«It’s me, Michael» he whispered, settling himself beside her.
«It’s far too late to change anything now. You’re almost eighty, Mum.»
He rose and walked out, not letting her utter another word.
Mrs. Lucy, gathering the last of her strength, hauled a bucket of icy water from the kitchen tap. She shuffled, legs trembling, down the sodden lane back to her cottage. The bitter wind bit at her cheeks, her fingers barely clinging to the frozen, wornout handle of the bucket.
At the doorway she paused to catch her breath, setting one bucket on the step, reaching for the otherwhen the ice gave way beneath her foot.
«Oh, Lord, help me» she gasped, before she hit the ground.
Her shoulder slammed into the step, a dull throb blooming at the back of her head. She lay there for a few seconds, helpless, unable to move or even breathe.
She tried to get up, but her legs wouldn’t obey. It was as if everything below her waist had vanished.
Gasping with terror and pain, she began to crawl toward the door, clinging to anything that could support her: a cracked stool, a broken broom, the torn hem of her dress. Her back ached, sweat pooled on her forehead, the world spun and swayed.
«Come on, Lucy just a little more» she whispered to herself, struggling toward the old settee in the hallway.
On the windowsill lay her phone. With shaking fingers she dialed her son’s number.
«Paddy son something’s wrong come» she breathed, then lost consciousness.
By evening Paul stormed in. The door slammed, a gust of wind burst into the cottage. Bareheaded and dishevelled, he froze on the threshold, the sight of his mother halfcollapsed on the sofa cutting through him.
«Mum what’s happened to you?» he crouched, taking her hand. «Good heavens, she’s like a block of ice»
Without hesitation he called his wife:
«Emma, get here as fast as you can she’s in terrible shape I think she hasn’t moved at all.»
Mrs. Lucy heard everything, though she could neither smile nor stir. A flicker of hope rose in her chest: if he was scared, it meant he still cared.
Perhaps this was the moment the family would finally rally. Would they save her?
She tried to wiggle her legsnothing. Only her fingers twitched feebly.
Then tears rolled down her cheeksnot from the pain, but because maybe, just maybe, not everything was lost.
Emma arrived two days later, looking irritated, clutching her daughter Annie’s hand as if something more urgent had been pulling her away.
«Well, look what the cat dragged in, Gran,» Emma muttered softly, casting a glance at her motherinlaw. «Now lie down like a log.»
Annie pressed against her mother, eyes darting anxiously at the old woman. She tried to smile, but her face wouldn’t cooperate.
Emma slipped silently into the house. Paul led her to the kitchen. They spoke in hushed tones, the tension palpable in the air.
Though Lucy couldn’t make out words, she felt the bitterness in their hearts.
Minutes later the son returned, lifting her gently into his arms without a word.
«Where are you taking me?» she whispered.
Paul said nothing, his jaws clenched. She clung to his neck, inhaling his familiar scentold oil, tobacco, something homey.
«To the hospital?» she asked again.
He stayed silent. His steps quickened.
Instead of a hospital, he carried her to the outbuilding where, years ago, they stored potatoes, skis, old junk. The room was cold, the floor creaked on broken boards, damp seeped through the windows. It smelled of forgotten things.
He laid her carefully on a threadbare mattress covered with a faded blanket.
«You’re staying here,» he said dryly, avoiding her gaze. «It’s far too late to change anything now. You’re almost eighty, Mum.»
He turned and left, not letting her finish a sentence.
Shock didn’t strike instantly; it crept in slowly, inexorably. Lucy lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the cold gnawing her bones. She couldn’t understand why he behaved so. For what?
Fragments of her past flickered before her: pulling her son to school, scrubbing the floor at the local school, buying him a winter coat on credit, paying for his wedding when his inlaws refused»not suitable, not of the right circle.»
«I’ve always been on his side» she whispered, still unable to grasp what had happened.
She recalled Emma’s facealways cool, restrained, sharp as a blade. Never a word of thanks, never a visit without a reminder. Only once, on Annie’s birthday.
Now she lay in that cold pantry, feeling like a useless object. She didn’t know whether morning would ever come.
Each day made it clearer: something was terribly wrong. Paul came less oftenhe’d set a bowl of soup down without looking, then fled. Emma and Annie stopped appearing altogether.
Lucy felt life slipping away slowly. She stopped eating, only sipping water to keep from dying of thirst. Sleep eluded her; a throbbing back kept her awake. But the worst was the crushing loneliness, unbearable.
«Why?» she thought. «Why me? I loved him more than anyone. I gave him everything»
No answer camejust cold and emptiness.
One morning, as a thin sunbeam strained through the grimy window, she heard a soft, persistent knockdifferent from Paul’s heavy thuds.
«Whos there?» she whispered, her voice barely a breath.
The door creaked, and an elderly man in a worn coat stepped into the pantry. His silver beard brushed his chest, his face familiar yet unrecognised at first. He sat beside her, took her hand.
«It’s me, Michael» he whispered, sitting down close.
Lucy shivered. Michaelthe neighbour she had once loved, the man shed driven away because he didnt fit her familys expectations.
«Michael» she exhaled.
He said nothing, only squeezed her hand, then asked softly, «What happened to you, Lucy? Why are you here? Paul told me you were in a care home»
She tried to explain, but tears flooded her words. He understood without needing more. He pulled her into an embrace like years ago.
«Dont be afraid. Ill get you out of here.»
He lifted herlight as a featherand carried her into the daylight. Paul was gone, off to the city. Emma too. Only Annie peeked out a window before quickly disappearing.
Michael took her to his own cottage, laid her in a warm bed, tucked a fresh blanket over her. He brewed tea with honey, fed her like a child.
«Rest now. Ill call a doctor.»
The doctor arrived quickly, examined her, shook his head.
«Spinal fracture. Old. With proper treatment she might stand again. Shell need surgery and rehab.»
Michael nodded.
«Well do whatever it takes. Ill sell what I must to save her.»
Tears welled in Lucys eyes.
«Michael why? After everything»
He gave a sad smile.
«Because I love you. I always have. And I always will.»
She weptjoy, pain, the realization that life wasnt over.
Michael tended to her as if she were his own, feeding, washing, reading to her. He spoke of the years hed waited, hoping shed return.
«I always knew one day youd understand,» he said. «And Ill be here.»
A week later Paul returned, entered, and saw his mother not in the pantry but in a cosy bedroom.
«Mum how did you get up?» he stammered.
She looked at him coldly.
«She didnt get up. Michael carried her.»
Paul lowered his gaze.
«I I didnt expect this»
«Go, Paul. And dont come back.»
He left without a glance back. Emma and Annie never reappeared.
Lucy stayed with Michael. He became her pillarliterally and figuratively. He helped her onto walking frames, then a cane.
«Look, Lucy, I’m walking» she laughed, taking her first steps.
He wept with happiness.
One bright morning, sunlight spilling through the windows, she turned to him and said, «Thank you, Michael, for everything.»
He took her hand.
«The thanks is mine, for you coming back.»
They lived on, quietly, peacefully, in the love they’d longed for.
Lucy sat on a bench, basking in the sun. Her legs still ached, but she walkedslowly, steadily. Michael carved a wooden toy for Annie, who sometimes darted in, hiding from her mother.
«Do you think Paul will ever forgive?» she asked.
Michael shook his head.
«Dont think about him. Think about yourself. Youre alivethats what matters.»
She nodded, feeling, for the first time in ages, truly alive.
On the mantel sat a photo of a young Lucy and Michael, captioned, «Finally together.»
A month later Paul came back, slipping in without knocking. Lucy was at the table, sipping tea, Michael beside her.
«Mum we need to talk,» Paul began, avoiding Michaels eyes.
She stayed silent.
«Emma says youve gone mad. Says this old man has poisoned your mind.»
Michael rose, but Lucy placed a hand on his arm.
«Leave, Paul. You have no place here.»
He trembled.
«But Im your son!»
«You were. Now go.»
Paul stormed out, slamming the door. Lucy didnt cry; she simply squeezed Michaels hand tighter.
«Thank you for being here.»
He smiled.
«And thank you.»
Life moved forwardwithout Paul, but with love.
Annie returned a week later, sat on the bench, hugged her grandmother.
«Grandma, why is Daddy so angry?»
Lucy stroked her hair.
«Hes forgotten what love feels like. You wont forget, will you?»
Annie shook her head.
«No. I love you.»
«And I love you.»
Michael watched them, smiling. Life, he thought, sometimes breaks you, then mends you. The key is never to give up.
Lucy stood in the doorway, watching the road as the sun set, painting the sky pink. Michael came up, wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
«What are you thinking about?»
«That everything’s finally alright.»
He kissed her temple.
«Yes, Lucy. At last.»
Together they stepped inside, side by side, forever.
