shed taken extra shifts.
Today, leaving work, she detoured to the church. Footsteps echoed behind her
“Em?” Olivers hand on her shoulder.
She jumped. “What?”
“I followed you. Knew you were hiding something”
Outside, she confessed everything.
Oliver pulled her close. “Silly woman. I thought you were having an affair.”
Tears spilled. “I feared youd make me take her in.”
“Never. Youve done more than most would.” He kissed her forehead. “Just promise no more secrets.”
As they walked home, Emily exhaled. The weight lifted. Some wounds never healbut carrying them alone? Thats the real burden.
