Two years slipped by without a word from my daughter. She wiped me from her life, and soon Ill be turning seventy
Two whole years. Not a single letter, not so much as a whisper. She erased me. And soon, Ill be seventy.
Everyone in our neighbourhood knows my neighbour, Margaret Whitmore. Shes sixty-eight, living alone. Now and then, I pop round with some scones for tea, just being neighbourly. Shes kindelegant, always smiling, loves to spin tales of her travels with her late husband. But she hardly ever speaks of family. Then, just before the holidays, as I brought over the usual treats, she suddenly decided to open up. That evening, I heard a story that still chills me to the bone.
When I stepped into her home, Margaret wasnt herself. Usually bright and lively, she sat there that night, eyes fixed on nothing. I didnt pryjust brewed the tea, laid out the biscuits, and sat quietly beside her. The silence stretched, thick as fog, as if she were wrestling with herself. Then, all at once, it spilled out:
“Two years Not one call. No card, no message. I tried ringing, but her number doesnt exist anymore. I dont even know where she lives now”
She paused. Decades seemed to flicker behind her eyes. Then, like a dam breaking, the words came.
“We had a happy family. Charles and I married young but waited for childrenwe wanted time for ourselves first. His job took us everywhere. We were partners, always laughing, and we adored the home wed made together. He built it with his own handsa spacious three-bedroom in the heart of London. His lifes dream”
When our daughter, Emily, was born, Charles came alive again. He carried her in his arms, read her fairy tales, spent every free moment with her. Id watch them and think myself the luckiest woman alive. But ten years ago, Charles left us. He fought illness for years, drained our savings trying to save him. Then silence. Emptiness. Like someone had torn a piece from my heart.
After her fathers death, Emily drifted away. She took a flat, wanted to live alone. I didnt argueshe was
