Return to Life
Karen hadn’t set foot in her sons flat for months. She didnt want to, she couldnt. The tears had long since dried up; grief had calcified into a dull, relentless ache that seemed to swallow any hint of hope.
Sam was twentyeight, healthy as a horse, never complained about his body. Hed finished university, held a steady job, hit the gym three times a week, and was seeing a girl. Two months ago he went to sleep and never woke.
When Sam was six, Karen divorced her husband, who was then thirty. The reason was simpleinfidelity, over and over. He stopped paying child support and vanished. Sam grew up without a father; Karens own parents stepped in.
There were suitors over the years, but she never gathered the courage for another marriage.
Karen worked hard. At first she rented a tiny kiosk in a town centre supermarket to sell spectacles and frames. She was an ophthalmologist. After a while she took out a loan, bought a modest shop, and turned it into a respectable Optics with her own consulting room. She fitted glasses, gave advice, built a reputation.
Last year they bought Sams first flata onebedroom on a quiet block in Manchester. They did a modest refurbishment. It could have been a home, if there had been a life inside it.
Dust lay thick on every surface. Karen grabbed a rag, pushed the sofa aside, and a phone fell out from beneath it. She fumbled for it, plugged it into the charger, and let the room settle into a heavy silence.
Later, tears brimming, she scrolled through the pictures on the phone: Sam at work, Sam on holiday with friends, Sam snuggling with his girlfriend. At the top of Viber, a message from an old university mate, Dennis, caught her eye. A photo attacheda young woman with a boy whose face was a deadon double of her little Sam.
Remember the New Years party at Lenas when we were still students? She had a friend who rented the flat opposite hers. I ran into her and the kidwhat a spitting image of your son! Sent the snap for old times sake, the text read, dated a week before the tragedy. So Sam had known this stranger and never mentioned it. The knot in Karens chest tightened.
She knew where Dennis lived. The next afternoon, after work, she drove to his house. The boy, Tommy, was racing a bicycle around the driveway, pleading for a turn. Karen knelt and asked, You dont have a bike of your own?
He shook his head.
A woman emerged, looking barely twentyone, her makeup bright but careless, scrunching the corners of her mouth. Who are you? she asked.
I think Im his grandmother, Karen replied, her voice steady.
Im Emily, the woman said, Mum of the boy. Nice to meet you.
Karen guided them to a nearby café. Tommy ordered icecream; Emily took a coffee. Over steaming mugs, Emily unfolded her story.
Six years ago shed left a small Yorkshire village at seventeen, trained as a seamstress. During the Christmas break Lena, a classmate, invited her to stay. Lenas parents were away visiting relatives. Lena was friends with Dennis, who had turned up that night with his mate Sam to celebrate.
That night Emily and Sam had a fling. Sam left his number, promising to call, but never did. When Emily discovered she was pregnant, she called Sam herself. He was furious, shouted at her, and handed her money to terminate the pregnancy, telling her to disappear from his life forever. She never saw him again.
Emily never finished her course; the dormitory kicked her out when she was pregnant. She could not return to her villageher mother had died long ago, her father and brother drowned in drink. She now rents a small room from an elderly widow, looks after the child while she works, and hands over almost every penny she earns. The local nursery is always full. She works in a private dumpling shop, modest pay, but enough to scrape by.
The following day Karen moved Emily and Tommy into Sams flat. A new chapter began for her.
Tommy was placed in a decent private nursery. Karen suddenly found herself buying clothes for both Emily and the boy, spending her evenings tangled in tiny socks and school uniforms. He mirrored Sam in every wayeyes, gestures, even his stubborn streak.
Karen took Emily under her wing. She taught her how to apply makeup without looking like a clown, how to dress smartly, how to keep a tidy home, how to cook simple meals. In short, she tried to give her the life shed never had.
One evening they sat together watching television. Tommy clutched Karens arm, pressed his cheek to her shoulder and whispered, Youre my favourite, Grandma.
In that instant Karen realized the crushing void that had haunted her for years was finally receding. Grief no longer sat on her chest like a lead weight. She felt, perhaps for the first time in ages, that she was back in a world that could hold joy. All because of that small, stubborn boy who had slipped into her life.
Two years later, Karen and Emily escorted Tommy to his first day of primary school. Emily now worked as Karens righthand woman, indispensable in the shop. Emily had found a steady boyfriend, keen on a serious relationship. Karen had no objections; life moved on.
It seemed Karen herself might soon walk down the aisle. An old, reliable friend had been urging her to settle down. Why not? At fiftyfour she was still attractive, independent, with a fit figure and a calm temperament. The future, once a bleak horizon, now glittered with possibility.
