Martha Clarke had been waiting all evening for a call that never came.
Anthony, you forgot to ring me back again! she exclaimed, phone clenched in her hand, her voice trembling with hurt. Her son had promised to call the night before, yet the line stayed silent.
Sorry, Mum, Ive been swamped at work. There was no time for a call, Anthony said, apologising.
Mum, you could at least send a text! Im worrying! he added.
Mum, Im thirtytwo. Im not a child who has to report every minute, Anthony snapped.
Martha fell silent. She remembered a time when Anthony was always attentive, calling every day, visiting on weekends, helping around the house. His tone was uncharacteristically sharp.
Alright, she whispered, Im sorry for bothering you.
No problem. Listen, I wanted to tell you something. Ill be home on Saturday, but not alone.
Who with? she asked, her nerves on edge.
With my girlfriend. Id like you to meet her. Her name is Charlotte.
Girlfriend? Anthony, is this serious?
Yes, Mum, very serious. Weve been together for six months.
Martha sank onto a chair. Six months and he had never mentioned her before. Hed always shared everything, now he kept secrets.
Why didnt you tell me earlier? she asked.
I wanted to be sure it was genuine. Now Im certain, so expect us on Saturday around lunch.
Okay, Ill be waiting.
When he hung up, Martha stared at the phone, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. At last, her son had found someone. She had imagined this moment for years.
Martha lived alone in a modest twobedroom flat on the outskirts of Birmingham. Her husband had died fifteen years earlier from a heart attack, leaving her to raise Anthony by herself. She worked two jobs, rarely slept, and saved every penny so her son could have a better life.
Anthony grew up bright and diligent, earned a firstclass degree, and secured a programming job at a leading tech firm. He made a good salary, rented a flat in the city centre, and made his mother proud.
On Saturday, Martha rose early. She polished the flat until it gleamed, washed the curtains, and then headed to the market. She bought meat, vegetables, and fruit Anthony loved her meatballs with mashed potatoes. She also baked his favourite apple crumble.
By one oclock, the table was set with a crisp white cloth and fine china. Martha slipped into her best dress, brushed her hair, and applied a touch of lipstick.
The doorbell rang at two. She wiped her hands on her apron, smoothed her hair, and opened it.
There stood Anthony in an expensive suit, beside a tall, slim woman in a fashionable dress and high heels. Her hair was styled impeccably, her makeup flawless.
Hi, Mum! Anthony embraced her. Mum, meet Charlotte.
Hello, Charlotte said, extending a gloved hand. Her fingers were adorned with sparkling rings.
Martha ushered them inside, offering seats and a place to remove shoes. Charlotte glanced around, her eyes lingering on the faded wallpaper and the threadbare carpet.
What a cosy flat, she said, forcing a smile.
Thank you, dear. Its modest but clean, Martha replied.
They sat down. Martha began serving the food, describing each dish. Anthony ate heartily, praising everything. Charlotte poked at her meatball, taking tiny bites.
Is it to your liking? Martha asked.
Delicious, though I usually avoid fried food Im watching my figure, Charlotte replied.
Youre already slender! Martha exclaimed.
Its the result of regular sessions with my personal trainer, five times a week, Charlotte said.
Martha nodded, noting how the trainers fees would be a luxury compared to her own tight budget.
Charlotte, what do you do? she asked.
I dont have a regular job. I run a chain of beauty salons three branches across the city, Charlotte replied.
Impressive! Martha exclaimed.
It wasnt entirely on my own, Charlotte added, fixing a stray strand. My father helped open the first salon, then I expanded it myself.
And your parents? Martha pressed.
My father owns a construction firm. My mother is involved in charity work, Charlotte answered.
Martha realised Charlotte came from a world of money and opportunities, a stark contrast to her own modest pension and ageing flat.
Mom, how are you feeling? Anthony asked. Are you keeping well?
Im fine, just the occasional bloodpressure spike Im on medication, she replied.
By the way, weve decided to get married, Anthony announced.
Marthas hand froze around her cup.
Married? When?
In three months. The ceremony will be at a restaurant that can hold about onefifty guests.
Onefifty? Thats a huge expense! Martha gasped.
Dont worry, Mum. Charlottes parents are covering everything. They have the connections to organise it all.
It sounds wonderful, Charlotte said. My dad has booked the citys top restaurant. There will be a live band, entertainers, even a fireworks display.
Martha looked at her son, barely recognising the confident man in the pricey suit who spoke of a lavish wedding that seemed far removed from the life she had given him.
Can I help in any way? she asked.
No need, Mum. Everythings taken care of, Anthony said, placing a reassuring hand on her wrist. Just be happy and enjoy the day.
After lunch, Charlotte excused herself to the bathroom. When she returned, her expression was sour.
Anthony, we should go. I have a meeting with a designer in an hour, she announced.
Already? We just arrived! Anthony protested.
Just as I said, I wont stay long, Charlotte replied.
Anthony looked apologetically at his mother.
Sorry, Mum. We really have to leave.
Of course, thank you for coming, Martha said, watching them depart with a heavy heart.
Later, her friend Vera Jones called.
Tommy, hows it going? Did your son come? Vera asked.
He did. He introduced his fiancée, Martha replied.
And how is she?
Beautiful, wealthy, from a completely different world.
How did she treat you?
She seemed fine, but I could tell she wasnt comfortable with my flat. She kept frowning at the old furniture.
Thats typical. Rich folks dont understand us simple folk, Vera sympathised.
I think Anthony likes her, though. He says theyre getting married soon.
Good for him. May he be happy.
Happy is all I want for him.
The weeks passed without a call from Anthony. When he finally rang, he sounded rushed.
Hey, mum, how are you?
Good, Anthony. And you?
Great. We just visited Charlottes parents at their country house they have an entire estate! They welcomed us warmly, he said.
Martha clutched the phone tighter, feeling a mixture of pride and sadness.
Im glad for you, she said.
Sorry, I have to run. Were off to pick out wedding rings.
Can I come with you? she asked.
There was a pause.
Mum, thats a private matter. Well manage, he replied.
Alright, good luck, Martha said, watching the street outside her window, realizing her son was moving into a life that left little room for her.
That evening Vera arrived with a tray of scones.
You look thin, Tom, Vera noted.
Thanks, Vera, Martha replied, sipping tea.
You seem down. Is it because of Anthony? Vera asked.
Hes forgotten me. He used to call every day, now weeks go by without a word, Martha confessed.
Hes in love, Tommy. Hell come around, Vera reassured.
Maybe not, Martha sighed.
Sometimes people change. Maybe its time to let go, Vera suggested gently.
Martha thought about it. Over the next few weeks she stopped calling. She focused on her pension, met friends, tended the balcony garden, and even joined a senior yoga class.
The first week was hard; she missed hearing his voice. By the second, she felt lighter, no longer waiting for a call that never arrived. By the third, she discovered a quiet peace, accepting that her son had his own path.
Two months after the wedding, Anthony finally called.
Hey, Mum, happy birthday, he said, a hint of fatigue in his voice.
Thanks, love, Martha replied, surprised.
Were on a honeymoon in the Maldives, he added.
The Maldives? How wonderful! she exclaimed.
By the way, weve moved into a new threebedroom flat in a new development. Its still being renovated, he said.
Could I see it? she asked.
Its not ready yet. Well let you know when its finished, he replied.
Alright, I wont trouble you, Martha said, feeling the familiar sting.
In the months that followed, Anthonys calls became sporadic, always brief and formal. He talked about work, never about home. One day Martha decided to visit his office in the city centre, hoping for a facetoface.
She arrived at the sleek business complex, climbed to the seventh floor, and knocked on the reception desk.
Hello, Im here to see Anthony Clarke, she announced.
Do you have an appointment? the receptionist asked.
No, Im his mother, Martha replied, a hint of defiance in her voice.
The receptionist made a call, then returned. Mr. Clarke is in a meeting and cant be disturbed, she said politely.
Martha stood there with a basket of scones, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. The receptionist offered to pass a note, but Martha declined and left, tears sliding down her cheeks in the lift.
Back home, she discarded the scones, lay on the sofa, and wondered where she had gone wrong.
Vera visited later, made tea, and listened as Martha recounted the humiliation.
Honestly, hes a selfish fool, Vera hissed. You deserve better.
Maybe I should stop calling altogether, Martha murmured.
Perhaps thats the only way to protect yourself, Vera agreed.
Martha stopped reaching out. She embraced her own life, finding joy in small pleasures, in the laughter of her friends, and in the simple rhythm of her days.
Six months after the wedding, a knock sounded at the door. Anthony stood there, looking tired, his eyes shadowed.
Happy birthday, Mum, he said quietly.
Thank you, she replied, inviting him in.
They sat at the kitchen table. Why didnt you call? he asked.
I stopped when you left me out of the room at the wedding, when you hid me from the guests. You didnt give me your new address, you turned me away at your office. It felt like a shame, she said, her voice steady.
It wasnt shame, Anthony whispered. Charlottes family comes from a different world. I had to fit in.
And you thought that meant hiding me? she pressed.
Yes, he admitted, his shoulders slumping. I thought if they saw where I came from, theyd reject me.
You chose wealth over the woman who raised you, Martha said, tears glistening. Ive worked my whole life for you, and now you treat me like a secret.
I love you, Mum, he said feebly.
Love can be quiet, she replied. But love isnt meant to make someone feel invisible.
He stood, walked to the door, and left without another word.
Later, Vera came over, bringing fresh scones.
Did you reconcile? she asked.
No, Martha said. I told him the truth. He was angry, but I wont keep apologising.
Do you regret it? Vera wondered.
Not at all. I was tired of waiting and being reduced to a corner seat at my own sons wedding, Martha answered. Ive learned that a mothers worth isnt measured by how often a son calls, but by the love she keeps for herself.
Vera squeezed her hand. Youve found peace, Tom. Thats what matters.
Months later, while walking down the high street, Martha was stopped by a woman in a sleek coat.
Mrs. Clarke? the woman asked. It was Charlotte, now noticeably thinner, her belly rounded.
Yes, Martha replied, surprised.
Congratulations on your baby, Charlotte said, voice trembling. Weve had a boy. I Im sorry for everything.
Martha looked at Charlottes wet eyes. I cant change the past, but I wont force myself into a role Im not needed for, she said softly. If Anthony wants me in his life, hell invite me. Until then, Ill keep living for myself.
Charlotte nodded, tears drying.
A few weeks later, Vera called with the news that Charlotte had given birth to a healthy boy named Daniel. Hes a beautiful little thing, Vera gushed. Your grandson is here, even if you havent met him.
Martha smiled through the tears. She still hadnt spoken to her son, but she no longer felt the ache of being ignored. She had reclaimed her dignity, her own rhythm, and the knowledge that love does not demand selfsacrifice at the cost of ones selfrespect.
She knew that if Anthony ever chose to include her, it would be because he truly wanted her, not because he felt obligated. In the meantime, she cherished the moments she had, the friends who cared, and the quiet pride of a mother who finally learned to value herself above all else. The lesson lingered clear as day: a persons worth is not defined by anothers attention, but by the respect one keeps for oneself.
