Moving on

Adrien Stanford never had the best relationship with his mother. As long as he came of age, he had moved out into his own apartment, starting his own business with naught but a worn down and nearly broken computer.

Now at the young age of twenty five, he had a billion dollar business, the life he had always wanted, more houses and cars than he had needed or wanted. Despite all these riches, he was not happy. Not truly satisfied. He had not forgotten about his mother, although she was nothing but a constant nagging at the back of his mind.

Not enough to bother him but just enough so that he couldn't forget about it. In the nights, sometimes in the lonely and stifling darkness, he would think about it.

For all he knew, she could have been happily remarried and she could have had a new son. One who was loyal and responsible unlike him. She could be dead, cold and blue six feet under, her lost soul still yearning for the forgivness of him. She could be dead but happy, happy that she had rid her only burden, him.

The thoughts bothered him to no end. But what could he do about it? It had been nearly seven years since he had seen her. She would have moved and even if she didn't he did not know their last address. It was an old dirty apartment somewhere in the outskirts of the poor cities, not legal to be there.

All the thoughts flooded him as he flipped the light envelope between his hands. The words 'Sasha Nolan Stanford' stood out in bold black letters, imprinting themselves into his mind, as though a magician had made him remember it even when he looked away.

With shaking hands, he sliced the letter open, the white paper slicing open easily. He pulled out the paper embedded between the embrace of the letter snugly. He unfolded it, this excited him far more than the checks and money he had gotten over the past years.

His eyes scanned the words, his face paling as the letter drew to an end, it fluttered out of his hand and onto the dark oak table, the bold letters 'I'm sorry" standing out harshly at the top of the letter.

****

He stood in his black chapel jacket, the rain sliding down his face, poorly disguising the tears on his face. In one hand was a wilted bunch of lilies, the other, the soaked and crumpled letter fisted tightly in his hand.

He still remembered the day when she told him the meaning of lilies behind the soft petals for her. "Reminds me of the scent of my mother," She had beamed, handing him a stalk of pink lily, the pointed petals almost as vibrant as her smile.

"One day, when I die, promise me you will lay these flowers on my grave." She had said, pressing the thin green stalk into his hand and she had placed a kiss on his head, urging him to put it into the clear water.

He knelt down in front of the grave, the lilies in his hand.

****

"She left you this."

The man had brought Adrien to the old little apartment they used to live in. His eyes darted from the large machines to the crumbling brown building. "Is it-"

"We wanted to show you around one last time, before the building gets demolished." The man said with an apologising grin.

"I'll buy it," Adrien interrupted panic gripping his heart.

"I'm sorry but since it's not safe in these conditions, you cannot." The man apologised.

"I'll give you-" He persisted, his heart plummeting.

"I already gave you an answer." Was the curt reply.

****

He looked down the dark hallways that were once lit up with the smell of the cooking his mother did. It was made simply, just canned tomatos with the sausages she had gotten for a few pennies but it was way better than any of the things he had eaten in all seven years. He could still smell it faintly from the back of his memory like a cat being teased with a feather.

Everyday, he would run down the very same hallways, his worn backpack bouncing on his back with every step he took, sometimes with a drawing gripped in his hands. Now he stood in the very same place, this time with her letter gripped in his hands.

As soon as his shoe crossed the frame of the crumbling door, a sense of de ja vu washed over him.

Reading with his mother on the dirty flower printed sofa, laughing with her over the table over something she said. Cooking with her in the kitchen, throwing flour at each other. Cuddling together in the harsh winters, the soft warmth of her arms around him, never feeling more loved then he had before.

Then the darker memories washed over him. Her cowering beside the flower printed sofa after an arguement. Him yelling at her in the kitchen over every stupid thing. Wrapping himself in bedsheets, listening to his mother cry herself to sleep after an especially bad night. Stifling his sobs with the thin thread bare blanket, trying not to show any weaknesses to his mother. Lying in the bed in the silent darkness, never feeling more alone then ever.

He adjusted the vase slightly, noticing it was off slightly. The pink edge of a piece of paper slid out. It was folded carefully, the corners slightly off as though someone's hands had been shaking when it had been folded.

He unfolded it, his heart pounding in his throat.

If you are reading this then I have already passed, I just want you to know, my son, that I have forgiven you, I hope you get this message before the building will be demolished, and with it, all the fond memories I had made with you. I do not want you to live a life of guilt if you have felt any after that arguement and it is a shame it had taken me so long to admit to it. I was wrong that night. But you are happy now, I see you on the news, every smile in an interview, a reminder of I had lost.

My greatest treasure, you.

So take with this you till the grave, the words of your mother.

You have been forgiven and I love you, now you must move on,

Sasha Stanford

He bowed his head, regretful tears slipping down his face. He could almost imagine his mother, her dark brown curls now white and gray, her once youthful face lined with the brushes of time, a soft sad smile on her face and her hands shaking as she wrote this letter, hoping for the forgivness of her son. He placed the letter back where it was hidden. His mother was right. He had to move on. Decades of guilt lifted from his shoulders, freeing him of the burden he had felt. And when he stepped from the old building, he felt renewed.

And behind him, the machines started to work. And along with the smoke of the machines, his burdens and worries floated away, signaling the start of a newer and freer life for Adrien.