A Parent’s Heart: A Story Thank you for your support, your likes, shares, heartfelt comments on my stories, subscriptions, and an especially HUGE thank you from me and my five feline friends for your donations. Please keep sharing your favourite stories on social media — it means the world to this author! “You seem a bit gloomy this morning. Not even a smile? Come on, let’s have breakfast.” Her husband ambled into the kitchen, stretching sleepily — at last, it was Saturday. The aroma of frying eggs and bacon filled the air as his wife poured the tea. She slapped most of the eggs onto his plate and added a slice of bread — “Eat up, and don’t be shy with that fork!” “Did I do something wrong, Natasha?” Arkady asked gently. “We both did, really — we raised our children all wrong,” replied Natalie, sitting down next to him, picking at her breakfast with little appetite. “Our daughter and son have grown up; we went without so much to raise them back then, supported them however we could — but who supports us now, even with a kind word? All they do is complain about life being dull or running short on money. Both Sveta and Dima are always whining.” “Where’s this coming from?” Arkady finished his eggs, happily buttering a warm piece of bread and slathering it with jam. “That’s easy for you — they tell all this to me, their mum! Yesterday Dima wanted to take his family bowling and asked for money till payday. I lost my temper and told him no. He took it to heart. And before that, Sveta called — her singing career’s not panning out and she’s in a rotten mood. Honestly, if she loves singing, she could do it for the joy of it, but she needs to work too! She wants to earn her living as a singer, but it’s just not happening. Some people just aren’t meant to—time to face it and find a real job! And another thing — as kids, she and Dima were inseparable, but now it’s like they don’t even speak to each other!” Natalie pushed aside her cold eggs and reached for her tea. “Don’t get so wound up about it all — it’ll work out. We were young once too, remember?” Arkady tried to comfort her, but it only riled her more. “Oh, Arkasha, you remember! We lived within our means and were grateful for what we had. Dima was born, such happiness! A friend gave us the pram and cot, my sister handed down all the baby things. All secondhand, but good as new — babies grow so fast. And we were happy! When we bought our first little car, we felt like millionaires! But for ours, if they haven’t been abroad, their life’s not worth living — how did we raise them this way?” “Times have changed, Nat. There are so many temptations these days, and they’re young. Give them time, they’ll figure it out.” “I just hope it’s not too late — life goes so quickly, Arkady. Sometimes I look in the mirror and can’t believe it’s me—already a grandmother. And you’re a granddad…” Their conversation was interrupted by the phone — Dima’s number flashed up. “Here we go again,” Natalie sighed, but as she listened, her eyes grew wide and she jumped up. “Arkady, quick — get dressed! Dima’s in hospital, his neighbour from the ward called me!” “What’s happened?” Arkady leapt up, gathering his things. “I didn’t quite catch it — a grinder slipped and sliced his hand… They’re trying to save his wrist, hopefully it’s okay! Oh, what now? Let’s hurry!” Throwing on their coats, the not-so-young but not-yet-old parents rushed out, hearts pounding. As they dashed through the chilly air, Svetlana rang — “Mum, mind if I pop by later?” “Of course, sweetheart — we should be back by lunch,” Natalie puffed down the phone and ran after Arkady to the bus stop. At the hospital, a nurse reassured them — the hand was saved, but they’d have to wait in the lobby. “I’m not leaving till I see my boy,” Natalie declared, sitting firmly on a bench; Arkady sat beside her. Suddenly, Svetlana burst in and threw her arms around them. “Mum, Dad, why so worried? Dima’s going to be fine. He was helping someone fix their car after hours — the bolts didn’t want to budge and the grinder slipped. He’s all stitched up, his fingers move — honestly you both look worse than him!” “How do you know?” Natalie managed. “We’re always messaging. Dima, me, and Lena — his wife — we look out for each other, what’s wrong with that?” “We thought you two hardly spoke,” Arkady explained. “Oh, Dad, you and Mum are so strong, always coping with everything. We try not to give you extra worries. And you both look young, so we want you to finally enjoy life for yourselves now.” “That’s what you were thinking?” Natalie grinned, shaking her head. “I was sure you didn’t care about us at all.” “Mum, you two are made of steel. We try to be like you, even if we don’t always get it right, but we’re trying — you do know that?” The worry began to melt from their faces. “Oh — and Mum, Dad, I got a new job! And my singing? People invite me to all sorts of places — nurseries, care homes. I sang for an elderly home yesterday, and they loved it! One lady cried — her own daughter’s a famous singer, but always away performing, so she put her mother in the home. It broke my heart.” Sveta hugged her parents tightly. “We love you — you do know that?” A nurse told them they could visit Dima briefly. Natalie nearly burst into tears at the door, but Dima calmly said, “Mum, relax, it’s over now. Dad, remember when you found those wasps in the old garage and got stung so badly you ended up in hospital? These things happen. When I’m out, you must come to ours for New Year’s — it’s about time we all got together properly. Sveta says she wants to bring her boyfriend to meet you at last, too.” On the way home, Natalie and Arkady chose to walk, enjoying the chance to talk. Not quite old, not quite young — but always, always parents. Oh, this parent’s heart — it always aches for its children. It feels like other people’s kids never struggle, and you want your own to be the best, to get it right, to listen to their mum and dad. But they must find their own path — wherever it leads. And no matter what, our children are good children. After all, they’re ours.

A Parents Heart

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Why the gloomy face this morning? Not even a hint of a smile. Come now, lets have some breakfast.

Sam sauntered sleepily into the kitchen, stretching in that aimless way that only a Saturday can bring.

The aroma of sizzling eggs and rashers hung in the air, while his wife poured tea into the mugs. She thunked a brimming half of the eggs onto his plate, tossed a thick slab of bread next to it, Tuck in, use your fork!

Did I put a foot wrong, Margaret? Sam asked lightly.

Oh, we both have, Sam, Margaret replied, settling at the table and half-heartedly poking at her own breakfast. Its the way we raised the children. Grace and Ben, fully grown now, and we shrank our own wishes for years to raise them, you remember the times. Always tried to help them. But who ever helps us, even with a kind word now? Its always some problemtheyre bored with life, or short on money. All I hear from Grace and Ben is complaint.

What gave you that idea? Sam finished his eggs, cheerfully buttering a fresh crusty slice and slathering it with strawberry jam.

Easy for you to sayits me they write to, you know, their mother! Ben wanted fifty quid till payday yesterdaythey fancied an evening at the bowling alley. I put my foot down and he sulked for hours. And Grace rang first, upset because her dreams of singing for a living arent going anywhere. Her mood was foul. Lovely to sing for pleasure, I said, but someones got to pay the bills! She wants gigs and fame, but it hasnt worked out. Not everyone gets to be a startime to settle into a proper job! And to think, she and Ben got on so well when they were little. Now, barely a word passes between them.

Margaret pushed away her untouched eggs and sipped her tea.

Oh love, dont fret so. Itll sort itself out. We were young onceremember? Sam tried to soothe her, though his words stoked the fire instead.

You talk! We made do with what we had and were glad for it. When Ben was born, we had hand-me-downs for prams and cotsmy mate Linda, my sister Alice sorted us out with everything from vests to sleepsuits from her eldest. All gently worn, but new in our eyeskids grow like weeds anyhow. We were content. Getting our hands on that old Ford Escortdo you remember?it felt like pure luxury. Built a little pebble-dashed garage for it by the house, felt right posh! But our two, if they dont jet off to Spain or somewhere, its as though their life means nothing. What did we teach them?

Its a different world now, Margeso many distractions and temptations. Give them time to see sense.

Lets just hope its not too late. In chasing shiny things, will they wind up with nothing? Sometimes I hardly know myself in the mirrorhow did I become a grandmother? And you, a granddad…

The phone cut through her words, the tune high and shrill. Bens name flashed on the screen.

See, what now? Margarets finger hovered, then she quickly answered. As she listened, her eyes grew wide. Suddenly, she leapt from the chair.

Sam! Quick, get dressedBens been hurt, hes at St. Marys! His neighbour called from the ward.

What happened? Sam was up in a flash, wrestling with his jumper.

Im not entirely surehe was using an angle grinder for a side job, disc went, gashed his wrist. Theyre trying to save his hand, Sam. Oh dear Lord, let him be alright! She clutched her coat with trembling hands as they rushed out, no longer young, yet no longer truly oldthe anxious parents.

They hurried, thoughts scattered, towards the hospital and their boy…

On the way, Grace rang, Mum, Ill pop by later for lunch, is that alright?

Yes, love, we should be back by then, Margaret gasped, not waiting for more before hurrying after Sam to the bus stop…

At the hospital, the staff reassured them. Bens hand had been saved, but they couldnt visit just yet.

Im not moving until I see him, Margaret declared, planting herself in the yellow-glow of the waiting room. Sam, steady, sat beside her.

Suddenly Grace burst through the doors and dashed to her parents.

Mum, Dad, why the long faces? Its all sorted. Ben was fixing up someones car last night, went a bit pear-shaped, but hes fine. They stitched him up, his fingers are movinghes already told me! And Mum, you both look dreadful, you know.

How do you know? Margaret stammered.

Ben and I always chat onlineand with his wife, Emma, too. Weve always helped each other, whats the harm?

But, Sam tried to explain, We thought you never spoke. You keep us in the dark.

Oh Dad! You two are so strong, so capableyou always sort everything out. We spare you all the bother, so you can, you know, actually enjoy yourselves at last! Grace grinned, You both still look young, dont let anyone say differentwe keep our troubles to ourselves for your sake.

I honestly thought you didnt care if we existed! Margaret managed a lopsided smile.

No, Mum! Its justyour lot, the older lot, so resilient. We try to live up to you, even if we mess it up most days.

Their parents smiles were shyer now; the clouds had shifted.

Mum, Dad, one more thingI landed a proper job! And guess what? I still singpeople ask me to perform at all sorts: nurseries, care homes. Yesterday, I sang at the old folks home, and they applauded! One dear soul criedher own daughters a famous singer but always off on tour, left her mum behind…

Grace hugged them both, We really do love you, you know. Ben and I both.

A nurse soon called them in for a short visit. Margaret nearly wept, but Ben was calm.

Mum, Dadits alright now. The worst is over. You remember when that wasps nest appeared in our garage, Dad? You landed in A&Eclose call, wasnt it? Odd things happen. Once Im out, you must all come over for New Years. We see so little of each other these days. And Grace wants you to meet her new boyfriendhasnt told you yet!

The walk home was a slow ambleby choice, for the air and the time.

No longer young, not so old eitherthe parents, steady and alone.

Ah, the parents heart, always aching for their children. Always suspecting that other families are simpler, always wishing their own would turn out better, to follow the straight path, to mind their parents words.

But in the end, the children wander their own roads, rough and bright and muddled. And no matter what, they are good children, for they are ours…