“Sir, todays my mums birthday I want to buy flowers, but I havent got enough money” The man bought the boy a bouquet. Later, when he visited the grave, he saw that same bouquet lying there.
When Oliver was barely five, his world shattered. His mother was gone. He stood in the corner of the room, bewilderedwhy was the house full of strangers? Why did everyone speak in hushed tones, avoiding his gaze? He didnt understand why they kept saying, “Be brave, lad,” as if something terrible had happened. He just hadnt seen his mum.
His father was distant, locked in his own grief. He didnt speak, didnt comfort. He just sat, hollow-eyed, lost in silence. Oliver crept toward the coffin and stared. She wasnt the sameno warmth, no soft lullabies. Just cold, pale stillness. It terrified him, and he stepped back.
Without her, life turned grey. Empty. Two years later, his father remarried. The new woman, Margaret, had no patience for him. She snapped over every little thing, as if he were a burden. His father stayed silent, never stepping in.
Every day, Oliver carried a quiet achethe weight of loss, the longing for what had been.
Today was her birthday. He woke with one thought: he had to see her. To bring flowers. White liliesher favourite. He remembered them in old photos, bright against her smile.
But how? He gathered his courage and asked his father.
“Dad could I have some money? I really need”
Before he could finish, Margaret cut in.
“Money? Again? Have you any idea how hard your father works?”
His father looked up. “Margaret, let him speak. What do you need, son?”
“Flowers for Mum. White lilies. Its her birthday today.”
Margaret scoffed. “Oh, perfect! Flowers! Why not a fancy dinner while youre at it? Pluck some daisies from the gardenthatll do!”
“They dont grow here,” Oliver said quietly. “Only at the florist.”
His father sighed, then turned back to his newspaper. The message was clearno help would come.
Oliver went to his room, dug out his old piggy bank, and counted the coins. Not enough. But maybe close?
He ran to the florist, heart pounding. There they weregleaming white lilies in the window. Perfect.
“Can I help you?” The shopkeeper eyed him with suspicion. “We dont sell sweets here.”
“II want lilies. How much are they?”
The price was more than he had. He swallowed hard. “Please Ill work for them. Sweep, cleananything.”
The woman scoffed. “Think Im made of money? Off with you before I call someone!”
A man stepped in just then, frowning at the scene. “Whats all this shouting?”
“None of your business!” the shopkeeper snapped.
The man turned to Oliver. “Whats wrong, lad?”
Oliver wiped his eyes. “I wanted lilies for my mum. Shes gone. Todays her birthday.”
The mans expression softened. He crouched down. “Your mum would be proud of you.” Then to the shopkeeper: “Ill take two bouquets. One for him, one for me.”
Oliver clutched the lilies like treasure. “Sir Ill pay you back. I promise.”
The man chuckled. “No need. Todays special for me too. My Emily loved these flowers.”
For a moment, he looked distant, lost in memory.
Years ago, he and Emily were inseparable. Childhood sweethearts. But when he joined the army, everything changed. An injury stole his memory. By the time it returned, Emily had moved onmarried, with a child. Heartbroken, he left town.
Now, years later, he was back, lilies in hand, hoping to find her.
After Oliver left, the man went to Emilys old street. An elderly neighbour shook her head. “Shes gone, love. Three years now.”
His heart stopped. “What?”
“Married Richard. Had a son. Then she passed.”
A cold realisation struck him. “A son?”
If Emily had been pregnant when she married
He raced to the cemetery. There, on Emilys grave, lay fresh white lilies.
“Oliver,” he whispered.
He ran back, found the boy on the swings. A manRichardwatched from the doorway.
“Youre James, arent you?” Richard said quietly. “I always knew youd come. Hes your son.”
James knelt before Oliver, tears in his eyes. “Im so sorry I wasnt here.”
Oliver looked at him, calm. “Mum told me about you. I knew youd come one day.”
James pulled him close, holding on as if hed never let go. “Im here now. And Im never leaving you again.”
