Margaret Parker was watering the violets on her windowsill when the doorbell rang. She set down the watering can and glanced at the clock—half past ten in the morning, too early even for her neighbor, Mrs. Higgins, who often dropped by for tea. Adjusting her dressing gown, she peered through the peephole.
A middle-aged man in a worn-out jacket stood there, a small suitcase in hand. His face seemed familiar, but Margaret couldn’t place where she knew him from.
«Who are you looking for?» she called through the door.
«Margaret, it’s me, Simon. Your brother.» His voice was rough, tired.
Her breath caught. Simon? Her younger brother, who had vanished over a decade ago without a word? The same Simon who’d left her alone to care for their ailing mother while he disappeared to heaven-knows-where?
With trembling hands, she undid the lock.
«Simon?» She studied his weathered, aged face. «Good Lord, it really is you…»
«Hi, sis. Mind if I come in, or are we going to chat on the landing?» His smile was strained.
Margaret stepped aside, letting him into the flat. He walked into the hall, glancing around before setting his suitcase by the wall.
«Nothing’s changed. Mum’s slippers are still here…» He nodded at the shoe rack.
«Why would they change? She only passed six months ago,» Margaret said, bitterness barely contained. «You knew, didn’t you? Or did you not even know that?»
Simon lowered his eyes.
«I knew. A neighbor wrote to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral—I just couldn’t, at the time…»
«Couldn’t?» Margaret marched into the kitchen, Simon trailing behind. «Fifteen years Mum waited for you. Every day, she checked the post, hoping for a letter. Then when her legs gave out, I went instead. Right up to the end, she thought you’d come back.»
«Margaret, I know you’re angry—»
«Angry?» She turned sharply. «I’m not angry, Simon. I’m exhausted. Exhausted from carrying everything alone, from explaining to Mum why her son never called, never wrote, never visited.»
Simon slumped into a chair, rubbing his face.
«Tea?» Margaret asked automatically, flicking the kettle on.
«Please.»
An awkward silence settled as she fetched cups and sliced bread, while he stared out the window.
«Where were you all these years?» she finally asked.
«Here and there. First went to Manchester, then Brighton. Odd jobs, nothing steady. Had a wife for a while…»
«Had?» She raised an eyebrow.
«Divorced. Didn’t work out. No kids, thankfully.»
«Thankfully?» She set his cup down harder than intended. «Mum wanted grandchildren. Especially from you. Always said, ‘Simon’ll have boys—someone to carry on the name.'»
«Margaret, enough. What’s done is done. We can’t turn back time.» He sipped the tea, wincing at the heat.
«No, we can’t. But we’re going to talk. Why are you here, Simon? After all this silence?»
He hesitated, twisting the cup in his hands.
«I’m in a bad way, Margaret. No work, no money for rent. Thought maybe I could stay here while I get back on my feet.»
«Here?» She narrowed her eyes. «You mean this flat?»
«Yeah. It’s half mine, isn’t it? Inheritance and all.»
Margaret slowly set her cup on the saucer. So that was it. Not regret, not family—just a roof over his head.
«Simon, did you know this flat’s been in my name for ten years?»
«What?» His posture stiffened.
«Mum transferred it to me when she got worse. Said, ‘Whoever cares gets the home.’ Went through a solicitor.»
Simon leaned back, face hardening.
«That’s not right. Legally, I’m entitled to a share.»
«Legally?» She scoffed. «What about morally? Fifteen years without a visit. Fifteen years of me managing her care, buying medicines, taking her to doctors. Nights I spent awake during her attacks. Where were you?»
«I didn’t know it was that bad…»
«Didn’t know?» Her voice cracked. «The neighbors sent word! Mrs. Higgins even ran into your old mate, Dave Cooper. Told him Mum was dying and to fetch you! Were you deaf?»
He fiddled with a teaspoon, silent.
«So you knew,» she concluded. «Knew, and still didn’t come. Now you’re here for the flat.»
«Margaret, listen—I’ve got nowhere. Not even a place to sleep. I’m not asking for the whole flat, just temporary—»
«Temporary?» She strode to the window. «Then what? Demand residency? Sue for your share?»
«Christ, is that what you think of me? I’m your brother!»
«Brother?» She turned. «A brother who abandoned his family? Who couldn’t even come to his mother’s funeral? What kind of brother is that, Simon?»
Outside, the front door slammed—Mrs. Higgins returning with her shopping. Margaret watched her absently, collecting her thoughts.
«Fine,» she said at last. «One week. Conditions: you find work, then leave. No talk of inheritance.»
«Thanks, sis! I mean it—I’ll sort something fast—»
«Simon.» She cut him off. «One week. No drinking, no mates over. Understood?»
«Got it. But come on, you think I’d—»
«Do I think you’re an alcoholic? How would I know? I haven’t seen you in fifteen years.»
He opened his mouth to protest, but she was already showing him the spare room.
«You’ll sleep here. Mum’s old room. Keep it tidy—break anything, and you’re out.»
He nodded, hefting his suitcase.
«Margaret… can I ask? Were you ever married?»
«Was. Husband died five years ago. Heart attack.»
«Kids?»
«No. Couldn’t.»
«Sorry, I didn’t mean—»
«Just get settled. Lunch at noon.»
In the kitchen, chopping potatoes for soup, she wondered if she’d made a mistake letting him in. Her heart said he was family—you don’t turn family away. But her head warned nothing good would come of this.
Simon emerged half an hour later, washed up and wearing a clean shirt.
«Smells good,» he said, peering into the pot.
«Just potato soup. Nothing fancy. Or are you used to finer things these days?»
He waved her off. «Margo, remember how Mum used to make this? With parsley…»
«I remember. She made it for you till you were eighteen. Then you vanished.»
«Margaret, please. I know I messed up, but—»
«But what? Explain why you think you have any right to this flat. You walked away.»
«I never walked—»
«No? Forgot you had a mother and sister, then?»
Simon sagged into his chair.
«Back then, I thought I was just a burden. No proper job, no money. Then I got an offer in Manchester…»
«So you left instead of staying to help?»
«I thought I’d send money back—»
«Did you?» Her laugh was sharp. «Not a penny in fifteen years.»
«Things kept falling through—lost jobs, other troubles…»
«A phone call? A letter? Just to say you were alive?»
He scraped at a bread crust, silent.
«Mum believed till the end you’d come back,» Margaret said, ladling soup. «Every New Year, she set a place for you. Said, ‘Just in case Simon turns up.'»
«Please, stop…»
«No. You’ll hear this. When she had her surgery, she begged the doctors to wait—thought you might come. Wanted to see you.»
«I didn’t know about any surgery!»
«You didn’t know because you didn’t want to! You could’ve left an address, a number. Could’ve asked how we were!»
Next door, hammering from renovations throbbed in her head. She opened the window.
«Tell me—do you even care about Mum’s last years?»
«Tell me,» he said quietly.
«Fine. Last three years, she barely left her bed. I carried her to the loo, spoon-fed her. Turned her every two hours so she wouldn’t get bedsores. Changed her like a baby.»
Simon paled.
«Think that was easy? I quit my job, took early pension. Stuck here every day. And all she did was call for you. Till the end.»
«Please…»
«You don’t like hearing it? Try living it for fifteen years. But I did—because it was my duty. Where was yours?»
«I had my own life—»
«Oh?» She eyed his shabby clothes. «How’d that work out for you?»
He shoved soup into his mouth, silent.
«Know what hurtsThe next Sunday, as they stood together at their mother’s grave under a quiet grey sky, Margaret realized that forgiveness, though long overdue, might finally begin to mend what time had broken—and perhaps that was enough.