I’m 38, unmarried, childless—and you know what? I’m perfectly content.
I’m 38, no husband, no children—and yet, I feel utterly at peace. None of the so-called “problems” people love to bring up when they hear my status bother me. I live in a bustling city in the Home Counties, with a steady job, my own flat, and a car—all earned without a penny from anyone else. Better yet, I even help out my parents, who live in a quiet little village in Yorkshire. The funniest part? No one believes I’m a day over 28. Maybe it’s because I look young, or perhaps it’s the lightness in my step.
My name’s Evelyn Whitmore, and I’ve always known my own mind. After school, I went to university, studied business, and built a career from scratch. Now I head a department at a well-known firm. The work’s engaging—it lets me travel, meet interesting people, learn new things. My salary covers more than just living costs; I’ve even got savings. Loving what I do keeps me cheerful—simple as that.
The flat I bought five years ago is modern, full of light, right in the city centre. I’ve decorated it just how I like—airy, cosy, with a few art pieces I’ve picked up abroad. My car isn’t flashy, but it’s reliable—perfect for zipping around town or driving up to Yorkshire on weekends. That’s where I recharge, away from the city bustle. I help Mum and Dad with odd jobs, bring groceries, fix things around their cottage. They love having me, and I love making their lives a bit easier.
People often ask why I’m not married, no kids. To some, it’s downright peculiar, especially at my age. But I don’t feel like I’m missing out. I’m open to love, just not in any rush. If I meet someone worth sharing my days with—brilliant. If not? No heartbreak. I’ve got mates—we go to the cinema, gigs, have cosy nights in. I’ve hobbies too: yoga, watercolours, the occasional dance class. Life’s too full to sit around moping.
Some assume I must be hiding some secret sorrow. Not a bit. I just live as I please. No interest in bending to others’ expectations or marrying because “it’s time.” Mum used to fret—dreamed of grandkids—but she’s come round. Now she jokes, “Evie, you’re like one of those film stars—forever young, forever fancy-free.”
Now and then, someone tuts, “At your age, it’s getting late for family plans.” Rubbish. Life isn’t a train schedule. I’ve known women who had children after forty and were brilliant at it. If I ever want kids, I’ll cross that bridge. For now, I’m happy as I am—free to travel on a whim, spend weekends my way.
Looking young? Part genes, part lifestyle. I stay active, eat well, take care of my skin. But the real secret? Not letting stress weigh me down. If things go sideways, I sort them—no wallowing. Maybe that’s why folks guess I’m 28. I just laugh and say, “Must be the easy way I live.”
Mum and Dad are my rock. They’re proud I’ve done it all myself. I visit often, bring treats, handle bills, patch up their cottage. Mum makes my favourite scones; Dad tells stories of his younger days. Those moments are priceless. I’m grateful for them and hope they stay healthy for years yet.
What’s next? No idea—and that’s fine. I fancy a big trip someday—maybe Italy or Japan. Keep climbing in my career, maybe start my own venture someday. Oh, and I’ve been thinking of getting a dog—a little scruffy terrier to add some joy. Life’s an adventure, and I’m ready for whatever comes. The main thing? I’m happy right here, enjoying today. And that—that’s what matters.
