It is never too late to make amends. Love can sweep a man off his feet, consuming his every thought until nothing else remainsnot even his conscience or his duty as a son. Such was the case with Edmund, who fell for Lillian and lost sight of everything else, torn between comfort and the weight of his own guilt.
“Eddie, love, where will we live?” Lillian asked sweetly, her eyes searching his with feigned innocence.
“Where else? My place, of course.”
“But… you live with your mother,” she pouted.
“So what? Shes kind and quietdont worry,” Edmund reassured her.
Edmund was no youth; well into his thirties, this would be his second marriage. His first had ended badlythey were too different. His ex-wife had miscalculated, assuming he had money to spare, hoping hed start a business. But Edmund had no capital to invest, so she left him. At least theyd had no children.
Hed met Lillian in a pub. He and his mate, Albert, had gone for a drink to celebrate Alberts newborn son. After a pint, they noticed a lonely, sorrowful girl sitting by herself.
“Miss, why so glum?” Edmund had asked with a smile, approaching her table. “Join us. My friend here has good reason to celebratehis son was born just this morning, nearly nine pounds.”
Lillian hesitated only a moment before joining them.
“Congratulations,” she said, glancing at Albert. “A sonthats good. An heir.”
Afterward, Albert went home, and Edmund walked Lillian back to her tiny flat near the garment factory where she worked. She came from a small village in the Midlands, ten years his junior. That very night, he stayed with her.
They courted, strolled through the parks, and before he knew it, Lillian had steered him toward marriage and children.
“Eddie, youre past thirty and still no child. Best fix that before its too late,” she laughed. Tired of the noisy shared flat, she longed for a proper home.
Edmund, hopelessly in love, proposed.
“Yes, yes!” she exclaimed. “When do we register?”
“Soon. But first, move in with me and Mum.”
“No, Eddie. I wont live with your mother. Ive heard too many tales about mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law. Lets rent our own place.”
“But, Lillian, I cant afford it. Wed have nothing left after rent.” He sighed. “Fine, well find another way.”
Eleanor sat by the kitchen window, watching the first snowflakes drift down. She wasnt feeling wellretired now, after years teaching arithmetic at the local school. Shed have worked longer, but her health had failed. More than once, an ambulance had rushed her to hospital.
That evening, Edmund came home with Lillian. Theyd met beforethe girl had visited a few timesbut she never spoke to Eleanor beyond a cursory greeting before disappearing into Edmunds room, her laughter echoing through the flat. Shed leave without a word, never glancing back.
“Mum… Lillian and I are getting married. Shell live here.” He hesitated. “And… she doesnt want you with us. Ive made arrangementsa care home. The staff are kind, and theres medical help nearby. You understand, Mum… we need our own space.”
The world is cruel. Its easy to cast aside aging parents when care homes exist, to forget duty to those who once stayed up all night at your bedside, who gave their last penny believing in you. Edmund hadnt considered that.
“I… understand, son,” Eleanor whispered, feeling something inside her snap.
She packed her few belongings into an old suitcase, and Edmund took her awayto a care home outside London.
Now her life was confined to that small room, where she sat by the window, clutching a worn photograph of her sonthe only remnant of her past.
She hopedsome small, foolish hopethat hed return for her. Eleanor had been widowed at thirty-six, raising Edmund alone. Her life had revolved around him, working two jobs just to keep him fed and clothed.
“My Eddie,” shed whisper to the photo, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Time passed, but Edmund never visited. With Lillian, life was livelybut within months, she began coming home late, smelling of drink.
“Lillian, where do you even go? A wife should be at home.”
“Oh, dont fuss. The girls and I went outBettys birthday,” shed slur, careless of his worry.
“I married you for a home, not for you to gad about.”
“Dont lecture me. Im a grown woman. Whats the harm? You wont starveyou can cook.”
A year later, Edmund divorced herand remembered the son hed once been.
“God, this is my punishment… I cast my own mother aside and never once asked how she fared.”
One day, in the quiet of his empty life, the voice of conscience finally spoke.
Eleanor was in her usual chair, staring at the grey sky when the door creaked open.
“Mum…”
She turnedand couldnt believe her eyes. There stood Edmund, gaunt, dark circles beneath them.
“Eddie! Whats happened? Are you ill?” Her fear erased all bitterness.
“Mum, forgive me. I was a wretchI treated you horribly.” His voice broke. “Lillian… she wasnt the woman I thought. She ran off with another man.”
Eleanor listened silently, stroking his hair as he wept into her thin shoulders.
“Its all right, son. You came back. Thats what matters.”
“Pack your things. Im taking you home.”
Eleanor returned to her flat, where traces of perfume still lingered, and they lived together again. Edmund did all he could to atone.
“Mum, look what I brought you,” hed say after work, handing her giftsa warm shawl, a soft jumper, an orthopedic pillow.
“Son, you shouldnt spend so much.”
“I want you comfortable. You gave me everything. Thank God I realised in time.” His voice steadied. “Ive a better job now. Well savemaybe even buy a bigger place, with a room just for you.”
She smiled. “Im glad for you. But you must marry again. Dont live for me alone.”
“Fine. Theres someone… Veronica. Weve been seeing each other.”
The next evening, he brought her home.
“Hello, Mrs. Whitmore,” Veronica said warmly, her grey eyes kind. “Ive brought an apple piebaked it myself.”
“Oh, dear, you shouldnt have!”
“It was no trouble.”
Later, after Veronica left, Eleanor asked hesitantly, “Son… does she mind me living with you?”
Edmund flushed. “Not at all! When I told her about the care home, she near tore me apart. Ive never been so ashamed.”
For the first time in years, warmth filled Eleanors heart. Not all was lostgood people still existed. Soon, evenings were spent over tea and Veronicas pies, the three of them a family. If Eleanor dozed in her chair, Veronica would tuck a blanket around her, murmuring, “Sleep well, Mum.”
Edmund finally understoodhome wasnt walls, but those who waited for you, no matter what.
One evening, Veronica shared news.
“Mum, Eddie… were expecting.”
Eleanor wept. “Oh, thank heavens! Im so happy, my dear.”
Edmund, stunned, leapt up and embraced his wife. “Veronica, youre wonderful!”
“Only half the credits mine,” she laughed.
That night, Edmund lay awake, thinking, *How blessed I am to mend my mistakes. How blessed that while my mother lives, theres still time.*
Months later, Veronica gave Eleanor a grandson and Edmund a son. Their flat rang with childish laughter. Two years on, they moved to a brighter, spacious homea nursery for the boy, a proper room for Eleanor.
And so, at last, they were happy.
