Nostalgia

Mary Jane’s life had once been easy. Before her father’s sudden death when she was nine, her family had known comfort. But after that night, everything changed. Her mother, Lynn, was left alone with bills piling up, raising Mary in a small, shabby apartment. Lynn took on multiple jobs, and Mary watched as the toll of long hours wore her mother down. She promised herself that one day, her mother wouldn’t have to struggle anymore.

Now, sitting together on their worn couch, Mary sensed those old worries in Lynn’s eyes.

“It’s alright, Mom,” she said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Things will get better.” She tried to sound confident, but her mother’s silent tears struck her deeply. Lynn dabbed at her cheeks, then forced a small smile.

“You’re right,” she said softly. “But have you even eaten today?”

Mary hesitated, realizing she hadn’t. “You caught me,” she admitted with a sheepish smile.

Lynn chuckled gently and moved to the kitchen. Mary watched her mother’s steps, noticing how frail she seemed, her movements a little slower. Life had stripped away so much from her.

Memories flooded back as Lynn prepared food, her quiet resilience shining through. Mary remembered seeing her mother scrub pans until her hands were raw, only to rise before dawn to go to her second job. Even now, Lynn moved with that same quiet determination.

Lynn glanced over her shoulder and caught Mary watching. She raised an eyebrow, smiling. “What’s that look for? I remember when you’d complain about washing dishes. Now you’re too busy working to eat.”

Mary laughed, the sound was genuine and a little surprised. “I guess life has a way of changing things.”

Lynn’s expression softened. “It does. But don’t forget to take care of yourself. You’ve come so far, and I’m proud of you.” Her voice was gentle yet firm, and Mary felt a warmth ease some of her day’s weariness.

“Thanks, Mom,” she whispered, looking down, letting herself take in her mother’s words.

A few minutes later, she joined Lynn in the kitchen, picking up a dish towel to help. They moved together in easy rhythm, the quiet sounds of the kitchen soothing in their familiarity. For a little while, it felt like the outside world faded away, replaced by the warmth of the shared routines.

When they were finished, Lynn turned to her with a twinkle in her eye. “How about some hot chocolate? We can pretend this place is a cosy little lodge.”

Mary’s exhaustion lifted a bit, replaced by memories of simpler days. She grinned. “That sounds perfect.”

They returned to the living room, each holding a mug of steaming hot chocolate, and settled into the sagging couch. The soft glow of the lamp cast a warm light, wrapping the room in amber. Mary curled up, letting the warmth of her drink and her mother’s presence surround her. Silence stretched between them, peaceful and rare.

After a while, Lynn spoke softly. “Do you remember when we’d have indoor picnics on rainy days?” Her eyes sparkled with nostalgia. “You’d bring all your teddy bears to ‘join the fun.’”

Mary laughed, warmth spreading in her chest. “Yeah, I remember. We’d make peanut butter sandwiches and drink juice from those little plastic teacups. I thought it was the fanciest setup.”

They chuckled, each lost in their memories. The conversation drifted to other moments—silly things Mary had done as a kid, birthday parties with too much cake, the time she’d cut her hair and tried to convince Lynn it looked “just like the girls in the magazines.”

Each laugh and story seemed to ease a bit of the day’s weight. In that moment, their small apartment felt cosy , almost magical, as if the walls held onto the warmth of their shared memories.

After a while, Mary looked over at her mother, her smile soft. “Thanks, Mom. I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

Lynn smiled back, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind Mary’s ear. “Anytime, sweetheart. You know I’m always here for you.”

They continued talking, time slipping by unnoticed. Mary found herself swirling the last few drops of her hot chocolate in her mug, just as she used to. Lynn shook her head with a chuckle. “You still do that,” she teased. “Some things never change.”

Mary grinned, setting her mug aside. She leaned over, resting her head on her mother’s lap, feeling Lynn’s gentle hand stroking her hair. It was a gesture that had soothed her so many times as a child, and tonight, it carried the same comfort.

As Mary drifted off, Lynn’s thoughts drifted to the past, to her late husband. Her heart ached, memories of their life together flooding back—the way he’d laugh, the gentle strength he’d shown in life. Her gaze fell on a framed photo on the wall, the three of them beaming, unaware of what lay ahead.

A tear slipped down her cheek, but she brushed it away, focusing on her daughter beside her. Life had been hard, but she felt a quiet strength in herself that mirrored the strength she saw in Mary. For the first time in a while, she felt…at peace.

With a soft sigh, she whispered, “Goodnight, Mary Jane.”

Under her mother’s gentle touch, Mary drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.