**A Mother’s Bittersweet Celebration**
The evening in the cosy town of Winchester was wrapped in an autumnal chill. Eleanor Whitmore, glowing with joy, greeted her children—Philip and Victoria—at the doorstep of her modest flat. They had come to wish her a happy birthday, and her heart fluttered with relief: they hadn’t forgotten.
“Mum, here’s a little something from us,” Victoria smiled, offering a box tied with a satin ribbon.
“Oh, thank you, my dears!” Eleanor clasped her hands, eyes shimmering with tears. “Come in, the table’s set—let’s go through to the lounge!”
The children followed her into the sitting room, where a spread lay waiting. Eleanor gestured proudly. “Help yourselves, my loves! I made everything just for you.”
Philip and Victoria froze, their expressions clouding.
“Here we are, Whiskers!” Eleanor gently set down her elderly cat, who had moved with her to the new flat. “You go first, as is right.”
The frail tabby stepped hesitantly onto the hardwood floor, sniffing the unfamiliar space. Eleanor busied herself unpacking boxes from her old home, pausing now and then to catch her breath—there was no one to help. Finally done, she sat by the window, lost in thought.
“Tomorrow I’ll meet the neighbours. Pray they’re kind, not the quarrelsome sort. Best sleep on it—morning’s wiser than evening,” she decided.
Recently retired after decades at a textile mill, Eleanor had been given a modest farewell—a photo album and warm words from colleagues. But as often happens, they soon forgot her.
Now she lived in a two-bedroom flat left by her late husband. Philip and Victoria had their own lives, and Whiskers, dozing on the sill, was her only companion. The children visited rarely, but Eleanor didn’t complain. Her husband’s library filled her evenings, and she lost herself in books.
Then came trouble. The flat was too costly—skyrocketing bills, service charges, repairs. Her pension vanished before she could blink. No matter how she scrimped, it wasn’t enough.
“I’ll ask the children—they’ll inherit this place someday. Let them chip in.”
She called Philip, her successful garage owner, hopeful he’d understand. He frowned, rubbing his chin.
“Mum, terrible timing. Every penny’s tied up in the business. Maybe later? Try budgeting better—your pension’s decent.”
She didn’t explain she sometimes skipped meals. She just sighed.
Next, she called Victoria.
“Mum, money? The kids need clothes, food, tuition! We’re barely managing!”
Knowing Victoria had just bragged about new furniture, Eleanor bit her tongue. “Thanks for the advice, love. I’ll try.”
Hanging up, she steeled herself. “Right. I’m on my own.”
She started a ledger, jotting every pence, wincing if she overspent. Lights stayed off unless vital; she read by daylight, saved water, hunted bargains.
The children visited even less.
But for her birthday, they came together. Eleanor was over the moon. After handing her a boxed set of cheap china, they sat at a table set with love—if not luxury.
“Dig in! Roast potatoes with parsley, fish goujons, pickled cabbage salad. For pudding, oat biscuits and tea.”
Philip scowled. “This is it? Where’s your famous pie?”
“Mum, really?” Victoria added. “Aren’t you glad we came?”
“Don’t be absurd!” Eleanor’s voice wavered. “I’m thrilled! But I can’t afford luxuries—this *is* my feast. Sit down!”
“Let’s order pizza, sushi—have a proper meal,” Philip said, pulling out champagne.
“I’ve no spare cash,” Victoria shrugged.
“We eat what’s here!” Eleanor snapped.
“No thanks—this is café grub,” Philip said, slamming the door.
Victoria muttered about errands and left with a peck on the cheek.
Alone, Eleanor stared at the lovingly laid table and chuckled bitterly.
“Well, Whiskers, shall we indulge? Champagne’s waiting!”
She poured a glass. The cat dozed; the potatoes cooled. Silence hung thick, but inside, a storm raged.
Weeks later, Victoria’s phone rang. Philip.
“Heard the news? Mum’s selling the flat—moving to the countryside! Some old biddies talked her into it. Call her, stop her—she won’t listen to me.”
“I’m on my way!” Victoria cried.
But neither alone nor together could they sway her. Eleanor sold the flat for a tidy sum and, without regret, left for a cottage, Whiskers in tow.
The next day, she met the neighbours. The closest, a sturdy widower named George, welcomed her warmly.
“You’ll love it here! Woods, river, a bit of garden. Need help—I’m next door!”
Eleanor smiled. She liked him immediately.
“Come for tea tonight?” she invited, then explored the village.
The neighbours were kind—offering help, sharing produce. Eleanor was touched.
She and George grew close. He fixed her fence, built flower beds; she baked him pies, pouring her heart into them.
“At last—I’m living for *me*!” she marvelled.
Soon, she realised—she’d fallen for him, like a girl again.
Meanwhile, back in town:
Philip called Victoria. “Found out where our runaway’s gone?”
“Yes—a cottage nearby. Must’ve been cheap—she’s got money left.”
“Then we’ll get our share,” Philip said. “I need to expand the garage.”
“*I* need it!” Victoria shot back. “Tom’s uni fees are crippling!”
“Pack up—we’re going.”
Eleanor was gardening when George called, “Ellie, visitors!”
Philip and Victoria stood there—he with flowers, she with treats.
“*Ellie*?” Philip smirked. “Cosy set-up. Made friends fast, I see.”
“Save it,” Eleanor said coolly. “Come in.”
Philip eyed the cottage. “How much was this place? Spent all the flat money?”
“Take your flowers—I’ve daisies by the porch. And don’t fret—I’ve enough. I won’t ask you again.”
“Mum, that’s not fair!” Victoria burst. “We’re entitled to Dad’s share!”
“*What* share?” Eleanor’s voice turned icy. “Where were you when I begged for help with bills? Too busy?”
“Circumstances—” Philip began.
“Enough! The flat was *mine*—I sold it. You didn’t want *me*—just my wallet. A garage for you, Philip, and a new wardrobe for you, Victoria. Well, you’ve got the wrong address.”
“Charming,” Philip muttered.
“You’ve earned it!” Eleanor stepped onto the porch. “George, leave the hedging—lunch is ready! These guests were just leaving.”
Their car vanished in a cloud of dust. Silence settled, broken only by Whiskers’ purring.
A year passed. Evening mist draped the village. Eleanor and George sat at the table, lamplight soft around them. The children never returned, despite the countryside’s charm. But the old couple were content. Fate had granted them peace—and warmth long overdue.
