Anthony, youve forgotten to call me back again! I waited all evening!
Margaret Harper stood in the kitchen, phone clenched in her hand, feeling the tremor of hurt in her voice. Her son had promised to ring yesterday, but he hadnt.
Sorry, Mum, Ive been swamped at work. No time for calls.
Tony, you could at least have sent a text! I keep worrying!
Mum, Im thirtytwo. Im not a child who has to report his every move.
Margaret fell silent. She had never heard him speak so bluntly. He had always been attentive, caring, calling every day, visiting on weekends, helping around the house.
Alright, she whispered. Im sorry for bothering you.
No problem. Listen, I wanted to tell you something. Ill be in on Saturday, but Im not coming alone.
Who with? Margarets heart tightened.
With a girl. Id like you to meet her. Her name is Charlotte.
A girl? Tony, is this serious?
Very. Weve been together for six months.
Margaret sank onto a chair. Six months, and he had never mentioned her. He used to share everything, now he kept secrets.
Why didnt you tell me before?
I wanted to be sure it was real. Now Im confident. So expect us at lunch on Saturday.
Okay, Ill be waiting.
When the call ended, Margaret lingered with the phone, stunned that her son had finally found someone. She had waited a lifetime for this moment.
Margaret lived alone in a modest twobedroom flat on the outskirts of Manchester. Her husband had died fifteen years ago from a heart attack. She raised Tony on her own, juggling two jobs, skimping on everything so he could have a good life.
Tony had grown into a bright, diligent man. He earned a firstclass degree, landed a programmers job at a large firm, and rented a flat in the city centre. Margaret swelled with pride.
On Saturday she rose early, scrubbed the flat until it sparkled, polished every pot, washed the curtains. She then went to the local market, buying meat, veg, fruithis favourite meatloaf with mash, and a apple tart. By one oclock everything was ready. The table was set with a crisp white cloth, her best china laid out. Margaret donned her finest dress, tidied her hair, even put on a touch of lipstick.
A knock sounded at two oclock. She brushed her hands on her apron, smoothed her hair, and opened the door.
Tony stood there in an expensive suit, handinhand with a tall, slender woman in a stylish dress and high heels. Her hair was expertly styled, her makeup flawless.
Hello, Mum, Tony said, pulling her into a hug. Meet Charlotte.
Good afternoon, the girl said, extending a gloved hand. Rings glittered on her fingers.
Come in, come in, Margaret urged.
Inside, Margaret fussed, offering seats and asking them to remove their shoes. Charlottes eyes flicked over the faded furniture, the worn wallpaper, the threadbare carpet.
What a cosy flat, she said with a strained smile.
Thank you, dear. We keep it simple, but its tidy.
They sat down to eat. Margaret served the food, Tony ate heartily, praising the dishes. Charlotte poked at her meatloaf, cutting tiny bites.
Is it tasty? Margaret asked.
Its good, Charlotte replied. I dont usually eat fried food; I watch my figure.
Youre already so slim! Margaret exclaimed.
Thanks to a personal trainer, Charlotte said. I work out five times a week.
Margaret nodded, thinking of her own stretched budget.
What do you do? she asked.
I run my own businessa chain of beauty salons, three branches around the city, Charlotte said.
Impressive! Margaret replied.
It wasnt just me, Charlotte corrected. My father helped open the first salon, then I grew it myself.
What about your parents? Margaret inquired.
My dad owns a construction firm, my mum is involved in charity work, Charlotte answered.
Margaret sensed a world of wealth and opportunity, far removed from her modest pension and ageing flat.
Mom, how are you doing? Is your health alright? Tony asked.
Its fine, just the blood pressure spikes now and then, but I take my tablets, Margaret said.
Tony cleared his throat. Charlotte and I wanted to tell youwere getting married.
Margarets cup froze in her hand.
Married? When?
In three months. Well have a reception at a restaurant for about onehundredfifty guests.
Onefifty? Thats a fortune! Margaret gasped.
Dont worry, Charlottes parents are covering everything. They have the connections to organise it all.
Yes, Charlotte added. My father booked the best restaurant in town, with a master of ceremonies, performers, even fireworks.
Margaret stared at her son, barely recognizing the confident man in the pricey suit who spoke of a lavish wedding.
What can I do to help? she asked.
Nothing, Mum. Weve got everything under control.
Maybe I could bake some pies for the guests?
Thank you, but well have professional catering.
Or help with the decorations?
No, just be happy and enjoy the day.
The lunch ended, and Charlotte excused herself to the restroom. When she returned, her face was tight.
We have to go, she said. I have a meeting with a designer in an hour.
Already? We just arrived! Tony replied, looking apologetic.
Sorry, Mum. We really must be off.
After they left, Margaret sat at the empty table, the untouched dishes staring back at her. She had poured her heart into the meal, only for them to eat a little and leave.
The phone rang. It was her friend Vera Collins.
Margaret, how are you? Did your son come?
He did. He introduced his fiancée.
Hows she?
Beautiful, wealthy, from a different world.
How did she treat you?
Fine, but she kept looking at our flat as if it were a curiosity.
Ah, the rich never truly understand us ordinary folk.
I think Tony likes her. Hes talking about marriage.
Thats wonderful. May he be happy.
Thats all I wanthim to be happy.
A week passed without a call from Tony. Margaret tried calling, but he was always busy in meetings, traveling, or with Charlotte.
Two weeks later Tony finally called.
Hi, Mum. How are you?
Im good. And you?
Great. We just visited Charlottes parents at their country estate. Its huge.
That sounds lovely, Margaret said, gripping the phone tighter.
Thanks, Mum. I have to run. Talk later.
Tony, wait! Can you come over for a Sunday stew? Ill make your favourite.
Cant, Mum. Weve got plans to pick out wedding rings.
Can I come with you?
A pause.
Its a private matter. Well manage.
Alright, good luck then.
When the call ended, Margaret stared out the grey courtyard, feeling her son slipping into a life where there was no room for the mother in the faded dress.
That evening Vera turned up with scones.
Youve lost weight, she said, handing a cup of tea.
Thanks, Vera.
Whats wrong, Margaret? You look sad.
My son has forgotten me. He used to call every day, now hes silent for weeks.
Hes in love, thats all. Itll pass.
Or maybe his fiancée is pushing him away from me?
Dont think that. Tonys clever.
Im not a child any more, Vera, but I still feel like his mother.
Vera hugged her. A son is still a son. Blood runs deeper than pride.
Wouldnt that be nice to believe? Margaret whispered, wiping a tear.
Weeks turned into months. The wedding approached, and Tony finally delivered an invitation.
Here you go, Mum. The ceremony is at threepm, followed by a banquet.
Margaret examined the embossed card, the goldlettered names, the address of the upscale restaurant.
What dress should I wear? she asked.
Whatever you like.
I thought maybe Id buy something new, to look presentable.
Tony shrugged. Do what you want, Mum. It wont matter.
Where will I sit?
I think Charlotte is arranging the seating. Shell let you know.
She never heard from Charlotte again. Margaret called repeatedly, but Tony was always too busy.
A week before the wedding, Charlotte finally phoned.
Margaret Harper? This is Charlotte.
Hello, dear. How are you?
Im calling about the seating. Youll be at table twelve.
Whats table twelve?
Its in the far corner, where the distant relatives sit. Its not the head table.
Why not the head table? Im the grooms mother!
There was a brief silence.
The head table is for me, Tony, my parents, and our closest relatives.
Im his mother! I gave him life!
Please dont cause a scene. The seating is final.
The line clicked. Margaret sat with the phone, her throat tightening. She dialed Tony.
Mum, Im in a meeting, cant talk.
Tony, your fiancée said Ill be at table twelvein the corner! Like a stranger!
What does it matter which table?
It matters! I should be by you!
Its a wedding, not a family reunion. Your fiancées parents are paying for everything.
Then Im nothing?
Dont be dramatic, Mum.
Fine.
She lowered herself into a chair, the number twelve staring back at her.
Vera visited later that night and saw Margaret in tears.
What happened?
Margaret recounted the seating debacle.
Thats outrageous! How can they treat you like that?
Yes, and Tonys backing them.
What will you do?
Should I skip the wedding?
No, its my sons day.
The wedding day arrived bright and sunny. Margaret rose early, did her hair, wore the old dress shed bought five years agoher best. Vera escorted her to a taxi.
Take care, Tom. Remember, youre a dignified woman who raised a son on her own.
Thank you, Vera.
The restaurant was magnificentcrystal chandeliers, white linens, flowers everywhere. Margaret felt like a grey mouse among glittering guests. She found table twelve in the far corner, already occupied by a few strangersTonys university friends and a distant aunt of Charlottes.
Who are you? the aunt asked.
Im the grooms mother.
Really? Why are you here? Usually the parents sit at the head table.
Because thats what was decided.
The ceremony began, the couple walked in, guests applauded, photographers flashed. Tony and Charlotte took their places at the head table, flanked by Charlottes wealthy parents in designer suits and diamonds. Margarets seat was nowhere near them.
Throughout the banquet, Tony never looked her way. He was busy with guests, his new wife, and her family.
When a lull appeared, Margaret approached the head table.
Congratulations, Tony! she said, handing him a small wrapped gift.
Thanks, Mum, he said, barely glancing at it.
Charlotte, lovely dress!
Thanks, Margaret.
Can we take a photo together?
Later, Im a bit pressed.
Charlotte placed a hand on Tonys shoulder.
Good, we must greet everyone.
Mum, I have to go.
Margaret stood alone, the room buzzing around her. She returned to her corner seat, the other guests looking at her with pity.
Dont worry, dear, an old aunt whispered. Weddings are stressful. Hes just occupied.
Margaret forced a smile, but inside she felt the sting of being hidden away, as if her son were ashamed of his own mother.
When the evening ended, Margaret slipped out unnoticed, the restaurants doors closing behind her. At home, Vera waited with tea.
How was it?
Beautiful, expensive. I felt like an extra.
An extra?
Yes. He never even came over.
Vera hugged her. Dont cry, Tom. Its not worth your tears.
Its my son.
Your son will always be your son.
Weeks passed without a call from Tony. Margaret tried again, but he only answered briefly, citing work.
One month later, Tony finally rang.
Hey, Mum.
Finally! Ive been waiting all this time.
Sorry, were on a honeymoon in the Maldives.
The Maldives? How wonderful! Tell me everything.
Its great. Listen, we moved into a new threebedroom flat the developers built. My parents paid for it.
Wow! Whats the address? Ill visit.
Maybe later. Were still sorting the refurbishment.
I can help! Clean the windows, the floors!
No need, we have a cleaning service.
Just the address, please.
Ill give it when its ready. I have to go, talk later.
He hung up, leaving Margaret staring at the silent screen, her heart tightening. He never gave her the address.
Months later, Tonys calls became fortnightly, short and formal. Margaret tried to share stories of her life, but he seemed uninterested.
One day, determined, Margaret packed a tin of her famous pies and went to Tonys office in the city centre. She found a receptionist.
Hello, Im here to see Tony Harper.
No appointment, maam.
The receptionist looked at her with pity.
Tony is in a meeting, cant come out.
Im his mother!
Apologies, but hes occupied.
Margaret left, tears welling, the pies untouched. In the lift she broke down, the sting of rejection sharp.
At home she tossed the pies away and lay on her bed, wondering where shed gone wrong.
Vera visited that evening, bringing biscuits.
He didnt want to see you, Margaret?
He refused, Vera. My own son.
Veras eyes hardened. Maybe youve had enough of being humiliated.
How?
Stop calling, stop visiting. Let him remember you on his own.
But what if he never remembers?
Then thats his loss. Youve given everything; now you owe yourself.
Margaret thought. Perhaps it was time to let go. She stopped ringing, stopped texting, and simply lived. The first week was hard; she missed the sound of his voice. The second week grew easier, a strange relief settling in. By the third week she felt peace, no longer waiting for a call that never came.
Two months later she celebrated her birthday with Vera and a few other friends, sipping tea and laughing.
Are you happy today, Tom? a friend asked.
Yes, Margaret replied, smiling. For the first time in ages I feel content.
What about your son?
He didnt call, and thats fine. Ive learned to live for myself.
The friends nodded, understanding.
A week after the party, a knock came at the door. Tony stood there, a tired look, dark circles under his eyes.
Hi, Mum. Happy birthday.
Margaret looked at him quietly.
Come in.
They sat at the kitchen table.
Did you have guests?
Yes, a few friends.
Its sorry I didnt call earlier.
Its alright.
A pause.
Why didnt you call? I thought you didnt need me.
Tony, you disappeared for months. I thought you no longer wanted me, so I stopped reaching out.
I wasnt trying to hurt you. My work, Charlottes family they wanted me to fit their world.
Did you hide me because you were ashamed?
It wasnt shame, just I thought youd feel out of place.
Margaret, Ive spent my whole life giving you everything. I never meant to make you feel invisible.
She stood, her voice steady.
Ive spent my life working for you, and youve hidden me. Im tired of being the secret.
Are you leaving me?
No. Im simply saying Ill no longer be a footnote in your life. If you want me, youll invite me; if not, Ill live my own.
Tony stared, unsure.
I love you, he said quietly.
I know love can be different. It doesnt excuse neglect.
He nodded, looking away.
He left without another word.
Later that night Vera came over.
Did he come in?
Yes, he wishedShe finally found peace, realizing that her worth was not measured by her sons attention but by the quiet strength she had nurtured within herself.
