He wasn’t what you’d expect…
“Mum and Dad are coming this weekend,” said Eleanor, trying to sound casual as she stirred her tea. “They’re eager to meet you.”
William, who had been spreading blackcurrant jam on his toast, froze. He set the knife down slowly.
“Lovely,” he replied, forcing a smile. “I’ve been looking forward to it. Truly.”
But Eleanor knew him too well. She saw the way his shoulders tensed, the way his eyes flickered away from hers.
“Will, it’ll be fine. They’ll like you,” she said softly, taking his hand.
He gave a half-hearted chuckle, but his eyes betrayed his unease.
“Ellie, your parents are proper, refined people… and then there’s me. Look at me—beard, tattoos, this bloody earring. To them, I’m a walking nightmare.”
“To me, you’re the kindest man alive,” she said firmly. “And they’ll see that. You’ll see.”
The week flew by in a flurry of preparations. Eleanor scrubbed the flat, dusted off her parents’ favourite recipes, and polished every surface. William helped in silence—hanging new curtains, buying fresh flowers—but every evening, he’d slip out to the balcony for a smoke, lost in thought.
Then came the day. Eleanor fussed with the tablecloth, rearranging the napkins for the third time. William, in a crisp white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, stood before the mirror, smoothing down his hair.
The doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” he breathed, stepping into the hall.
There stood her parents—Margaret and Charles. Her mother’s eyes widened as if she’d seen a spectre. Her father frowned, his gaze darting from William’s tattooed arms to the ring in his ear.
“Pleasure to meet you,” William said evenly, offering his hand. “Name’s William.”
After a pause, Charles shook it stiffly. Margaret, sensing the tension, cleared her throat.
“Well then, shall we come in? Eleanor’s waiting, isn’t she?”
Eleanor appeared from the kitchen, her smile bright but strained. She hugged her parents tightly, then took William’s hand and led them inside.
Dinner was painfully quiet at first. Margaret studied William like a puzzle. Charles fired off clipped questions. What did he do for a living? How long had they been courting? Where were his parents from?
When William mentioned he was a veterinarian, Margaret arched a brow.
“A vet? How… unexpected. You don’t look the type.”
He shrugged.
“Aye, I hear that often. But ink doesn’t change a man’s heart.”
A silence followed, broken by Charles.
“Why animals?”
William took a deep breath.
“When I was a boy, I found a dog hit by a carriage. Near death, he was. Mum and I took him to the clinic. Watching the vet fight for a creature that couldn’t even cry for help… that’s when I knew.”
Charles softened unexpectedly. He began asking about cases, even shared how he’d once pulled a cat from a drain.
By evening’s end, the mood had thawed. William spoke of creatures sensing kindness, of nursing abandoned pups others had given up on.
As her parents readied to leave, Margaret suddenly embraced him.
“Thank you for being honest,” she murmured. “I was… mistaken.”
Charles shook his hand firmly.
“Look after my girl. She’s one of a kind.”
When the door shut, William exhaled.
“Thought your mum might start sprinkling holy water on me.”
Eleanor laughed, leaning into him.
“I knew they’d adore you. Because you’re wonderful.”
They stood in quiet embrace, while on the windowsill, a ginger kitten—rescued long ago by William—slept soundly.
“Funny, isn’t it?” he whispered. “If not for you, for this little chap… we might never have spoken at all.”
“And now we’ve a story for our future children,” she smiled.
“And parents who didn’t chase me off,” he added.
They laughed then, light and true, knowing happiness lies in being loved just as you are.
