“What goes around comes around,” Eleanor often reminded herself, her voice steady with conviction. Yet, Nurse Claire couldn’t help but worry about the elderly woman’s precarious situation. After giving her son access to her life savings, Eleanor had nearly ended up without a roof over her head. Then, an unexpected delivery from the past transformed her life forever.
The room exuded an old-world charm. The faint scent of lavender mingled with the polish of antique wood, creating an atmosphere of warmth and nostalgia.
Soft sunlight filtered through lace curtains, casting intricate patterns on the worn wallpaper.
Eleanor sat in her favorite armchair, her fragile figure wrapped in a familiar embroidered blanket. Her expression was distant yet serene, as if she were caught in a conversation with her memories.
The rhythmic ticking of a clock filled the room, marking time that seemed to flow both forward and backward. The clock—a wedding gift from decades ago—stood as a poignant reminder of a life now tucked away in the folds of her past.
A gentle knock at the door stirred her from her reverie. Nurse Claire peeked in, her warm smile lighting up the dim space.
“Ma’am, you have a visitor,” Claire announced softly.
Eleanor’s posture straightened slightly, curiosity sparking in her tired eyes. “A visitor? Well, let them in, dear.”
Moments later, the sound of polished shoes echoed on the wooden floor, followed by the imposing figure of her son, Andrew. Dressed sharply in a tailored suit, his presence carried a faint scent of cologne—crisp and calculated, much like him.
“Mother,” he greeted curtly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Eleanor’s face brightened. “Andrew! What a lovely surprise.” Her voice was warm, though Andrew’s stiff demeanor didn’t go unnoticed.
Without preamble, Andrew pulled out a sleek folder and placed it on the small table beside her chair.
“Mother, I need you to sign these papers,” he began briskly. “It’s just a simple matter of transferring control of your accounts and holdings. It’ll make managing everything so much easier—for both of us.”
Eleanor’s frail hands hovered over the folder. “Oh, Andrew, if it’ll help you…” she murmured.
Before she could pick up the pen, Nurse Claire stepped forward, her usually gentle expression firm.
“Ma’am,” she interjected, her voice steady, “perhaps you should review these documents later. It’s been a long day, and you need your rest.”
Andrew’s jaw tightened, his mask of politeness slipping. “It’s just a signature,” he snapped.
Claire stood her ground. “Later,” she repeated firmly.
Eleanor looked between them, bewildered but compliant. “Alright, Andrew. We’ll handle it later,” she said softly.
Andrew’s irritation was palpable as he stood abruptly. “Fine. I’ll come back tomorrow,” he said before striding out, his footsteps fading down the hallway.
Claire knelt beside Eleanor, her tone softening. “Are you alright, Ma’am?”
Eleanor nodded but sighed heavily. “He’s my son, Claire,” she whispered. “He only wants what’s best… doesn’t he?”
Claire hesitated, her heart aching. “Of course,” she replied, though doubt shadowed her words.
The garden was a sanctuary of tranquility. Roses climbed trellises in full bloom, their delicate petals catching the golden hues of the late afternoon sun.
A small fountain bubbled gently, its soft cadence blending with the chirps of sparrows darting among the trees.
As Claire wheeled Eleanor along the stone path, she couldn’t suppress her growing unease.
“Ma’am,” she began tentatively, “I don’t think Andrew has your best interests at heart.”
Eleanor chuckled, her gaze lingering on the roses. “Oh, Claire, he’s just ambitious. Ambition isn’t a bad thing.”
Claire stopped the wheelchair and knelt beside her, her voice urgent. “Ambitious? Perhaps. But he sees you as a means to an end. If you give him control, he’ll forget about you—just as he’s already left you here.”
Eleanor’s smile faltered, but she didn’t reply. Her eyes drifted back to the garden, seeking solace in the blooms.
Claire pressed on, her tone resolute. “This nursing home is struggling. If you invested in it instead, you’d secure your future here and help others in need.”
Eleanor placed a trembling hand over Claire’s, her voice soft but unwavering. “What goes around comes around, dear. The universe always balances itself.”
Claire’s frustration bubbled over. “Life doesn’t always work that way, Ma’am,” she said, her voice breaking.
Eleanor smiled, her calm demeanor unshaken. “It always has for me.”
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window as Claire tidied Eleanor’s room.
Andrew arrived, followed by a man with a leather briefcase. “Mother,” he greeted briskly, wasting no time.
He placed a stack of papers on the table. “Sign here, here, and here,” he instructed, tapping each spot with a pen.
Eleanor reached for the pen, her hand trembling. Claire stepped forward, her heart pounding. “Ma’am, please reconsider…”
Eleanor stopped her with a gentle smile. “It’s alright, Claire. I trust my son.”
With deliberate strokes, she signed each page. Andrew’s grin widened as he gathered the papers and left without another word.
Claire knelt beside Eleanor, her eyes brimming with sorrow. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Eleanor patted her hand gently. “Don’t be, dear. What goes around comes around.”
Days later, as Claire tended to Eleanor, a deliveryman arrived with a bouquet of white lilies and a sealed envelope.
Claire opened the envelope, reading aloud:
“I will never forget your kindness. When I had nothing, you gave me everything. Please accept this gift as a token of my gratitude.”
Inside was a sizable donation—enough to save the nursing home and ensure Eleanor’s care for life.
Tears welled in Claire’s eyes as she looked at Eleanor, who smiled serenely.
“What goes around comes around,” Eleanor said softly, her voice filled with quiet triumph.
And in that moment, the lilies’ fragrance filled the room with the unmistakable sweetness of kindness coming full circle.
