Sir, its my mums birthday today I want to buy flowers, but I havent got enough money I bought the boy a bouquet. And some time later, when I visited the grave, I saw that very bouquet lying there.
When Oliver was just four years old, his world fell apart. His mother was gone. He stood in the corner of the room, bewilderedwhat was happening? Why was the house full of strangers? Who were they? Why was everyone so quiet, so odd, murmuring in low voices and avoiding his gaze?
The boy didnt understand why no one smiled. Why they said things like, “Be brave, little chap,” and hugged him as if hed lost something irreplaceable. But he hadnt lost anythinghe just hadnt seen his mother.
His father was distant all day, never coming near, never holding him, never speaking. He just sat apart, hollow and absent. Oliver crept to the coffin and stared at his mother for a long time. She wasnt like herselfno warmth, no smile, no bedtime stories. Pale, cold, still. It frightened him, and he didnt dare move closer.
Without her, everything turned grey. Empty. Two years later, his father remarried. The new womanMargaretnever became part of his world. Instead, she seemed irritated by him, always finding fault, as if searching for reasons to be cross. His father stayed silent. Never defended him. Never stepped in.
Every day, Oliver carried a hidden ache inside. The pain of loss. The longing. And with each passing day, he wished more fiercely to return to the time when his mother was alive.
Today was specialher birthday. He woke with one thought: he had to see her. At the grave. With flowers. White liliesher favourite. He remembered them in old photographs, bright in her hands, glowing beside her smile.
But how to get the money? He decided to ask his father.
“Dad, can I have a bit of money? I really need it”
Before he could explain, Margaret swept in from the kitchen:
“Whats this now? Begging for money already? Do you even know how hard it is to earn a wage?”
His father glanced up, trying to intervene:
“Margaret, wait. He hasnt said why yet. Son, what do you need?”
“I want to buy flowers for Mum. White lilies. Its her birthday today”
Margaret scoffed, crossing her arms:
“Oh, brilliant! Flowers! Money for them! Why not demand a fancy meal while youre at it? Pluck some from the gardenthatll do!”
“Theyre not there,” Oliver said quietly but firmly. “They only sell them in the shop.”
His father studied him, then turned to his wife:
“Margaret, go finish lunch. Im hungry.”
She huffed and vanished into the kitchen. His father went back to his paper. Oliver understoodno money was coming. Not another word was spoken.
He slipped to his room, dug out an old piggy bank, and counted the coins. Not much. But maybe enough?
Without hesitating, he dashed to the flower shop. Through the window, he spotted the snowy lilies, almost glowing. He froze, breath caught in his throat.
Then he stepped inside.
“What dyou want?” the shopkeeper snapped, eyeing him with suspicion. “We dont sell toys or sweets here. Just flowers.”
“Im not messing about I need to buy some. Lilies. How much for a bunch?”
She named the price. Oliver emptied his pockets. Barely half.
“Please,” he begged. “Ill work! Sweep, dust, scrub floorsanything. Just lend me the flowers”
“Are you mad?” she barked. “Think Im made of money? Clear off before I call the police!”
Oliver didnt budge. He needed those flowers. He pleaded again:
“Ill pay it all back! I swear! Pleasejust understand”
“Little beggar!” she shrieked, loud enough for passersby to turn. “Where are your parents? Ought to call social services! Last warningout!”
Just then, a man stepped into the shop, catching the tail end of the scene. He couldnt stand injustice, especially not toward a child.
“Why shout at him like that?” he said sternly. “Hes just a boy.”
“And whore you?” the woman snapped. “If you dont know the situation, keep out of it. He nearly nicked a bouquet!”
“Nearly nicked?” the man retorted. “Youre tearing into him like a bulldog! He needs help, not threats. Got no heart?”
He turned to Oliver, who stood small in the corner, wiping his cheeks.
“Alright, mate? Im James. Whats the trouble? Wanted flowers but short on cash?”
Oliver sniffled, rubbing his sleeve across his nose.
“Wanted lilies For Mum She loved them But shes been gone three years Todays her birthday Wanted to take some to the cemetery”
James felt his chest tighten. The boys words struck deep. He crouched beside him.
“Your mumd be proud of you. Not many lads your age remember like this. Youll grow up right.”
Then to the shopkeeper:
“Show me the lilies he picked. Ill take two bunchesone for him, one for me.”
Oliver pointed to the window, where the white lilies shone like porcelain. James hesitatedthose were the very flowers hed meant to buy. Odd, he thought. Coincidence?
Soon, Oliver left with his precious bouquet, clutching it like treasure. He turned to James shyly:
“Mr. James Can I give you my number? Ill pay you back. Promise.”
James chuckled.
“Knew youd say that. But no need. Todays special for someone dear to me too. Been waiting to tell her how I feel. So Im in a generous mood. Besidesseems weve got the same taste. Your mum and my Emily both loved these.”
For a moment, he drifted into memory.
He and Emily had been neighbours, living across the landing. Theyd met by chanceshed been cornered by thugs one night, and James had stepped in. Hed taken a black eye, but it was worth itthat was the start.
Years passed. Friendship turned to love. Everyone said they were perfect.
At eighteen, James was drafted. Emily was devastated. The night before he left, theyd been together for the first time.
All was well until a head injury in service wiped his memory clean. He woke in hospital, not even knowing his name.
Emily tried calling, but his phone stayed silent. She suffered, thinking hed abandoned her. Eventually, she changed her number, tried to move on.
Months later, fragments returned. Emily surfaced in his mind. He called, but no answer. He never knew his parents had lied, telling her hed left her.
Returning home, James bought lilies, eager to surprise her. But what he saw shattered himEmily, arm in arm with another man, pregnant, radiant.
Heartbroken, he fled without a word. That night, he left for another city, started anew. Married, hoping to forget, but it didnt last.
Eight years passed. One day, he couldnt bear the emptiness. He had to find Emily. Had to explain. And now here he was, back in his hometown, lilies in handand this boy, Oliver, standing before him.
“Oliver yes, Oliver!” James snapped back to the present. The boy waited patiently.
“Need a lift, son?” James offered gently.
“No thanks,” Oliver replied politely. “I know the bus. Been to Mum before Not my first time.”
With that, he hugged the bouquet and hurried to the stop. James watched him go, struck by an odd familiarity, as if their meeting wasnt chance.
When Oliver was gone, James headed to Emilys old street. His heart hammered as he knocked, asking a neighbour if she still lived there.
“Oh, love,” the woman sighed. “Shes not here Passed three years back.”
“What?” James staggered.
“After marrying David, she moved in with him. Good man, took her in while she was expecting. They were happy. Had a son. Then well. Thats all I know, dear.”
James left numb, drowning in regret.
“Why did I wait? Why not come back sooner?”
Then the neighbours words echoed: “expecting”
“Wait. If she was pregnant when she married David that child could be mine?”
His head spun. Somewhere in this city, his son might be living. A fire lit inside himhe had to find him. But first, he had to see Emily.
At the cemetery, he found her grave swiftly. Pain, love, regret crashed over him. But what shook him most was what lay on the stonefresh white lilies. The very same.
“Oliver” James whispered. “Its you.
