**Diary Entry**
I still remember his voice, shaky and small, as he stood by the flower stall. “Sir, todays my mums birthday I want to buy flowers, but I havent got enough money” I bought him the bouquet. And later, when I visited the grave myself, I saw those same flowers resting there.
Oliver was barely four when his world shattered. His mother was gone. He stood in the corner of the room, bewilderedwhat was happening? Why were there so many strangers in the house? Why did everyone speak in hushed tones, avoiding his eyes? He didnt understand why people kept saying, “Be brave, little one,” as if hed lost something irreplaceable. But he hadnt lost anythinghe just couldnt see his mother.
His father was distant, always somewhere else, never speaking, never holding him. He just sat there, hollow. Oliver crept closer to the coffin and stared at her. She wasnt the sameno warmth, no smile, no bedtime stories. Just pale, still, gone. It frightened him, and he stepped back.
Life turned grey without her. Two years later, his father remarried. Eleanor never felt like family. She snapped at every little thing, always finding fault, as if she needed a reason to be cross. And his father said nothing. Didnt defend him. Didnt intervene.
Every day, Oliver carried a quiet ache insidethe pain of missing her. And with each passing year, he wished more desperately to go back to when she was still here.
Today was her birthday. The moment he woke, he knewhe had to see her. To take flowers to her grave. White liliesher favourite. He remembered them in old photographs, bright against her smile.
But how? He needed money. He hesitated, then asked his father.
“Dad, could I have some money? Just a littleI really need it.”
Before he could explain, Eleanor cut in sharply:
“What now? Always with the begging! Do you think money grows on trees?”
His father glanced up. “Ellie, let him speak. Whats it for, son?”
“Flowers. For Mum. White lilies. Its her birthday.”
Eleanor scoffed. “Flowers! As if weve money to waste. Pluck some from the gardenthatll do!”
“They dont grow there,” Oliver said softly. “Only at the florists.”
His father sighed, then turned back to his newspaper. Oliver understood. He wouldnt get a penny.
Upstairs, he dug out his old savings jar. Not much, but maybe enough? He hurried to the florist, heart pounding as he spotted the lilies in the windowwhite, pure, perfect.
The shopkeeper eyed him skeptically. “Lost, are you? No toys here, just flowers.”
“I want to buy lilies. How much are they?”
She named the price. His coins barely covered half.
“Please,” he begged. “Ill worksweep, clean, anything. Just let me take them today.”
“Are you mad?” she snapped. “Im not running a charity! Clear off before I call someone!”
Then a man stepped inJames. Hed heard enough.
“Whats all this shouting? Hes just a boy.”
The woman huffed. “None of your business! Hes trying to swindle me!”
James looked down at Oliver, who was wiping his eyes.
“Hey, lad. Whats this about?”
Olivers voice trembled. “I wanted lilies for my mum. Shes been gone three years. Todays her birthday.”
James felt his chest tighten. He crouched beside him. “Your mum would be proud of you. Not many remember like this.”
Then, to the florist: “Give me two bouquetsone for him, one for me.”
Oliver pointed to the lilies. James hesitatedodd, how fate worked.
Outside, Oliver hugged the flowers like treasure.
“Mr. James, Ill pay you back. I promise.”
James chuckled. “No need. Todays special for me too. Someone I care about loves these flowers.”
For a moment, he was lost in thought.
Years ago, he and Emily were neighbours. Theyd met by chancehed stepped in when some louts bothered her. Got a black eye for it, but it was worth it. They grew close, inseparable. Everyone said they were meant to be.
Then he was called up for service. Before he left, they spent one night together.
But an injury stole his memory. When he finally recovered, Emily was gone. Changed her number, moved on. He searched for years.
Now, back in town, bouquet in hand, hed hoped to find her. Instead, he met Oliver.
“Need a lift, lad?”
Oliver shook his head. “I know the bus.”
James watched him go, struck by an odd familiarity.
Later, he knocked on Emilys old door. A neighbour answered.
“Shes not here, love. Passed three years back.”
James staggered. “What?”
“Married William after you left. Had a son. But she never forgot you. Told the boy stories about you.”
Jamess breath caught. “A son?”
He rushed to the cemetery. And there, on Emilys gravefresh white lilies.
“Oliver,” he whispered. “My boy.”
Tears blurred his vision as he ran back to the park where Oliver sat alone.
William found them there. He didnt argue. “Take him. Hes yours.”
James held his son tightly.
Oliver looked up. “I knew youd come one day.”
James wept thenfor lost time, for love, for the family hed finally found.
“Im sorry I was late. But Ill never leave you again.”
