The Man With Three Apologies By Muhammad Riaz

George Ellis had been a clockmaker for forty years. His small shop sat at the corner of a quiet street, filled with the soft ticking of old wooden clocks. Most people didn’t notice it anymore. But every morning, George opened the shop, wiped the dust from the counters, and waited.

He had no customers now. Just time—and memories.

George had been alone for many years. His wife had died young, and his daughter, Emma, hadn’t spoken to him in over a decade. His brother, Peter, moved across the country after an argument they never resolved. There was one more person, someone he’d never met, but he owed them something too.

One cold morning, George pulled out his old writing box. Inside were three envelopes. He laid them out in front of him.

Letter One: To Emma

> My dearest Emma,

I was too hard on you. I thought pushing you would make you stronger. I didn’t see that it was hurting you instead. I was afraid you’d fail, and I made you afraid too. I wanted to protect you from life’s pain, but I became the cause of it.

You were only fifteen when you told me you wanted to be a writer. I laughed. I said it wasn’t a real job. I saw the way your face changed when I said that. You stopped writing after that day. I’ve never forgiven myself.

If you’re still writing, I hope you never stopped again. If you can find it in your heart, please forgive me.

Love always,

Dad

George sealed the letter and placed it gently in a box marked “Emma.”

Letter Two: To Peter

> Dear Peter,

I was jealous. That’s the truth. You always had the charm, the easy way with people. When Mom died, you stepped up. I resented you for it. I thought I should have been the strong one, but I didn’t know how.

When we fought over the will, it wasn’t really about the money. It was about how I felt left behind. You didn’t deserve the things I said. You were just trying to keep us together.

I hope you’re happy, wherever you are. I miss you more than I’ll ever admit in person.

Your brother,

George

He paused after writing Peter’s letter. He hadn't spoken those words aloud in years. His hand trembled as he sealed the envelope.

Letter Three: To a Stranger

> To the boy at the bus stop,

You were only about ten. It was raining hard. I was walking home with a bag of groceries. You asked me for help, said you were lost. I looked at you, soaked and scared, and I kept walking. I told myself I was busy. But the truth is, I was tired and didn’t care enough.

I heard on the news later that a boy had gone missing that day. They never found him. I don’t know if it was you, but I’ve thought of you every time it rained.

I’m sorry. I hope someone kinder found you. I hope you’re still out there.

From a man who should have stopped.

George didn’t know if this letter would ever reach anyone. But he folded it just the same and placed it in a small glass jar.

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The next morning, George mailed the two letters. Then he took the jar to the park and placed it on a bench, tied with string and a note:

“To someone who needs to know they mattered.”

When he got home, he wound the clocks one by one. The shop was quiet except for the ticking.

He didn’t know if anyone would write back. He didn’t expect them to.

But for the first time in years, George felt something lift from his chest.

He had said what needed saying.

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[The End]