Forever Returned
When her mother decided to remarry, Emily didn’t object. Her mum’s choice, a steady and kind-hearted man named William, had always been pleasant to her. He treated her mother with tenderness and care. Everything seemed fine, but fifteen-year-old Emily had one condition:
“Mum, I don’t mind you getting married—especially since Uncle Will is a good man. You’ll be lonely otherwise—I’ll be off to university soon anyway. But I’m moving in with Gran. I’ll live with her in the city.”
“What do you mean, with Gran? In the city? You’re only fifteen—you’re not even of age! How can I leave you unsupervised?” Her mother was adamantly against it.
“Mum, it’s not unsupervised—Gran raised you alone, didn’t she? She’ll look after me if you’re so worried. Besides, I’ve already spoken to her, and she’s happy for me to come.”
“I see. Everyone’s decided behind my back,” her mother said, torn between disappointment and resignation.
“Mum, trust me, it’ll be better for everyone. Uncle Will might be decent, but he’s still a stranger to me.”
Her mother sighed, lost in thought, when suddenly her phone rang. It was Gran—Margaret Anne.
“Hello, love. Have you sorted things with Emily? I really think she’d be better off with me. You know how much I adore my granddaughter—do you really think I can’t handle her now she’s nearly grown?”
“Yes, Mum, I know you adore her, but you understand—a mother’s heart…”
“Everything will be fine, don’t worry. I managed with you, didn’t I? Emily and I will be just fine together. I’ll take care of her.”
The call ended, and Emily, already packing her things, said cheerfully, “Mum, don’t fret—it’ll be brilliant!”
Margaret Anne wasn’t some frail old woman—she was sharp, a retired maths teacher. And Emily had a stubborn streak of her own. They had their little disagreements, but Margaret Anne was wise. She never let arguments escalate.
After a quarrel, Gran would come into Emily’s room at bedtime, stroke her curly hair, and tell her stories or silly tales. Emily would smile and drift off, her grievances forgotten. Sometimes, though, Emily made the first move, realising she’d been unfair. She’d buy Gran’s favourite chocolates, they’d share tea, and peace was restored.
They carried on like this until the day Emily decided to leave the city—her own choice. She’d graduated from university locally, found work, but the pay was meagre. Colleagues told her about a big company up in Scotland—great bosses, friendly colleagues, decent wages.
“Gran, please don’t be upset. I’m going far away, but we’ll always stay in touch.”
“Emily, love,” Gran said, stroking her hair, “must you really go so far? Can’t you find work here?”
“Gran, I’ve tried. First, there was the probation period, then they hired me at the lowest grade with barely enough to live on.”
“But you’ve only just graduated—experience takes time. And there’s no place like home.”
Emily wouldn’t budge. She wanted everything at once—exciting work, better pay. She packed her bags and left.
At first, luck was on her side. She landed a good job with a decent salary and even got a place in staff accommodation. Thrilled with her first pay cheque, she splurged on treats—even Gran’s favourite chocolates. But sipping tea alone that evening, a crushing loneliness set in. There was no one to share them with. The chocolates stayed untouched in the bowl.
Time passed. She called her mum and Gran almost daily—all seemed well. Emily saved carefully, dreaming of buying a car, even if it meant taking out a loan. But as they say, man proposes, God disposes…
One day, her mother called with devastating news: Gran had passed away.
“What? Mum, what happened?” Emily sobbed.
“Her heart, love. It was weak, but she kept it from us. I knew, but I never thought it’d happen so soon. She never complained.”
The loss was unbearable. In the taxi, tears streamed down Emily’s face.
“Are you alright? Can I help?” the driver asked.
“No, thank you. There’s nothing you can do,” she whispered, knowing she’d cry properly at home but unable to stop now.
“How could this happen?” she thought miserably. “I missed the funeral—my flight was delayed for hours because of fog… I never got to say goodbye.”
Standing at the door of the flat—now hers, as Gran had transferred it to her name—Emily hesitated before finally stepping inside. The silence was deafening.
“Maybe I should sell it,” she thought, sinking into her favourite armchair.
She remembered Gran greeting her with, “Emily, love, wash your hands—I’ll put the kettle on.”
Now, the flat was silent. The weight of it pressed on her. After a while, she pulled herself together, trying to decide what to do next. Her eyes fell on a photo on the sideboard—Gran and her, smiling. A lifetime ago.
Then—a faint sound. A squeak. Startled, she nearly bolted until a ginger face peeked out from the slightly ajar wardrobe door.
“Who are you?” she gasped as a cat darted out.
Then she remembered—Gran had mentioned adopting a stray that followed her home. She even recalled its name: Maisie, because it was May.
“Maisie!” Emily exclaimed. The cat rubbed against her legs before heading to the kitchen, glancing back as if inviting her. “Ah, you’re hungry.”
Confused, Emily wondered how the cat had been left alone—until she heard another tiny squeak. Maisie turned, jumped back into the wardrobe, and emerged with two scraggly ginger kittens.
“Goodness,” Emily murmured. “A whole family.” Maisie settled down to feed them.
“My word! What am I supposed to do with you?”
Realising Maisie had only recently given birth, Emily panicked—she knew nothing about kittens. She found a local vet’s number and called for help.
Soon, there was a knock at the door.
“Good evening—vet for the pet?”
A pleasant young man, slightly older than her, stood there.
“Yes, come in.” She led him to the kittens. “Here.”
“What’s happened? I’m Oliver, by the way.”
“The cat had kittens. They seem fine, but…” She explained about Gran, the missed funeral, and now this.
Oliver patiently taught her how to care for them—feeding, keeping them warm—even helping set up a cosy spot. He jotted down a shopping list, and Emily sighed in relief—Maisie would handle the feeding; she just needed to look after her.
Whether out of professional dedication or a growing fondness for Emily, Oliver discreetly took her number. The next morning, he called.
“How are your little charges? Mind if I pop round this evening to check on them?”
“They’re alright. Yes, please do.”
That evening, they strolled through the park. Oliver spoke passionately about animals, and Emily—who’d never considered herself a pet lover—found herself enthralled. Their friendship blossomed, and soon, Emily handed in her resignation.
Time flew. Oliver and Emily planned their wedding. She told her mother she’d visit soon to introduce her future son-in-law. After ordering a headstone for Gran, they visited the grave together.
“Forgive me, Gran. Maybe I shouldn’t have left. Maybe you’d still be here. But I’ve come back for good. And Oliver—we’re getting married.” She laid flowers, touched the photo on the stone, and left.
That night, Gran visited her in a dream. They stood in a field of daisies, warmth radiating from her smile.
“Thank you, love, for taking care of Maisie. You’ve always had a kind heart. Don’t grieve—I’m not cross. I loved you more than anything. Oliver will be a good husband—I know it. Be happy. I must go now—but you can’t come with me.”
Emily woke with a quiet peace in her heart. A new day dawned—in a week, she’d marry Oliver.
And in that moment, she understood: love doesn’t fade—it finds its way back, forever.
