The Youngest Son
“Les, couldnt you skip this run? My hearts not at ease Ask someone to cover for you,” whispered Olivia, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.
“This run means good money. And we need it, Liv. Every pound counts these days,” replied Alex, pulling his wife into a hug and kissing her forehead, then the two noisy little girlstwins named Daisy and Poppy.
Olivia nodded silently. Her heart ached, but her mind knew he was right: their budget was hanging by a thread. Wiping her tears, she watched him leave and murmured, squeezing him tight, “Come back soon Well be waiting.”
The door closed behind Alex. Olivia clenched her fists, fed the girls, and took them out for a walk. The day passed surprisingly quietlyno tantrums, no fuss, as though even the children sensed something amiss.
Every evening at ten, theyd call, just like always. Olivia would tell him how much the girls missed him, how she was slowly stitching through her orders. Alex would laugh over the phone and promise, “Ill be home tomorrow, love.”
But home he never returned.
On the way back, his lorry collided with a truck speeding the wrong way. It all happened too fastno time to swerve. Alex died instantly.
That same night, the phone rang. Olivia, as if in a dream, picked upand her world crumbled.
She dragged herself to the neighbour, Auntie Nell, and begged her to watch the girls. Then she collapsed right on the doorstep. The doctors barely saved heran emergency C-section, complicated.
The newborn boy was weak, premature. He lacked his fathers strength, and his mother lacked a mans shoulder to lean on.
Olivia named him Alex, after her husband. When she left the hospital, she counted the money left. Enough for two months. After that theyd see.
Life became a fight for survival. Auntie Nell helped where she could. They had no close family. Olivia started sewing againfirst for neighbours, then, word of mouth brought in clients.
The girls went to school, little Alex to nursery. They were her hope, her anchor. But
She loved the girls more. Not that she hated the boyshe just couldnt look at him without pain. He grew more like his lost father every day. And each time she saw him, she felt shed failed to hold him back, to stop him
The boy was quiet, kind, thoughtful. He read, helped, never complained.
The girls got new clothes, hand-sewn doll dresses. Alex got patched-up hand-me-downs.
“Poor lad An orphan with a living mother,” sighed Auntie Nell, watching him wash dishes or tidy his sisters toys.
Time passed. The girls grew up, married, moved away. Only Alex and his mother remained.
He finished trade school and got a job as an engineer at the local sweets factory in Manchester. Olivias eyesight began to failsleepless nights, frayed nerves, years of loneliness had taken their toll.
Alex cared for her as best he could. He cooked, cleaned, took her for slow walks in the park. Shed whisper more often now, “Forgive me, son I didnt deserve your love. Live your lifeyoure still young.”
Hed just smile. “Itll happen, Mum. Ill have a wife, kids. Youll have time for grandchildren yet.”
And then she came. Lisa, plain and shy.
“Mum, Lisas staying with us. Shes got no one. Shes an orphan,” Alex said softly.
Three months later, they married. The girls came, with grandchildren and sons-in-lawthe whole family gathered. Olivia was happy, though her smiles grew thinner through the pain.
The diagnosis was grimcancer. She didnt have long, and she knew it.
But fate granted her one last joyshe held her first grandchild.
She left peacefully, a smile on her lips. Then her eyes closed for good, her hand gently squeezing that of the son whod loved her most.
