Anna Peterson sat weeping on a hospital bench. Today was her 70th birthday, yet neither her son nor …

Mary Thompson was sitting alone on a bench in the hospital garden, quietly sobbing. Today was her 70th birthday, but neither her son nor her daughter had come to see her or called to wish her well.

At least her roommate, Dorothy Smith, remembered and gave her a small present, and the cleaner, Molly, offered her an apple to mark the occasion. The nursing home was respectable enough, but most of the staff kept to themselves, rarely showing much warmth.

Everyone knew the truth: older folks ended up there when their families no longer wanted the responsibility. Mary’s own son had brought her here, telling her she needed a bit of rest and care, but deep down she knew she was just in the way of his wife.

It had been her own flat, back in the day, until her son persuaded her to sign it over to him. He’d reassured her everything would stay the same, that shed still live there as always. But it didnt turn out that way; his family moved in straightaway, and the fights with her daughter-in-law started soon after. Nothing Mary did was good enoughthe food was wrong, she left the bathroom untidy, there was always something.

Her son used to stand up for her at first, but then he stopped, even started raising his voice himself. Soon, Mary noticed them whispering together, and every time she walked in, theyd fall silent.

One morning, her son broached the topic: she needed a break, some medical care. Looking straight at him, Mary asked bitterly, “Are you putting me in a care home, son?”

He flushed and shuffled his feet, stammering, “Of course not, Mum. Its just a convalescent home. Youll stay for a month, then come home.”

He brought her in, quickly signed the paperwork, and rushed off, promising to visit soon. He came once, with a couple of apples and oranges, asked how she was, and left before she could even finish a sentence.

That was two years ago now.

A month after arriving, seeing no sign of her son, Mary tried to call her own flat. Strangers answered. She found out hed sold the place, and now no one really knew where he was. After a few nights of tears, she realised nothing was going to change. There was little point in crying anymore. The hardest part was knowing she had hurt her daughter for the sake of her son.

Mary had grown up in a small English village and married Paul, a childhood friend. They had a big cottage and a small farm. They never had much, but always made do. Then a neighbour returned from London, painting stories of high wages and better lives. Paul got swept up by the idea, sold everything, and they moved to the city. The neighbour wasnt lyingthey were given a little council flat immediately. They furnished the place, bought an old Morris Minor. It was in that very car Paul had his accident.

He died in hospital two days later.

After the funeral, Mary was left to raise two children alone. She scrubbed stairwells in the evenings to make ends meet, thinking one day the children would help out. But life didnt work out that way.

Her son got mixed up in trouble with the law, and Mary borrowed money to keep him out of prison, then spent two years paying off the debt. Later, her daughter, Alice, married and had a child. Everything seemed alright until her son-in-law grew ill. Alice needed to quit her job to care for him, and doctors couldnt figure out what was wrong for the longest time.

Eventually, they found a rare illness that could only be treated at a specialist hospital, but there was a long waiting list. While Alice dashed from one hospital to another, her husband left her. At least hed left her the flat behind. Somewhere along the way, Alice met a widower whose own daughter had the same illness. They grew close and lived together. After five years, the widower grew ill and needed money for an operation.

Mary had some savings, which shed planned to give her son for a down payment on his own place. When Alice asked for help, Mary couldnt bear to use her hard-earned money for what she thought of as a stranger, reasoning her sons needs were more important. She refused. Her daughter was devastated and told her mother never to come to her for anything again.

They hadnt spoken in twenty years.

Alice nursed her partner back to health, and together with their children, moved to the coast. Mary sometimes wished she could turn back time and make other choices, but the past cant be changed.

Slowly, Mary rose from the bench and wandered back towards the nursing home. Suddenly, she heard a voice:

“Mum!”

Her heart leapt. She turned around slowly. There stood her daughterAlice. Her legs nearly gave way but Alice rushed forward and caught her.

“At last Ive found you, Mum My brother wouldnt give me your address. He only told me when I said Id take him to court for selling the flat.”

They walked into the foyer and sat down together.

“Im so sorry it took me this long,” Alice said. “At first I was angry, then Id put it off, felt ashamed. But last week, you appeared to me in a dream, walking alone in a forest and crying.

“I woke up with such a heavy heart. I told my husband, and he said, well, go ongo make it right. I went to your old flatstrangers answered the doorbut I hunted and hunted until I found your address. And here I am. Pack your things, youre coming with me. Our house is right on the coast, big and bright. My husband says, if your mother ever needs help, bring her home to us.”

Mary clung to her daughter and wept, but these were tears of happiness.

Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee. I have learned, perhaps much too late, that holding on to pride and old regrets only brings loneliness. In the end, forgiveness is a gift we can offer each other, and it can change everything.