The door swung open, and Emilys voice was sharp with surprise. «We werent expecting you.»
«Why do you keep interfering in my life?» Hannahs tone trembled with frustration. «Im thirty-seven, Mum. A grown woman!»
«Interfering?» Margaret Wright spread her hands helplessly. «I only asked why things ended with James. Cant a mother worry?»
«Youre my mother, not a detective.» Hannah turned to the window, arms crossed. «I have my own life. My own reasons.»
Margaret sighed, carefully folding the half-knitted scarf into her bag. Another conversation gone wrong. The wall between them seemed higher every year.
«Alright, I wont ask again,» she conceded. «I just thought you two were happy.»
«Mum!» Hannah spun around. «Drop it, yeah? Lets not ruin our first proper dinner in weeks.»
Margaret nodded and fell silent. She visited less and lessHannah was always busy: work, friends, the gym, some new course. No time left for her mother.
Leaving that evening, Margaret felt the weight of loneliness heavier than ever. Her sixtieth was in a week, and who was left to celebrate with? Her husband had passed three years ago, her closest friends had moved away, and her daughter barely had room for her in that whirlwind life. Maybe it wasnt worth marking the occasion at all.
But at home, flipping through old photos, she found one of little Hannah blowing out candles, cheeks flushed with joy. Back then, Margaret had worked as an accountant, barely making ends meet, but shed always scraped together a proper birthdaycake, presents, the works.
*My own birthdays next week,* she realized, *and even my daughters forgotten.* Should she remind her?
Her fingers hovered over the phone. No. She wouldnt beg for attention. If Hannah had forgotten, so be it. What did numbers matterfifty-nine, sixty? Just dates on a calendar.
Yet the thought gnawed at her. Days later, she finally called.
«Hi, Mum.» Hannahs voice was distracted, as if she were multitasking. «Everything alright?»
«Fine, just» Margaret hesitated. «My birthdays Saturday. Sixty, you know.»
«Oh God, really?» A flicker of surprise. «It completely slipped my mind. Works been mad»
«Dont worry,» Margaret cut in quickly. «Just thought Id mention it.»
«Sorry, Mum.» Hannah softened. «Ill swing by. Around five?»
Margarets heart lifted. «Ill bake your favourite. Cherry pie.»
«Perfect. Gotta dashtalk later?»
Hanging up, Margaret felt lighter. Not forgotten after all.
Saturday dawned unseasonably bright for April. She woke early, cleaned the flat, baked the pie, even treated herself to a haircut. She bought good wine, Hannahs favourite cheese, fresh fruitwanted everything perfect.
Five oclock came and went. Then six. No sign of Hannah. Calls went straight to voicemail.
*Stuck at work? Traffic?*
By seven, worry curdled into dread. What if something had happened? Images flasheda crash, an accident
She couldnt bear it. Hailing a cab, she headed to Hannahs.
Outside the flat, a familiar car sat parked among others. Relief. She was home. Just forgotten.
The doorbell rang unanswered before footsteps approached.
Hannah stood theredressed up, hair done, makeup flawless. Laughter and chatter spilled from inside.
«Mum?» Her eyes widened. «We werent expecting you.»
Margaret clutched the bouquet shed bought herself. «II got worried. You didnt come. Didnt answer.»
Behind Hannah, a man appearedtall, bearded, in a crisp shirt.
«Han, whos?» He spotted Margaret. «Oh, hello!»
«This is my mum,» Hannah said, flustered. «Mum, this is Tom. Were seeing each other.»
«Lovely to meet you.» Margaret forced a smile, shaking his hand.
«Likewise! Hannahs told me loads about you.»
A womans voice called from inside: «Han, the pastas going cold!»
«Coming!» Hannah called back, then winced at her mother. «Weve got people over. I completely forgot about today. Im so sorry.»
The lump in Margarets throat threatened to choke her. Her daughter had thrown a partyjust not for her.
«Its fine,» she managed. «Ill go.»
«Dont be silly.» Hannah frowned. «Come in. Meet everyone.»
The flat buzzed with energy. On the kitchen table, a chocolate cake sat untouchedno candles, not for her.
Margaret stayed an hour, polite but out of place among Hannahs laughing friends. When she finally rose to leave, Hannah pulled her aside.
«Mum, wait.» She pressed an envelope into her mothers hand. «For your birthday. Im sorry its»
«You dont need to give me money,» Hannah protested.
«I want to.» Margaret squeezed her fingers. «Please.»
Later, as Tom drove her home, Hannah rode along, quiet until they reached the door.
«Mum,» she whispered in the dark. «Im so sorry.»
Margaret patted her knee. «Youre here now.»
A week later, Hannah arrived unannouncedwith a cake, flowers, and a proper gift: tickets to the seaside.
«Remember our trips when I was little?» she said, eyes bright. «This time, its my treat.»
Margaret protested, but Hannah insisted.
«Youve done enough,» she said firmly. «My turn.»
Over tea, they made plans. And Margaret thoughtsometimes you have to show up uninvited to remind them you exist. And even if they werent expecting you it doesnt mean theyre not glad you came.
