Five years ago, Emily found herself alone. Her husband had passed away after a long battle with cancer. Before that, her only daughter had married and moved to another city, first giving birth to a son, Oliver, then three years later, a daughter, Sophie. When Emilys husband was still well, shed visit her daughter. But once he fell ill, she couldnt leave him.
Her daughter would sometimes visit, leaving the kids with her husband, believing they shouldnt see their grandfather fading away. She came alone to the funeral, too, and right after, she was ready to leave.
“Sorry, Mum, but the kids and my husband need me Why dont you come stay with us? Whats left for you here alone?”
And off she went. Emily was left by herself, aching for her husband. Sick or not, she just wanted him alive. Now what? No one needed her.
After nine days, Emily decided to visit her daughter. But her daughter and son-in-law worked all day, and the grandkids kept their distancetoo long apart, theyd grown unfamiliar. Emily felt like a burden. After a week, she packed her bags.
“Mum, why not stay another week?” her daughter offered half-heartedly, but Emily refused, and no one pressed further.
She never visited again. Last year, they stopped by on their way back from a holiday. Oliver, now fourteen, barely looked up from his headphones and tablet. Sophie, with streaks of pink in her hair, was glued to her phone, chewing gum nonstop.
Emily tried talking to her daughterwasnt this lifestyle harmful for young minds? Did she even know what they watched or who they chatted with?
“Mum, all kids are like this now. Banning things only makes it worse,” her daughter dismissed.
Before they left, Emily tried again.
“Its hard being alone. Visit more often. The kids dont even know me. Ive still got energymaybe send them to stay with me during the holidays?”
“Mum, why bother with the hassle?”
“Theyre my grandchildren. What hassle?”
“Well see,” her daughter said, but a whole year passed with no visits, just occasional calls.
So Emily went to them. Why not? She was retired, free. The parents were always working, and Oliver and Sophie lived on takeaway pizza and sushi. What kind of food was that? She took over the cooking. At first, everyone loved her soups, pancakes, and piesthen the kids went back to pizza. Her son-in-law once caught her washing dishes by hand and frowned.
“We have a dishwasher, you know. No need to martyr yourself at the sink.”
Her daughter sighed, rearranging the drying rack her way. Oliver complained shed “messed up” his wardrobeshed only tidied it.
“Mum, dont interfere,” her daughter advised.
“Gran, stop baking piesIve already put on weight,” Sophie said.
“And pizza doesnt make you gain weight?” Emily retorted.
In the end, she realized she was in the way, doing everything “wrong,” and it was time to leave. Her daughter didnt argue, and her son-in-law promptly offered to drive her to the station.
Emily missed her husband. If only George were still here Why did he leave her so soon? No one to talk to. Whod care for her ifGod forbidshe fell ill?
She used to knit and embroider, but her eyesight had worsened, straining just gave her headaches. What else was there in retirement? Bake pies? For whom?
One friend had died right after her husband; the other had a house full of grandkidsno time for Emily.
***
The last warm days of Indian summer lingered. The sun shone, though the air was crisp. Golden leaves crunched underfoot as Emily walked to the park, a bag of stale bread in hand.
Settling on a bench, she scattered crumbs for the pigeons. Soon, a flock gatheredeven sparrows darted in, fearless.
Watching them, Emily brooded over her lot. Youth was fleeting, life fragileand now old age crept in. Shed hoped to grow old with George, leaning on each other. He was gone; her daughter and grandkids didnt need her
“Quite the crowd,” a voice said.
A man sat at the other end of the bench. She hadnt noticed him arrive. Neatly dressed, around her age or slightly older.
“Ive seen you here often,” he said.
Emily didnt recognize himshe never paid attention during her walks, lost in thought.
“Im alone too. My wife died eight years ago. Still not used to it,” he admitted.
*Like he read my mind,* she thought. Studying himcrisp trousers, clean-shavenshe asked, “Does someone help you? Youre so put-together.”
“After she died, I learned. Not so hard. My sons busy with his family. Think men cant manage?” He smiled. “Im Henry. Look at those sparrowsbold as brass. And you are?”
“Emily.”
“Lovely name. My wife was Edith, after her great-grandmother. Fancy the cinema? Its getting chilly.”
The sun had vanished behind clouds. Emily almost refusedbut the empty flat loomed.
“Whats playing?”
“Does it matter?” Henry grinned.
When *had* she last gone? She couldnt recall. The cinema was all plush seats and booming soundsurprisingly enjoyable. Afterward, dusk had fallen, the air sharper.
“How about tea? Warm up?” Henry offered.
She declined.
“Next time?” he pressed.
The empty flat again
“Come to mine instead. Ive got tea and scones. No one to eat them.”
“Wont that be awkward?”
“Why? Not in a hurry, are you?”
At her building, she belatedly thought of nosy neighborsbut the courtyard was empty.
“Cozy place. Your husband?” Henry nodded at the framed photo.
“Yes. Cancer.” She bit back complaints about her daughterthe loneliness was plain.
Fresh tea, warm scones, jam in a little dish. Henry ate heartily, praising everything.
“Youve got medical books. Were you a doctor?”
“No. Biology teacher. Wanted to be a doctor, but Mum died youngI needed work. Evening classes, then marriage, a child Dreams fade.”
“I was in the army. Mind?” He browsed her shelves, recognizing titles.
“Thank you. Youre rare. Inviting a stranger in.”
“You werent planning to rob me, were you?”
“God, no. Id best go. Walk tomorrow? Same bench?”
They kept meetingtwo lonely souls craving company.
Then her daughter called.
“Mum, how are you?”
“Fine. Been walking, even saw a few films.”
“Alone?”
“No. Who goes alone? With a friend.”
“Mumare you *seeing* someone?”
“No! Just walks.”
“Be careful. Con artists everywhere. Maybe visit us?”
“Why? I dont want to intrude. *You* visit *me*.”
“Dont you dare get involved! Widowers are cunningwants a free housekeeper? Or after your flat? Hell sweet-talk you, get everything, then”
“How *dare* you! Next youll say Ive lost my mind!”
“What else should I think? Remember Mrs. Whitlow?”
“Judging someone youve never met? I never interfered in *your* life! Send the grandkids for the holidays”
They hung up, upset.
Autumn tightened its grip. Park walks grew too cold, so Henry invited her to his cottageleaves to rake, the place to check.
“Big house, fireplace. Lovely setting. Rarely go since Edith died.”
She agreed. The cottage *was* lovely, the fireplace cozy. Henry raked; she cookeduntil a Range Rover pulled up.
Henry brightenedhis son.
Emily put the kettle on, set the table, then glanced outside. The conversation had turned heatedshouting, gestures. She stepped onto the porch.
“Hello! Come inside?”
“Shes *here*? Dad, have you lost it? Whyd you bring her?” his son yelled.
He called her a gold-digger, a predator targeting lonely widowers, angling for the house. He even lungeduntil Henry clutched his chest, collapsing. Emily rushed to support him.
“Get your hands off him!”
“Help me get him inside! Call an ambulance!”
“Bossing *me*” But seeing his fathers pallor, he relented.
“Ambulancell take ages. Help me get him in the car.”
They laid Henry in the back. When Emily moved to join, his son
