Mom, whats that letter you keep hiding? I asked, eyeing the crumpled envelope on the kitchen counter.
Its from the village, from Granddad, she said, waving a wooden spoon as if that explained everything, and went back to chopping carrots for the stew.
Granddad? Youve never mentioned him. You always said there was no one left on your side of the family.
For a heartbeat Mom stopped dicing the carrots, then went back to work at double speed.
Fine, there is and what of it? I left home years ago, so I didnt need anyone then. Now you expect me to drop everything and race off to help him? She sniffed, tears spilling into the soup. I didnt know what to say. In our household it was taboo to talk about her relatives. All I knew was that Mom had moved to the city straight out of school, lived in a dorm, worked night shifts, and then I arrived. Dad had vanished before I was born.
Mom nursed a quiet grudge against her kin, and I never got the chance to ask what had happened all those years ago.
That night, after Mom fell asleep, I slipped into her bedroom, stole the letter, and read it. The handwriting was neat, elegantcertainly not the scrawl of an old, ill man. It said Granddad George Harper had taken a turn for the worse, needed constant care and expensive medication. It begged Mom to set aside old hurts and pride, because a life was at stake. No signature, just an address: a little hamlet called Little Oak, a few miles from our town of Ashford. My skin went cold; Id often visited a friend nearby, and the old cottage was practically next door. How could Mom have ignored us?
The next morning I packed my bag for university, slipped a few pounds into my pocket, and caught the bus to the station.
The bus ride ended with a breath of countryside aircrisp, as clean as a freshly washed window. The rickety cottage was only a short walk from the stop. I pushed open the gate and stepped into the yard.
Who are you looking for? a voice called. Under an apple tree a woman in her forties was sorting freshly plucked mushrooms.
Im here to see George Harper, I replied.
Ah, you must be Shuras daughter, she smiled. Come in, Ill put the kettle on. Granddad fell asleep after lunch; the tea will warm him up a bit.
Inside the tiny house smelled of baked scones and custard. The woman bustled about, and I couldnt help noticing how much she resembled my mothersame slanted eyes, jetblack hair, the same lilting cadence. On the wall hung a faded photograph: a smiling couple with two little girls, twins, laughing together.
She caught my stare and said, Thats us, and our parents. Im Sophie, my sisters sister and your aunt.
Nice to meet you, I said, bewildered. Why have I never heard of you? Mum always insisted we had no family.
She sighed, poured tea, and began to explain.
My mother was a fragile sort, always in and out of hospitals. Father worked round the clock to keep a roof over our heads and pay for the treatments. Shurayour motherfirst lived with Grandma, then often stayed with a neighbour when Dad was at work. All the attention fell on me. From a young age she convinced herself that nobody loved her, that she was useless. When she got her Alevels she left for the city and we never saw her again.
She set down the teacup, then added, Youve probably come hungry after the journey. Ill have a proper roast latermy two little ones, Alfie and Lily, are growing like weeds. Folks keep asking if we have any kin; theyll be over the moon to hear youre here.
That evening I met Granddad George, his shy smile, and my cousins, and felt the warm buzz of a real, bustling family gathered around a table. I stayed a few days, bought the medication he needed, and sent it off with the post.
Mom called several times, demanding I return straightaway, but I couldnt abandon Granddad, and Aunt Sophie was stretched thin between caring for him and her parttime job.
Whos going to pay for your tuition if you keep flitting about? Mom shrieked over the phone. Ive done everything for younights without sleep, raising younow youre off gallivanting with people who cant even lift a finger for us.
Mom, you havent given me an address in fifteen years, I retorted. George is my grandfather, thats all that matters. He needs care, not drama. Besides, you have a wonderful sister and nieces now. Stop being so hardhearted.
She slammed the handset, redialed, and we went round in circles.
A week later I was back in Ashford, finishing my final year. Money was tight; I earned a few pounds sticking up flyers and tutoring a couple of kids after school. It was barely enough to send a few quid to Little Oak, but it helped.
Our relationship was like a taut violin stringany tug could snap it. Once Mom even hid my passport so Id stay in the city for the holidays instead of driving to the village.
Another year slipped by, full of exams, arguments, and endless stress. When I finally got my degree, I packed my things and headed straight for the countryside.
In Little Oak Aunt Sophie sorted a teaching post for me at the local primary school. Granddad George was on his feet again, strolling through the garden, his eyes still sad, still waiting for his daughter.
September brought a whirlwind of lesson plans and bright-eyed firstgraders. I loved the job so much I raced to school each morning like it was a holiday. Thats when I noticed Mr. Alex Turner, the new history teacher, stealing glances at me. Hed just moved from the city, a fresh graduate himself, and seemed as out of place as a cat in a dog show.
Avery, dont make a habit of borrowing Alexs wages, Aunt Sophie would whisper, chuckling. Hes a good ladbuilt his own little cottage down the lane. He left the city because his old mum lives alone now; hes an orphan, really.
Soon Alex asked me out, and our romance blossomed. Granddad gave his hearty blessing, and when Alfie proposed to Lily, he nodded approvingly.
We set the wedding for the end of April. I wrote Mom a letter to tell her, but received no reply. It hurt that she wouldnt be there on such an important day.
The night before the ceremony, while Aunt Sophie and my two best friends were fussing over the kitchen, a soft knock came at the door.
I flung it open. Mom stood there, eyes swollen, ready to burst into tears.
I Im only here for a moment, just to wish you well, she stammered.
I stepped aside, but she hesitated, every footstep feeling like a century. Aunt Sophie rushed in from the kitchen, and Granddad followed, his arms outstretched.
He hugged Mom tightly; the two of them stood there, dabbing at each others tears. He whispered something soft to her, and she sobbed quietly.
Now, years later, I live in that little village with a big, noisy family. The children are growing, I still teach the little ones, and most importantly I finally have the relatives Mom once called strangers. Mom never left again; shes made peace with my father and sister, and whatever happened in the past stays put, like an old coat on the back of a wardrobe.
