Lucy despised everyone. Especially her mother.
She knew for a fact that once she grew up and got out of this place, shed track her down.
No, she wasnt planning to throw herself into her arms, squealing, *”Hello, Mummy dearest!”*
She was going to watch. And then take revenge. For all the years spent in that wretched childrens home, while her so-called *mother* had been off living her best life.
Somehow, Lucy never doubted that was exactly how it had gone.
Shed been in care as long as she could remember.
Theyd moved her a few timesbecause she kept getting into fights. Didnt matter who was in front of herboy or girl.
They punished her, locked her in isolation, took away her sweets. Didnt change a thing. She still hated the staff, hated the other kids, hated the whole rotten world.
By fourteen, shed stopped fighting. Not because shed suddenly grown fond of anyonejust because theyd all learned to fear her.
Then, boredom set in. Shed wander to the farthest corner of the homes grounds and just sit there, dreaming of the day shed finally make her mother pay.
One day, she heard a strange melody. Lucy stilled, listening. Nothing like shed heard before.
She loved musicalways froze when something beautiful played. But this tune haunting, sad, almost mournful. And she couldnt for the life of her figure out where it was coming from.
She stood, crept toward the acacia bushes, and carefully pushed them aside. Well, well. It was their new caretakerthe one shed already mocked a few times.
What on earth was he playing? She craned her neck, lost her balance, andsomehowtumbled straight into the shrubs.
The man stopped playing and turned. Lucy scrambled up, scowling as she brushed herself off, ready to storm away. But then he spoke:
“Want me to teach you?”
She blinked. *Her?* Could she really play like that?
She took a step forward. The caretaker looked about fifty-five. Odd, reallywhy was someone his age sweeping leaves for a living?
Lucy came back every day. At first, he just showed her how to play the flutelittle wooden ones hed carved himself. Funny-looking things, but oddly graceful.
When she finally managed a proper tune, she threw her arms around him before she could stop herself. Thats when they really started talking.
His name was Edward Whitmore, and he lived in a tiny cottage on the homes grounds.
“Why?” she asked. “No family? No house?”
“I had everything once, Lucy. A home, a family Ten years ago, my Catherine passed. Thought Id never survive itif not for my son, Michael.”
Hed remarried afterpretty woman, but greedy. “Didnt matter, as long as Michael liked her.”
Five years later, Michael died in a car crash. The flat? Already in his name. Three bedrooms, city centre. His lovely daughter-in-law packed him a suitcase and showed him the door.
“Why didnt you fight it?”
“What for, Lucy? No one left. All the people I loved are gone. Just waiting my turn now. I *want* to go. Nothing left for me here.”
For the first time, Lucy wondered if she hated Edwards daughter-in-law more than her own mother.
She even considered revenge in that orderdaughter-in-law first, *then* Mum.
When Edward learned what simmered inside this feral girl, it horrified him. How did she carry all that hate without crumbling?
They talked often. He watched her thawstopped cutting her hair short, stopped throwing punches to prove a point.
One day, he asked: “Youll age out soon, Lucy. Any idea what youll do?”
She blinked. “I havent thought about it. Too busy planning revenge.”
“Right. Suppose you get it. Youll track her downsomehow, though Lord knows how youll afford itthen what?”
She left without answering. Stayed away a week. When she returned, she said: “I want to build things.”
The next year, they spent preparing for trade school. University was too longmaybe later, she thought.
On her last day, they sat on their bench till evening.
Lucy cried on the trainfirst time in years.
“Edward, I *will* come back. Just let me finish studying.”
“Deal. Im not going anywhere. But youfinish school, stand on your own feet, *then* visit an old man.”
“Old? Dont be daft.”
He gave her a flute as a goodbye gift.
—
Fifteen years passed.
Lucy married latetook forever to find someone who *got* her. At thirty, she had a daughter, Emily, and promptly divorced. All her joy was in that little girl.
Now, she could afford things. And when she finally earned enough, she hired a investigator to find her mother.
The truth came quicker than she expected.
Her mothera lonely woman whod wanted a child for herselfhad been diagnosed with cancer two months before giving birth.
Back then, treatment was a gamble at best. The doctors gave her a year.
So she made a choice. Signed the adoption papers right there in the maternity ward.
Lucy even found her gravea grand headstone with an angel.
She often thought of Edward. But when she returned years later, he was gone.
New director, new staff. No trace of him.
On free afternoons, Lucy took Emily to the park. Her “Little Miss Fix-It,” as Lucy called her, was determined to save the world.
By six, shed mastered the art of convincing Mum to spend at the park entrance.
*”Can we buy sweets for all the kids?”*
*”The ducks look hungrybread, please?”*
*”Ten ice creams, Mumits *boiling* out!”*
Then one day:
“Mum, can we get sausages, bread, and juice?”
Lucy stared. “Do I want to know why?”
Emily sighed. “Probably not. Saves you stressing.”
“Were not going anywhere till you explain.”
“Its for a man. He doesnt have a home.”
Lucy nearly fainted. Emily gave her a *told-you-so* look.
“Mum. Chill. Hes just an old man with no one. Doesnt even begtoo proud. Knows *loads* of stories and poems. What, youre stingy with sausages now?”
Lucya grown woman, a director at a major construction firmhad no comeback.
She bought everything. They walked to the park.
Emily perched on a bench. “Wait here. Hes by the pond.”
Lucy spotted a shabby old man. Kids surrounded himsafe enough.
That evening, Lucy was reading when she heard *that melody* again.
Silence. Thenthere. The same tune.
She bolted to Emilys room. The girl looked up, startled.
“Did I wake you?”
“Emily! What was that?”
“The mans teaching me flute! Im *almost* getting it, but this bit” She blew a frustrated raspberry.
In her hands was a wooden flute. Lucys eyes filled.
“Let me show you. Took me ages too.”
She played the whole tunethen burst into tears. The memories hit too hard. Emily panicked.
“Mum! Whyre you crying? Did the music upset you? I wont play it again!”
Lucy shook her head. Left, returned with an identical flutejust darker with age.
“Em, where does that man *live*?”
“By the pond. Hes got boxes behind the bushes.”
“Get your coat.”
They found him straight away. Emily called out:
“Grandad!”
He emerged, frowning. “Whats wrong, poppet? Shouldnt you be home?”
“Edward Whitmore,” Lucy said softly.
He flinched. Turned slowly. Stared.
“Lucy. Cant be.”
She hugged him tight. “It *is*. No more feeding mosquitoes. Youre coming home.”
“Where?”
“*Home*, Edward. Without you, Id have *nothing*. My house is yours now.”
All the way back, Edward wiped his eyes.
Bloody things wouldnt stop. If not for Lucys steady grip, hed have tripped twice.
But one thing was certain nowhe wouldnt leave this world alone. Not anymore.
