Rural Idaho, 2007 – To people across the nation, Mother’s Day was a day to celebrate mothers and all they’d done. To Margaret, it was just another Sunday.
Never mind the fact she’d given birth twenty-eight years ago. Or that she’d been reunited with her son the year before.
She paused in the midst of preparing her lunch. When she had woken up on her first Mother’s Day, it had only been about a week since she gave Connor up for adoption. That morning, she’d buried herself deeper in her covers and refused to go to church.
The next year, when a friend-one that hadn’t abandoned her after she revealed her pregnancy-had started to wish her a happy Mother’s Day, she’d pushed back her pain and politely said she didn’t want to be included.
And year after year it had remained that way, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how much she wanted Connor to call and tell her-
Someone knocked on the door. Startled, her hand bumped the jar of raspberry jam, knocking it over. She straightened the jar and wiped up the jam that had spilled onto the counter before heading to the door.
I don’t remember inviting anyone over, she thought as she reached for the knob. Maybe they’re just dropping by.
She opened the door and her mouth dropped open. Connor stood on the doorstep with a bouquet of colorful flowers and a grin.
“Happy Mother’s Day, Mom,” he said.
A smile replaced Margaret’s shock and she hugged him. “You drove all the way here from Illinois?” she said. “I would have been fine with a call.”
They separated and Connor handed her the flowers. “Too late now,” he said. “We wanted to surprise you.”
Kelly appeared from behind and handed eleven-month-old Liam to him before hugging Margaret and telling her happy Mother’s Day.
“Thank you, dear,” Margaret said. “And Happy Mother’s Day to you too.”
©H.S. Kylian 2018 // All images © Hannah Killian 2013-2018
(Critiques are welcome and appreciated!)