Lately, Emily hadn’t been sleeping well. She’d drift off in the evening, only to wake and lie restless until dawn. Exhaustion weighed on her, worse still when sleepless nights stretched into weeks.
Not wanting to disturb her husband, she lay still while thoughts of her mother crowded her mind. Sometimes Mum appeared in dreams—silent, gazing at her before fading away.
*How quickly life passes,* Emily mused at night. *One glance back, and most of it’s gone. Nothing left to wait for.* Her only joy was her son, now married with a child of his own. *Why does Mum keep visiting my dreams? She looks at me so sadly but never speaks…*
Emily hadn’t seen her mother in over twenty years. She remembered the ultimatum: *Stay out of my life. Don’t come near the flat where you grew up.* The three-bedroom flat had been her grandparents’, passed down through Mum’s side—factory workers in their day.
Emily hardly recalled her father, but she remembered the parade of men Mum brought home, insisting she call them *Dad*. She obeyed, though she disliked them, and felt nothing when they vanished. *Poor luck with men, Mum had.*
*Now I understand,* Emily thought during her sleepless nights. *A young, lonely woman wanting happiness, a proper family. But it never came.*
After secondary school, Mum said, *»Em, train as a chef. You’ll never go hungry, and you’ll feed a family. I’m tired of supporting you. Earn your keep. Maybe I’ll finally live for myself.»*
Emily had dreamed of university, but Mum crushed that hope. Resentment festered—why did her friends’ mothers push them toward higher education?
Yet she obeyed. She qualified as a chef with honours and was assigned to a factory canteen.
*»Look who’s joined us!»* Her colleagues welcomed her warmly.
Plenty of lads worked there—handsome, clever, kind. They joked, asked her to the cinema, and she, inexperienced, chose the prettiest face. She didn’t yet know kindness mattered more than looks in a husband.
Tom fancied her—a cheerful, straightforward bloke from the countryside. He wasn’t smooth, but he was loyal, always there when needed. Did Emily care then?
No. She fell for charming, reckless James. *»What does he see in her?»* folk whispered. *»She’s plain. He’ll toy with her and drop her like the others.»*
James was a sly one, collecting girls like trophies. Flowers, films, dances—he poured on the charm. Emily held firm: *»Not before marriage.»* That only intrigued him.
*»Fine, let’s wed,»* he said. Overjoyed, she agreed.
They filed for marriage, planned the wedding. Emily floated on air, picking her dress, while others muttered in disbelief.
Days before the registry, James wore her down. Afterward, he cooled, then said, *»This was a mistake. I’m not ready to be a family man.»* He waved her off—and left work that evening with another girl.
Devastated, Emily barely pulled through. Then she realised she was pregnant.
She confronted James, foolishly hoping. *»You’re a grown woman,»* he sneered. *»Sort it out. Not my problem.»*
The doctor warned against termination—first pregnancies were delicate. Emily left, despairing. *What do I do? Mum will disown me.*
Tom sensed her distress. *»Em, talk to me. You’ve been off. Whatever it is, I’ll help.»*
*»Help? I’m pregnant. The warden will kick me out of the dorm. Mum will shred me to bits.»*
*»Marry me,»* he blurted. *»It’s the way out.»*
She refused. Tom was a friend, like a brother. She’d never thought of him as a husband, though the girls at work swore he’d make the best one.
*»Go see your mum. We’ll talk after,»* he said quietly.
As expected, Mum raged. *»Knocked up, just like I warned you! Sort your own mess. I’m remarrying—I won’t let you ruin my happiness. Get out.»*
*»But Mum, this is my home!»*
*»Don’t test me. We’re living separate lives now.»*
That day, Emily left with a battered suitcase. (Mum never did remarry—another man vanished.) She stayed in the dorm; Tom, living two floors up, helped however he could.
When maternity leave neared, the warden said, *»No babies here.»*
Tom arrived with a cake one evening. *»I’ve got a plan. Go to my parents’ village. They’re good people. We’ll say we’re engaged. After the birth, you’ll apply for housing. I’ll visit weekends.»*
*»Tom, this is deceit—»*
*»Trust me.»*
His parents welcomed her, calling her *»love.»* The village assumed she was his wife. Tom visited more often, and soon, she counted the days till weekends. Their son, Alfie, was born. His grandparents doted on him.
Things unfolded naturally. They married, celebrated with the whole village. Alfie grew; the factory gave them a flat in town. Tom was a devoted father. They had no more children.
Years flew. Alfie married, had a daughter. Life seemed settled—until the dreams of Mum began.
*»Em, what’s troubling you?»* Tom asked one night. *»You sigh for hours.»*
She confessed. *»It’s been twenty years. Maybe I should see her.»*
*»Then we’ll go. Forgive her, love.»*
That Sunday, bearing fruit and cake, they knocked on the familiar door.
A woman answered—soft-faced, vaguely familiar. *»Can I help you?»*
*»I’m here for Mum,»* Emily said.
*»Come in.»* The woman stepped aside.
*»Where is she?»* Emily spotted Mum’s photo on the wall.
*»She passed three months ago. I’m Grace—your sister. Mum regretted how she treated you. She kept putting off reaching out… If you’d like, we’ll visit her grave.»*
*»I don’t have a sister,»* Emily snapped.
Grace sighed. *»Half-sister. Different fathers. Mum had me at sixteen. Her parents sent me to Aunt Nora to avoid scandal. Mum only called me back when she fell ill.»*
*»So *she* wasn’t perfect,»* Emily said bitterly. *»Proof?»*
Grace showed documents. *»She left the flat to us both.»*
As anger eased, Emily murmured, *»You look like her.»*
In time, they sold the flat, bought Grace a smaller one, and gave the rest to Alfie for his growing family.
Mum stopped appearing in dreams. Emily and Grace mended what their mother couldn’t. Now they meet for tea, living just streets apart.
**Lesson:** Time softens old wounds, and forgiveness—for others and ourselves—is the only way to quiet the ghosts of the past.