Emily hated everyone. Especially her mother.
She knewabsolutely knewthat when she grew up and escaped this place, she would find her.
No, she wasnt going to throw herself into her arms, crying, *”Hello, Mummy!”*
She was going to watch first. Then make her pay. For all the years Emily had spent in the childrens home, weeping alone while her mother lived in comfort. Somehow, she never doubted that was exactly how it had been.
Emily had always been in the home. As far back as she could remember.
They moved her several times because she kept getting into fights. Didnt matter who was in front of herboy or girl.
They punished her, locked her in isolation, took away sweets. But she still hated the carers, hated the other kids, hated the whole world.
By fourteen, she stopped fighting. Not because shed suddenly learned kindness, but because everyone was too afraid to cross her.
Boredom settled in. Shed wander to the far corner of the homes grounds and just sit there, dreaming of the day shed track her mother down and make her suffer.
One day, she heard an odd melody. Emily stilled. It didnt sound like anything she knew.
She loved music. Always froze when something beautiful played. But this tune it was haunting, almost mournful. And she couldnt place the instrument.
She stood, pushed through the acacia bushes, and there he wastheir new groundskeeper. Shed already mocked him once or twice.
What was he playing? She strained to see, lost her balance, and crashed straight into the shrubs.
The man stopped. Turned. Emily scrambled up, dusting off angrily, ready to leave.
Then he spoke: “Want me to teach you?”
She blinked. *Her?* Could she ever play like that?
She took a step toward him. The groundskeeper looked about fifty-five. Too old for this job.
Every day after, she went to him. At first, he just showed her how to play the flutecarved them himself, funny little things, yet oddly graceful.
When she finally managed a real melody, she hugged him before she could stop herself. That was when they first talked properly.
His name was Thomas Whitaker. Lived in a tiny cottage on the homes grounds.
“Why?” she asked. “No family? No home?”
“I had both, Emily. A house, people who loved me Ten years ago, my Margaret passed. Thought Id die too, if not for my son.”
He remarried afterpretty woman, but greedy. “Didnt matter, long as my boy was happy.”
Five years later, his son died in a car crash. The flat, signed over to him years beforethree bedrooms, city centerhis daughter-in-law packed his things and threw him out.
“Why didnt you fight?”
“What for, Emily? Everyone I loved was gone. Just waiting my turn now. Want to be with them.”
For the first time, she hated someone more than her mother. The daughter-in-law. Even considered revengestart with her, *then* her mother.
When Thomas learned what festered in Emilys heart, he was horrified. How did she bear so much hate?
They talked often. He watched her soften. She stopped cutting her hair short, stopped proving points with her fists.
One day, he asked, “Emily, youll leave next year. Decided what youll do?”
She blinked. “No. Only ever thought about revenge.”
“Suppose you get it. You track her downdont ask me howthen what?”
She left without answering. Didnt return for a week.
Then: “I want to build things.”
A year of preparation for construction college. University could wait.
On her last day, they sat on their bench until evening.
On the train to another city, Emily cried. First time in years.
“Thomas, Ill come back. Just let me finish studying.”
“Deal. Im not going anywhere. But youget your diploma, stand on your own feet. *Then* visit an old man.”
“Youre not old.”
He gave her a flute as goodbye.
—
Fifteen years passed. Emily married latenever found someone who understood.
At thirty, she had a daughter, Lily. Divorced soon after. Her joy was in that little girl.
Now, she could afford anything. When her salary matched her ambition, she hired someone to find her mother.
The truth came faster than expected.
Her motherpoor, lonely, wanting a child for herselfhad learned she was sick two months before the birth. Cancer. Back then, they tried. But the prognosis was dire.
Doctors said her weakened body wouldnt survive. She made the hardest choice: gave Emily up at birth.
No one judged her. Emily even found her gravea grand headstone with an angel.
She often thought of Thomas. But when she returned years later, he was gone.
New director. New staff.
On free afternoons, she took Lily to the park. Her daughter”Lilypad,” Emily teasedwanted to save the world.
By six, shed mastered the art of convincing Emily to buy treats. Sweets for every child. Bread for ducks. Ice cream in summer. Todays request was new.
“Mum, can we get sausage, a loaf, and juice?”
Emily stared. “Do I want to know why?”
“Probably not. Less stress for you.”
“Were not going *anywhere* until you tell me.”
Lily sighed. “Theres a man. He doesnt have a home.”
Emilys stomach dropped.
“Mum, dont freak out. Hes just old. No family. Doesnt beghes shy. Knows stories and poems *nobody* does. Youre not *really* worried about sausage, are you?”
Emilygrown woman, high-ranking in a construction firmhad no answer.
She bought everything. They walked to the park.
Lily pointed. “Wait here. Hes by the pond.”
Emily saw himthin coat, scuffed shoes. Kids around him. At least Lily was safe.
That evening, Emily curled up with a book. Lily was in her room. Thena melody.
Familiar. Impossibly so.
She bolted to Lilys room. The girl startled.
“Mum? Did I wake you?”
“Lily. What was *that*?”
“Oh! The mans teaching me flute. I cant get the transition right.”
She held out a wooden flute. Emilys vision blurred.
“Let me show you. That part took me ages too.”
She played the whole tune. Then broke down.
Lily panicked. “Mum! Does the music upset you? I wont play it anymore!”
Emily shook her head. Left. Returned with an older flutedarker with age.
“Lilypad. Where does that man sleep?”
“By the pond. His things are in the bushes.”
“Get your coat.”
They found him easily. Lily called, “Grandad!”
He emerged. “Whats wrong, little one? Shouldnt you be home?”
“Thomas Whitaker,” Emily said.
He flinched. Turned slowly. Studied her face.
“Emily. Cant be.”
She hugged him tight. “It is. No more feeding mosquitoes. Youre coming home.”
“Where?”
“*Home.* If not for you, Id have nothing. So my house is yours.”
All the way back, Thomas wiped his eyes. The tears wouldnt stop. Without Emilys arm steadying him, he mightve stumbled.
But one thing was certain nowhe wouldnt die alone. Unwanted. Not anymore.
