So, this bloke called Edward Whitmoreproper loaded, like, one of those big-shot property developers in Londonwas having his usual day, swanning about in meetings, talking millions and mergers, you know the sort. But his massive house in Surrey? Dead quiet most of the time, ever since his wife, Charlotte, passed away five years back. Hed thrown himself into work to drown out the silence, leaving his kidsOliver and Emilymostly with their housekeeper, Margaret.
Now, Margaret wasnt one for fuss. Quiet as a mouse, just got on with thingstidying, cooking, keeping the place running while Edward was off making deals. To him, she was just part of the furniture, but to the kids? She was everything. Warm hugs, silly jokes, someone who actually listened.
Anyway, this one day, Edwards sitting in some dreary boardroom when out of nowhere, he gets this proper odd feelinglike, *Go home, mate.* At first, he brushes it offtoo much to do, innit? But the feeling wont budge, so for once, he packs up early.
When his Bentley rolls up the drive, hes expecting the usual quiet. But nahhe hears laughter. Proper belly laughs, the kids going mental. He follows the noise to the kitchen and just freezes.
The place is a right stateflour everywhere, icing splattered about, Oliver standing on a chair like a little chef bossing about, and Emily in absolute stitches. And theres Margaret, apron covered in mess, trying to keep a straight face while helping them decorate this wonky-looking cake.
Not just *serving* them. *Being* with them. Like a proper little family.
Edwards throat goes tight. Cant remember the last time the house felt like thisalive. Like back when Charlotte was still here. He hears her voice in his head, clear as day: *»Kids dont need fancy things, Ed. They need *you*.»*
Margaret spots him then, and the kids freeze, thinking theyre in trouble. But Edward just whispers, *»Ta, Margaret.»* She blinks, confused*»Sir?»*but before she can say more, Oliver and Emily barrel into him, hugging him proper tight. And for the first time in years, Edward proper cries.
That night, he stays home. They all eat togetherroast chicken, mash, the lotand the kids chatter away, filling him in on everything hes missed. And for once, he *listens*.
After that, things change. He starts coming home early, helping with homework, even attempts baking (disaster, but the kids love it). The house isnt just some posh show home anymoreits *lived in*. Drawings on the fridge, muddy shoes by the door, the smell of biscuits in the oven.
And Margaret? Shes not just the help anymore. Turns out she lost her own little boy years back, near Olivers age. Maybe thats why she loved his kids so fiercemending her heart while fixing theirs.
One evening, he finds her by the window after tucking the kids in. Moonlight on her face, all peaceful. *»Youve done more for them than I ever did,»* he says. She just smiles. *»Youre here now, Mr. Whitmore. Thats what matters.»*
Months later, he watches her spinning Emily round the living room, Oliver giggling as he tries to join in. The same room that used to feel like a museum, now full of life.
That one daythe day he came home earlychanged everything. He thought he was just knackered. Turns out, he was just lost.
But now? Hes home.
