Margaret Hughes shuffled back from the supermarket, climbing the narrow stairs to the fourthfloor flat with a tired sigh. The bags were heavy, but she wouldnt skimp on food; her pension was modest but decent, and she had spent a lifetime insisting on good, fresh produce.
The flat was quiet and cool. Margaret set the bags on the kitchen table and began unpacking: loaf of bread, milk, cheese, a dozen eggs, crisp vegetables and fruit, a tin of smoked salmon. She bought the salmon out of habit a little treat for her only son. He hadnt visited for two years, not even for her birthday.
Ah, James, she whispered, perhaps youll pop round next weekend?
She dialed the familiar number. A long ring, then an automated voice told her the line was temporarily unavailable. She set the phone down on the sill.
Probably busy. Ill try again this evening, she muttered.
Even that evening the phone stayed silent. Margaret turned the television on, letting a new drama flicker across the screen while her thoughts drifted back to James.
James had always been Margarets pride. Shed raised him alone after her husband left when James was seven. He grew up bright and ambitious, graduated school with a gold medal, and won a place at a prestigious university to study economics.
After university he landed a senior role at a large firm, and Margaret swelled with pride at his successes. He used to visit often, sharing stories of work and future plans.
Then everything changed. James met Emily, a lovely girl from a welloff family. Six months later they married and moved to Manchester. At first James called his mother every week and visited once a month, but the calls grew sparse and the visits rarer. The last time she saw him was at Christmas.
Margaret turned off the TV, brewed a pot of tea and fetched her favourite biscuits. Restlessness gnawed at her; she knew James had his own life, work and family, yet she longed to hear his voice and see his face.
The next morning the telephone rang. She lunged for it, hoping for James, but it was her neighbour Dorothy.
Hi, Margaret, how are you? Fancy a cup of tea? Ive baked a Victoria sponge.
Thanks, Dorothy, but Im not feeling great. Maybe another time?
Dorothy, always kind, suggested Margaret send a message to James. Margaret tapped out on the smartphone he had given her for her sixtieth birthday: James, dear, I called earlier but you didnt answer. Could you come for a visit? I miss you. She hit send and waited.
A few hours later a reply arrived: Sorry, Mum, swamped with work. Ill try to visit next month.
The month passed and James didnt turn up. Margaret decided not to pester him. Hes busy, must be, she told herself.
One day scrolling through her feed, Margaret saw a photo of James standing in front of a handsome new house with Emily and a golden retriever. The caption read: Our new home! Dreams do come true!
Her heart tightened. Hed bought a house without telling her! All the important news now came from the internet, like a strangers gossip.
She dialed James again. This time he answered promptly.
Hi, Mum! How are you? his voice was bright.
I saw the pictures, congratulations on the house! Why didnt you tell me?
Oh, Mum, I completely forgot. Its been a whirlwind work, the move. Sorry.
I understand. When will you show me the new place? I miss you.
Honestly, Im swamped. Maybe you could come over?
Margaret was taken aback. But its so far I dont know how to get there.
James laughed, Well sort it later. I have to run. Talk soon! He hung up.
She stared at the dead screen, feeling foolish for expecting a visit.
Days slipped by. Margaret shopped, watched television, and occasionally visited Dorothy for tea, yet loneliness lingered. She stopped calling James, fearing she was a burden.
With New Years Eve approaching, Margaret decided to treat herself. She bought a small fir, a few ornaments, and all the trimmings for a festive meal, hoping James might call to wish her well.
On the morning of 31December she prepared salads, roast chicken, and an apple cake all Jamess favourites. Dressed in her best dress, she applied a touch of makeup and sat at the set table, waiting for his call as the clock ticked toward midnight. When the bells of Big Ben struck twelve and the Prime Ministers New Years address aired, the phone remained silent.
She kept the line open until three in the morning, then fell asleep. At dawn she found a brief text from James: Happy New Year, Mum. Wishing you health and happiness. No question about how she was, no mention of his own celebrations.
Margaret stared at the cold leftovers, wondering whether she had become a stranger to her own son.
A week later she visited her longtime friend Helen, a nurse at the local clinic.
Margaret, youve lost weight! Whats happened? Helen exclaimed, arms flailing.
Nothing special, just age, Margaret replied with a smile.
And James? You havent seen him for ages.
Hes fine. Bought a house in the suburbs, working a lot.
Does he ever come to see you?
Rarely. Hes very busy.
Helen frowned. You live alone, thats not healthy. Have you thought about moving in with him?
He never invites me. Id just be a burden with my ailments, Margaret said softly.
Dont be silly. Youre his mother, not a nuisance. Come over for tea, my shift ends in an hour.
That evening, over tea at Helens kitchen, Margaret finally voiced her loneliness and hurt.
James has his own life, but cant he spare a few minutes each month to talk properly, not just a quick text? Helen asked.
Have you ever told him this? she probed.
No, I dont want to seem demanding.
Helen leaned in. He is your son. You have a right to his attention. If he doesnt see that, you must remind him.
Call him and ask for a serious chat. Tell him youre lonely.
Margaret considered this and, after returning home, she dialed James. He didnt answer, so she left a voice note: Son, please call when you can. I need to talk.
He returned the next day.
Mum, whats wrong? Are you okay?
Im fine, just wanted to hear your voice, she said.
Can we talk this evening?
Sure, call when youre free.
Evening came, but James didnt call. He missed the next two evenings as well. Margaret decided not to press further.
In early spring Margaret felt a sharp chest pain and high blood pressure. She called an ambulance; paramedics gave her an injection and advised a hospital stay, but she refused. Who will look after the flat? Who will water the plants? What if James decides to visit and Im not there? she thought.
Dorothy began visiting daily, bringing fresh bread, soup, and sometimes a stew.
Maybe you should tell James youre ill? Dorothy suggested one afternoon.
No, hes already got enough on his plate, Margaret replied.
But hes your son! He should know.
Ill tell him when Im better. I dont want him rushing over only to find me ill.
Dorothy bowed her head, knowing James would likely never come.
Weeks passed, Margarets health fluctuated. James called occasionally, each conversation brief.
One evening a knock sounded at the door. Margaret, weary from the sofa, opened it to a young woman carrying a large bag.
Excuse me, are you Margaret Hughes? the woman asked.
Yes, who are you?
Im Laura, a socialcare officer. Your neighbour called, saying you might need help.
Margaret was startled; she hadnt asked for assistance. Laura spread some paperwork on the kitchen table.
Youll need to sign a careservice agreement. Ill visit three times a week to help with chores, shopping, and monitoring your blood pressure. Its all free.
I didnt request this
Your neighbour is very concerned. You live alone, and youve had recent falls. It would be wise to accept.
Margaret felt a wave of weakness and sank into a chair. Alright, thank you, she whispered.
Laura proved efficient and kind, quickly taking over the household tasks. Over time Margaret grew to welcome her visits.
One afternoon, while sharing tea, Laura asked, Do you have children?
My son, James, lives in Manchester, Margaret answered.
Does he visit?
Rarely. Hes very busy with work and family.
Does he know youre ill?
No, I keep it from him. I dont want to bother him.
Laura looked thoughtfully at Margaret. My own grandmother lived alone, and her daughter was away. She regretted not being there in her final days. Perhaps you should tell James how you feel?
Margaret realized she had been hiding her condition. She had always said she was fine when he called, not wanting to add to his worries.
Youre right, Laura. Ill call him tonight.
She stared at the phone, gathering her courage. Finally she dialed.
James answered after a pause.
Hi, Mum. Its late, is everything alright?
Mum, whats happening? You dont usually call this late.
I I wanted to talk, Margarets voice trembled.
Whats wrong?
Ive been ill for a while my heart
Why didnt you tell me? Jamess tone held a mix of concern and reproach. You should have let me know!
I didnt want to burden you. You have your own life, your work, your family
Are you in hospital?
No, at home. A socialcare worker helps me.
A socialcare worker? Mother, Ill come tomorrow.
Dont, James. Ill manage, Margaret tried to reassure him.
Im coming, James said firmly. Ill be there first thing in the morning.
Margaret hung up, heart pounding. Would James see her condition and decide she was a load? She didnt want to be a burden.
She rose early, tidied the flat as best she could, and prepared a simple lunch, hoping to welcome his arrival properly.
James arrived after lunch, carrying two large bags. He embraced her, and tears welled in Margarets eyes.
James, Im so glad youre here, she whispered.
He surveyed her frail face, the pallor, the loss of sparkle in her eyes. Mum, why didnt you tell me you were unwell?
I didnt want to add to your worries. You have a job, a wife, a new house
Mum, youre my family, James said, taking her hands. Ive been selfish, thinking only of myself. I should have been there for you.
Margaret smiled through her tears. Its enough that youre here now.
They talked long into the evening. James spoke of his work, the new home, his plans. Margaret listened, content simply to be in his presence.
Later Laura entered, surprised to see a man in the flat, but quickly understood.
Hello, you must be James. Im Laura, the care worker.
Thank you, Laura. I had no idea Mum was ill, James admitted.
She didnt want to worry you, Laura said, looking at Margaret.
James turned to his mother. Mum, Im taking you to live with us.
What? I cant leave my flat, my friends
Emily will be happy. Weve wanted you to move in for ages, but I kept putting it off, thinking youd rather stay. Youll never be a burden.
What if Im more trouble than Im worth?
Youll never be a trouble. Youre my mum, and Ill care for you, just as you cared for me.
Margaret felt a swell of gratitude. Alright, Ill go with you, she said softly.
James hugged her tightly. Thank you, Mum. I promise youll be well looked after.
The next days were a flurry of packing, saying goodbye to neighbours, especially Dorothy, who hugged her tightly. Thank you, Dorothy. If it werent for you, Id still be alone with my ailments.
Its my pleasure, dear. Now youll be with your son, Dorothy replied.
Margaret thanked Helen as well, You were right, Helen. I needed to speak up.
Helen smiled, Youve always been strong, Margaret. Its just good to let others share the load.
When they arrived at Jamess new house on the outskirts of Manchester, James opened a bright, airy bedroom for her. Emily greeted her warmly, showing the garden and the cozy sitting room.
That evening the three of them sat on the veranda, and James said, Mum, Im sorry. I was selfish, only thinking of work and my own life. I forgot I have a mother who has always been there for me.
Its fine, son. Were together now, and thats what matters, Margaret replied.
James promised never to let his mother feel abandoned again. Margaret looked at the house, the garden, the sunrise, and for the first time in years felt truly at peace.
She realised that longing for connection does not diminish a persons independence; it simply reminds us that love thrives on openness and shared care. The lesson she carried forward was clear: never let pride or fear keep you from reaching out, for the bonds of family are strongest when nurtured with honesty and compassion.
