“No, Mom,” Henry interrupted. “You don’t get it. We have no other choice.”

“Can I ask you a favor before I leave, Henry?” she asked, trembling.

“Yeah?”

“Will you visit me when I’m there? Not very often, but at least on weekends?”

“Sure, Mom,” he said. “No doubt about that!”

But three years later, Henry finally remembered Edith—and how he had sent her away. Overcome with regret, he wanted to apologize and bring her home. However, when he arrived at the nursing home, his mother was nowhere to be found.

He inquired at the reception desk and was shocked by the response.

“She left here two years ago,” the receptionist said after checking Edith’s file. “Go to this address.”

Henry’s heart pounded as he read the address on the paper. It wasn’t another nursing home—it was a small house in a quiet neighborhood. Confused but hopeful, he drove there immediately.

When he arrived, he hesitated at the doorstep. What if she refused to see him? What if she resented him for abandoning her? With a deep breath, he knocked.

The door creaked open, and an elderly woman, slightly hunched but still strong, stood before him. Edith.

“Mom!” Henry gasped.

Edith’s eyes widened, but there was no anger—just a quiet sadness. “Henry,” she said softly, stepping aside. “Come in.”

He entered hesitantly, his guilt almost suffocating. The house was modest but cozy, filled with warm light and the scent of fresh bread.

“How—how are you here?” he asked, his voice shaking. “I thought you needed care.”

She sat down in a worn armchair and gestured for him to take a seat. “I did, for a while,” she admitted. “But after a year, I realized something. No one was coming for me. No one was checking in. The loneliness was worse than any illness.”

Henry swallowed hard. “Mom, I’m so sorry. I—I should have been there.”

She nodded, her expression unreadable. “I won’t lie, Henry. It hurt. I waited every weekend. But eventually, I had to stop waiting. I decided to do something for myself. So, I left.”

Henry glanced around. “How did you manage?”

A smile flickered across Edith’s face. “I made friends. I found work—light work, helping at a bakery down the street. The owner, Mrs. Patel, was kind enough to give me a place to stay until I saved up enough to rent this house. I built a new life, Henry.”

Henry’s eyes stung. “I should’ve been there for you. Instead, you had to start over at 81? I can’t believe I did this to you.”

Edith reached out and placed her hand over his. “You made a mistake. But what matters is what you do next.”

Henry took a shaky breath. “I want to make it up to you, Mom. I want to be in your life again—if you’ll have me.”

She studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod. “I won’t wait for you this time, Henry. If you want to be here, then be here.”

And Henry did. Over the next year, he visited every weekend—not out of obligation, but because he wanted to. He helped with groceries, fixed things around the house, and sometimes, they just sat on the porch, talking about everything and nothing.

One day, as they shared a quiet afternoon, Edith looked at him and smiled. “You know, I don’t regret what happened. Because it led me here—to a life I built on my own. But I’m glad you found your way back, too.”

Henry squeezed her hand. “Me too, Mom.”

Life Lesson: Don’t wait until it’s too late to show the people you love that you care. Mistakes can be forgiven, but lost time can never be reclaimed. Cherish those who matter before they become a memory.

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