The son brought home a woman with a child, and suddenly I was a stranger in my own house.
“Mum, I’m bringing my girlfriend over today. I want you to meet her. I’ve dreamed about this for so long, but the timing was never right. Her daughter’s at her grandmother’s, so today’s perfect,” Ethan announced, catching his mother, Helen, off guard in their spacious home in Manchester.
Helen froze, her chest tightening with dread. Ethan was only twenty-one. How could he already be talking about a girlfriend—with a child? She knew nothing about his love life, and this news hit her like a bolt from the blue.
Helen had been widowed six years ago. Her husband, Victor, had died suddenly—his heart stopped at forty-three, taken by a blood clot. He had been so full of life, their love unshakable. Victor and Helen had been inseparable since childhood, sitting side by side in school, sharing dreams and laughter. In primary school, he’d tugged her pigtails; by secondary, he carried her books; and by sixth form, they’d confessed their love. At eighteen, they married, unable to imagine a life apart.
Their marriage was happy. They supported each other through studies, work, and building their cosy home. When Ethan turned thirteen, they dreamed of a second child—but fate had other plans. Victor’s death shattered their world. Ethan, then a quiet, grieving teen, withdrew, and Helen clenched her jaw, forcing herself to be strong for him. She worked, raised him alone, and thought she’d succeeded—Ethan grew up, got into university. She sighed with relief—too soon, it seemed.
“Mum, meet Sophie. My girlfriend,” Ethan said, opening the door.
Beside him stood a tall woman with long blonde hair. Elegant in a stylish dress and heels, she smiled, but Helen couldn’t return it. Sophie was nearly her own age—fifteen years older than Ethan. Helen’s stomach twisted, but she forced a polite smile and invited her in for dinner.
Over the meal, Sophie shared her story. Thirty-nine, renting a flat in Manchester, originally from another town. Her daughter, Emily, was five and in nursery.
“I know it must be a shock,” Sophie said, giving Helen a knowing look. “I’m a lot older than Ethan. But age is just a number, isn’t it? When you love someone, it doesn’t matter. Ethan and I found each other. You understand, don’t you? Being a woman yourself?” Her smile was coy, but her eyes held a flicker of challenge.
Helen nodded, but doubt gnawed at her. After Sophie left, Ethan spoke softly.
“Mum, you’re the most important person in my life. Please try to understand. Yes, Sophie’s older, but we love each other. It’s serious. And Emily—she’s so sweet. Mum, could they stay here for a while? Sophie hasn’t got her own place, and our house is big. If you say no, I’ll understand.”
Helen looked at her son, her heart splitting. She wanted to warn him, protect him—but the hope in his eyes held her back.
“Of course they can stay,” she whispered. “As long as you’re happy, love.”
“Thanks, Mummy! They’ll move in tomorrow! I knew you’d understand!” Ethan threw his arms around her before darting off to call Sophie.
Alone, Helen rang her friend Margaret, who listened in silence before saying,
“Love’s complicated, Helen, but think—this woman’s got a child with an unknown father, no home, and your son’s a young man with a big house. Convenient, isn’t it? Nearly twenty years between them. Is she using him? Be careful, or you’ll ruin things with Ethan forever.”
Helen chewed her lip. She’d watch Sophie, stay cautious.
The next day, Sophie and Emily arrived. The little girl was sweet—shy at first, then proudly showing Helen her doll collection. Despite herself, Helen smiled, but unease clung to her.
That evening, after putting Emily to bed, they sat with tea. Helen watched Ethan’s arm around Sophie, a stab of jealousy pricking her. Triumph glinted in Sophie’s eyes—”Your son’s mine now, and there’s nothing you can do.” Helen tried to ignore it, but the thought circled like a shadow.
Alone in bed, she wondered—what if Sophie really loved him? Maybe it would work. But doubt chewed at her. That night, she dreamed of Victor—young again, grinning, holding daisies, her favourite. She reached for him—but he vanished. She woke at three a.m., tears on her cheeks, arms still outstretched.
Then it struck her. She couldn’t interfere. Ethan was grown. If he made a mistake, it was his to fix. She dried her face and whispered, “It’ll be alright. It has to be.”
But deep down, she feared this choice might tear them apart.
