**A Mother’s Bittersweet Day**
The evening in the cosy town of Wyecombe was crisp with autumn’s chill. Helen Whitmore beamed with joy as she welcomed her children, Peter and Emily, at the door of her modest flat. They had come to wish her a happy birthday, and her heart swelled with happiness—they hadn’t forgotten.
“Mum, here’s a little something for you,” Emily smiled, holding out a gift box tied with a bright ribbon.
“Oh, thank you, my darlings!” Helen clasped her hands, her eyes glistening. “Come in, I’ve set the table. Let’s go through to the lounge!”
The children followed her into the sitting room, where a small feast awaited. Helen gestured proudly.
“Here, my loves—help yourselves! I made it all for you!”
Peter and Emily glanced at the spread, their smiles fading.
“Here we are, Whiskers!” Helen gently lowered her elderly cat—her only companion since moving to the new flat—onto the floor. “Go on, have a sniff, just like old times.”
The frail tabby padded cautiously across the hardwood, surveying the unfamiliar space. Helen busied herself unpacking boxes brought from her old home. The work was exhausting, and she often paused to catch her breath—there was no one to help her now. Finally, she settled at the table, gazing pensively out the window.
*Tomorrow, I’ll introduce myself to the neighbours. Hopefully, they’ll be kind, not the quarrelsome sort. For now, sleep—tomorrow’s another day.*
Helen had recently retired. After decades at the textile mill, she’d been given a modest farewell—a photo album of her colleagues and warm words. But as so often happens, they’d soon forgotten her.
Her new life began in this two-bedroom flat, left to her after her husband’s passing. Peter and Emily had their own families now, and Whiskers, dozing on the windowsill, was her only company. Visits from the children were rare, but Helen didn’t complain. Her husband’s extensive library filled her evenings, and she lost herself in books.
But soon, trouble came. The flat was too expensive—the council tax, service charges, and upkeep swallowed her pension whole. No matter how carefully she budgeted, she was falling short.
“I’ll have to ask the children. After all, the flat will be theirs someday—they should contribute,” she decided.
She rang Peter first, her successful garage owner, the one she’d pinned her hopes on. He listened, then rubbed his chin.
“Mum, this isn’t a good time. Every penny’s tied up in the business. Maybe later, alright? You’ve got a decent pension—just budget better.”
Helen didn’t explain that some weeks, she skipped meals. She only sighed and stayed silent.
The next day, she called Emily. Her daughter was, as always, too busy.
“Mum, honestly, money’s tight! The kids need clothes, food, tuition—we’re barely managing!”
Knowing Emily had recently bragged about new furniture, Helen just said quietly,
“Thanks for the advice, love. I’ll try to cut back.”
After hanging up, she resolved, *Fine. If they won’t help, I’ll manage alone.*
She started a ledger, meticulously tracking every pound. She winced at overspending, read by daylight to save electricity, and hunted for the cheapest groceries.
The children, already scarce visitors, stopped coming entirely.
But on her birthday, Peter and Emily arrived together. Helen was over the moon. After the gift—a boxed tea set—she ushered them to the table. No other guests came, and Whiskers didn’t count. The spread was humble but made with love.
“Dig in, my dears!” she said proudly. “Mashed potatoes with parsley, breaded fish, coleslaw with carrots. And for pudding—oat biscuits and tea.”
Peter wrinkled his nose.
“This is it? I was expecting your famous apple pie. This looks like a school canteen.”
“Really, Mum?” Emily chimed in. “Are you even happy to see us?”
“Don’t be silly!” Helen’s voice trembled. “I love you both. But this is all I can afford—fish is a treat for me! Now sit down and eat!”
“Let’s just order a takeaway,” Peter suggested, pulling out a bottle of Prosecco.
“I can’t afford that,” Emily muttered.
“We’ll eat what’s here!” Helen said firmly.
Peter stood. “Pass. I’ll grab a proper meal at the pub.” He left, slamming the door.
Emily mumbled something about errands and followed, pecking Helen’s cheek on the way out.
Alone, Helen stared at the lovingly laid table and gave a bitter laugh.
“Well, Whiskers, shall we feast? We’ve got bubbly!”
She poured herself a glass. The cat dozed on the sofa, the potatoes grew cold, and the quiet evening masked the storm in her heart.
Weeks passed. Emily’s phone rang—Peter.
“Sis, heard the news?”
“No, but your tone says it’s big.”
“Massive. Mum’s selling the flat and moving to the countryside! The neighbours talked her into it—she’s already picked a cottage. Ring her, go see her—she won’t listen to me.”
“I’m on my way!” Emily cried. “This needs a face-to-face.”
But neither alone nor together could they dissuade her. Helen sold the flat for a fair sum and, without regret, moved to a cosy cottage, Whiskers in tow.
The next morning, she set out to meet the neighbours. The closest was a burly widower, Michael Thatcher, who greeted her warmly.
“You’ll love it here! Woods, the brook, a garden. The cottage is sound—and if you need help, I’m just next door!” He chuckled.
Helen smiled. She liked him instantly.
“Come for tea tonight!” she invited.
The villagers were kind. Many, hearing she lived alone, offered help. Helen was touched.
Soon, she and Michael grew close. He’d moved to the village after losing his wife and gladly helped—fixing fences, planting flowerbeds. In return, Helen baked him pies, pouring her heart into each one.
*At last, I’m living for myself. Who knew it could be so wonderful?*
In time, to her surprise, Helen realised she’d fallen for Michael like a schoolgirl.
Meanwhile, in the city, life rolled on. Peter called Emily.
“Found out where our runaway’s gone?”
“Yes, the neighbours said she bought a place in the Cotswolds. No clue how much, but definitely cheaper than the flat.”
“So she’s got money left,” Peter snorted. “We need to talk. Dad’s legacy is ours too. I could expand the workshop.”
“Oh, and I could use it!” Emily agreed. “Tom’s off to uni—it’s costing a fortune.”
“Right, let’s go,” Peter decided.
Helen was tending her garden when Michael called out,
“Lena, you’ve got visitors!”
On the doorstep stood Peter with flowers and Emily bearing gifts.
“Lena?” Peter smirked. “Getting familiar, are we? And cosy with the neighbour, I see.”
“Enough,” Helen cut in. “Since you’re here, come in.”
Peter eyed the cottage. “How much did this set you back? Flog the flat for all of it, or is there some left?”
“Take your flowers back,” Helen said coldly. “I’ve got daisies by the door. And don’t fret—I’ve enough. I won’t ask you for help again.”
“Mum, that’s unfair!” Emily protested. “We’re entitled to Dad’s share!”
“What share?” Helen’s voice turned to ice. “Where were you when I begged for help with bills? Too busy?”
“It wasn’t the right time,” Peter began, but Helen interrupted.
“Enough! The flat was *mine*. I lived there alone, and I did as I pleased. You didn’t come for me—you came for money. A workshop for you, a shopping spree for her. You don’t want a mother—you want her purse.”
“Lovely welcome,” Peter grumbled.
“You’ve earned it,” Helen snapped, stepping onto the porch. “Michael! Forget the shed—lunch is ready! These guests are just leaving!”
Peter’s car vanished in a cloud of dust, taking their dashed hopes with them. Silence settled, broken only by Whiskers’ purring.
A year later, evening mist clung to the village. Helen and Michael sat at the table, bathed in lamplight. The children never returned, despite the countryside’s charm. But the couple were content. Fate had granted them the peace and warmth they’d longed for all their lives.