**From Meeting to Parting**
Five years ago, I was left completely alone. My husband passed away after a long battle with cancer. Before that, my only daughter married and moved to another city, first giving birth to my grandson Oliver and, three years later, my granddaughter Emily. When my husband was still well, I used to visit them. But once he fell ill, I couldnt leave his side.
My daughter came occasionally, leaving the children with her husband. She believed they shouldnt see their grandfather fading away. She came alone to the funeral toothen left almost immediately.
*”Im sorry, Mum, but the children need me Why dont you come stay with us? Whats left for you here alone?”*
And she was gone. I was left with nothing but grief. Even sick, I wouldve given anything for him to still be here. Now? I felt like no one needed me.
After the mourning period, I decided to visit my daughter. But she and her husband worked all day, and the children barely recognised metoo much time had passed. I felt like an intruder. After a week, I packed my things.
*”Mum, stay a bit longer?”* she offered, but when I refused, she didnt insist.
I never visited again. Last year, they stopped by on their way back from holiday. Oliver was nearly fourteen, glued to his headphones and tablet. Emily, now with pink streaks in her hair, texted and chewed gum endlessly.
I tried talking to my daughterwasnt this lifestyle harmful? Did she know what they were watching, who they spoke to?
*”Mum, all kids are like this now. Banning things just makes it worse,”* she dismissed.
Before they left, I tried again.
*”Its hard being alone. Visit more often. The children dont even know me. While Im still well, why not send them to stay during holidays?”*
*”Why burden yourself?”* she replied.
*”Theyre my grandchildren. What burden?”*
*”Well see.”* But a whole year passed, and no one came. Just the odd phone call.
So I went to them. Why not? I was retired, free. Their parents worked all day, while Oliver and Emily lived on pizza and takeaways. What kind of food was that? I took over the cooking. At first, everyone loved my soups and piesthen they went back to pizza. Once, my son-in-law saw me washing dishes by hand and snapped, *”We have a dishwasher. Stop martyring yourself.”*
My daughter sighed, rearranging the drying rack. Oliver complained Id *”messed up”* his wardrobe. Id only tidied it.
*”Mum, dont interfere,”* she warned.
*”Gran, stop bakingIve already put on weight,”* Emily said.
*”And pizza doesnt make you gain any?”* I asked.
Soon, I realised I was in the way. So I left. No one stopped me. My son-in-law even offered to drive me to the station.
I missed my husband terribly. If only Arthur were still here Why did he leave me alone? No one to talk to. Who would care for me ifGod forbidI fell ill?
I used to knit and embroider, but my eyesight worsened, and now it just gives me headaches. What else is there to do in retirement? Bake pies? For whom?
One friend died right after her husband. The other was too busy with her own grandchildren to spare me a thought.
—
It was one of the last warm days of Indian summer. Golden leaves crunched underfoot as I walked to the park, a bag of stale bread in hand. Sitting on a bench, I fed the pigeons until a whole flock gathered, even sparrows darting in.
Watching them, I thought of my wretched luck. Youth was fleeting, life fragileand now old age crept in. Id imagined growing old with Arthur, taking care of each other. Instead, he was gone, and my family didnt need me
*”Quite the gathering,”* a voice said.
A man sat at the other end of the benchwell-kept, around my age or older. I hadnt even noticed him.
*”Ive seen you here often,”* he said.
I didnt recognise him. I never paid attention to passersby, lost in my thoughts.
*”Im alone too. My wife died eight years ago. Still havent gotten used to it,”* he admitted.
*As if hed read my mind.* I studied himneatly dressed, trousers pressed, clean-shaven.
*”I love autumn. Gorgeous today. Soon the rain will strip the trees bare,”* he said, tilting his face to the sun.
*”Who helps you? Youre so put together,”* I asked.
*”Learned after my wife passed. Its not hard. My sons busy with his family. Think men cant manage?”* He smiled. *”Im Edward. Look at those sparrowsbold as brass. And you are?”*
*”Margaret.”*
*”Lovely name. My wife was Gertrude, after her great-grandmother. Fancy the cinema? Its getting chilly.”*
The sun had vanished behind clouds. I almost refusedbut the empty flat loomed.
*”Whats showing?”*
*”Does it matter?”*
It didnt. When had I last gone? I couldnt recall.
The cinema was nothing like I rememberedplush seats, a giant screen, booming sound. But I enjoyed the film. Afterwards, Edward suggested tea.
*”Not today,”* I said.
*”Another time?”*
I pictured my silent flat. *”Come to mine instead. Ive made scones.”*
*”Is that proper?”*
*”Why not? Youve nowhere to rush, have you?”*
At my building, I fretted about nosy neighboursbut the courtyard was empty.
*”Cosy place. Your husband?”* He nodded at the framed photo.
*”Yes. Cancer.”* I nearly complained about my daughter but stopped. The loneliness was obvious.
Over tea, he praised my baking.
*”Youve so many booksmedical ones too. Were you a doctor?”*
*”No. A 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. May I?”* He browsed my shelves, recognising many titles.
*”Thank you. Youre a rare womaninviting a stranger in.”*
*”You werent planning to rob me, were you?”*
*”God forbid. I should go. Walk tomorrow? Same time?”*
We kept meeting. Just two lonely souls craving company.
Then my daughter called.
*”Mum, how are you?”*
*”Fine. Ive even been to the cinema.”*
*”Alone?”*
*”No. Who goes alone? With a friend.”*
*”Mum, are you *seeing* someone?”* Her voice sharpened.
*”No! We just walk together.”*
*”Be careful. Con artists target widows. Why not visit us?”*
*”I wont intrude. You visit me.”*
*”Dont you dare get involved! Hes a widower? Probably wants a live-in maid! Or your flat! Hell sweet-talk you, get his name on the deeds, then”*
*”How can you say that? Next youll say Ive gone senile!”*
*”What else should I think? Remember Mrs. Whitmore?”*
*”Youve never even met him! I never interfered in your lifewhy do you?”*
We nearly argued. Hung up upset.
Autumn deepened. Too cold for parks now. Edward invited me to his cottagehelp rake leaves, check the house.
*”Its got a fireplace. Peaceful there. Havent been much since Gertrude died.”*
I agreed. The cottage was lovely, the fireplace cosy. He raked outside while I cookeduntil an SUV pulled up.
His son, I assumed.
I put the kettle on, set the tablethen saw them arguing outside. Voices raised, gestures sharp. I stepped onto the porch.
*”Hello! Come inside?”*
*”Shes playing house already? Dad, have you lost it? Is she after the cottage? The flat?”* The son glared at me. *”I know your sortpreying on lonely old men!”*
He lungedthen Edward clutched his chest, collapsing. I ran to catch him.
*”Get off him!”*
*”Call an ambulance!”*
*”Thatll take ages. Help me get him in the car!”*
They loaded Edward in. I moved to joinbut the son slammed the door, speeding off.
Alone, I locked up, waited shivering at the bus stop.
Home again, Arthurs portrait seemed to judge me.
*”Forgive me. Im so lonely.”*
After tea, I called hospitals. Found him in intensive careheart attack.
Next day, I wentand met his son.
*”You! Here to finish him off? The flats minehe rewrote the will. Get out before I call the police!”*
People stared. I left in tears.
Edward died at dawn. I skipped the funeralcouldnt face more accusations.
Two lonely hearts, found and parted too soon.
A week later, my daughter called. *”Were coming.”*
*”Why? Whats wrong?”* Still raw from grief, I braced for bad news.
They arrivedluggage, children, no explanation.
*”Mum and Dad are divorcing,”* Emily whispered.
*”Why?”*
*”Dads got someone else,”* Oliver said.
My daughter wept daily. The children clung to me, forgettin
