Who Are You Here For?” – Mary Fitzgerald and Nicholas Step Onto the Porch, Eyeing the Stranger. “I’m Here for Mary Fitzgerald! I’m Her Granddaughter—Her Great-Granddaughter, to Be Exact. The Daughter of Alex, Mary’s Eldest Son.

**Diary Entry**

*Spring has finally arrived.* The sun warmed the old wooden bench where Margaret Whitmore sat, her face turned toward the light. She let out a slow breathanother winter survived. God alone knew how shed made it through. She wasnt afraid of death anymore. If anything, she welcomed it. The savings were tucked away, the funeral clothes bought. Nothing kept her here now.

Once, shed had a full life. A husband, Edward Whitmorea tall, sturdy manand four children: three boys and a girl. Theyd been close, rarely arguing, always helping one another. But one by one, the children grew up and scattered. The eldest two went off to university, then moved to different cities for work. The middle boy, never much for school, built a successful business that took him abroad. The daughter? She flew to London, married, and never looked back.

At first, the children visited often. Letters came weekly, then, with mobile phones, calls replaced the post. Grandchildren arrived, and Margaret would pack her worn suitcase to stay with one family or another, helping where she could. But as the grandchildren grew, the calls dwindled. Visits became raretoo busy with jobs, their own children, their own lives.

The last time theyd all gathered was for Edwards funeral. A strong man, shed thought hed live forever. How wrong shed been. After the burial, they drifted away again, until even the calls stopped. She tried ringing them herself but soon gave up. The last ten years had been quiet, save for the occasional phone call that left her smiling for a week.

One afternoon, as she sat lost in thought, a voice startled her.

“Afternoon, Aunt Margaret!” A young man stood at the gate, grinning. “Remember me?”

She squinted. “Nicholas? Is that really you?”

“Course it is!” He stepped into the yard.

Nicholas was the neighbours boyalways hungry, always in need. His parents drank more than they worked, so Margaret had fed him, clothed him, let him sleep on her sofa when his own home was too loud. When his parents died, hed been taken away, and shed missed him terribly.

“Whereve you been all this time?” she asked, delighted.

“Childrens home, then the army, then college. Now Im backready to make something of this village.”

Margaret sighed. “Whats left to save? Everyones gone.”

“Not me,” he said firmly.

And just like that, her life changed. Nicholas found work with Old Thompson, the villages biggest farmer. In his spare time, he fixed up his parents derelict cottage and helped Margaret with chores. She doted on him like a son. Three happy years passed.

Then one day, he looked uneasy. “Ive got to go, Aunt Margaret. Thompsons not paying what he promised. Ill find work elsewhere.”

“Go, then. No hard feelings.”

And she was alone again. Some days, the loneliness ached. She waited, counting the days, yet something still held her here.

Then

“Hello, Aunt Margaret!”

She turned, heart leaping. Nicholas stood at the gate, taller now, well-dressed.

“Im back for good!”

Tea was poured into her best china cups, the ones kept for special occasions. They talked for hours.

“Id nearly given up,” she admitted, wiping her eyes.

“Dont even think it,” he scolded gently. “Were going to make this place shine.”

A sharp voice interrupted.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

A girl in a smart coat and heels stood in the yard.

“Whore you after?” Margaret called.

“You! Im your great-granddaughterEmily. Granddad George sent me. He said if I lived here a few months, Id hate the countryside and run back to London.” She laughed. “Ive been calling, but your phones off.”

Margaret and Nicholas exchanged glances. “Come in, then.”

Emily stayed a month, digging up the neglected garden, planting seedlings, chatting with the neighbours. Nicholas, meanwhile, started building a proper farm with the money hed saved. Workers patched Margarets roof, installed proper heating.

Margaret hadnt smiled so much in years.

But when Emily packed to leave, Margaret fretted. “Wholl tend the garden?”

“Nicholas will water it,” Emily said. “And Ill be back to weed it.”

“Youre coming back?”

“Of course! Nicholas proposed. Weddings in autumncant leave my farmer behind!”

A year later, Margaret rocked a pram in the sun, watching her great-great-grandson sleep. Emily and Nicholas were at the farm, thriving.

She smiled. *Not yet. They still need me.*

**Final Thought:** Love finds its way back, even when you think youre forgotten. Hold ontheres always someone waiting to fill the empty spaces.