The House Where Trousers Are Forbidden
For the first time in years, Gregory Whitmore was visiting someone. He was walking to see a woman who had been on his mind more and more—Alison. Once, he’d sworn to himself: no relationships, no new family. He’d been through it before. He’d survived it—barely, and with scars.
His ex-wife had left without warning. Said she’d never loved him. Said their child was an accident. She’d taken their son and vanished. Gregory couldn’t forgive. Couldn’t forget the nights he’d rocked the baby to sleep, changed his nappies, the first time he’d heard “Daddy.” And then—silence. Court orders, restrictions, distance. Once, he’d driven to another town, seen his boy in the doorway. The child had reached for him, crying, “Daddy, I want to go with you!” But someone had pulled him back. The door had slammed, and the last thing Gregory heard was a scream—”I want my daddy!”—before sobbing tore through the silence. That was when he broke. No more attachments, he’d decided. Just work. Just solitude.
But Alison was different. She had slipped into his life quietly, without force. Just… been there. They’d crossed paths by chance, exchanged brief words, but soon he found himself searching for her—by the supermarket, outside the office. Not intruding. Just standing near. He learned she was a widow, living with her mother, her boy nearly four. She didn’t let men close. But then she invited him over. “You’ll meet Charlie,” she’d said, her voice unsteady.
He brought a toy—an elaborate building set. Wore his best suit. His heart pounded like a schoolboy’s. He rang the doorbell.
“Who’s there?” A child’s voice.
“Gregory Whitmore.”
“Oh, right. Come in. Mum’ll be back soon. Gran’s asleep—she’s got a headache. But, um… take off your trousers!”
“…What?” Gregory blinked.
“You’ve been outside. Mum says outdoor trousers have germs. We might get sick. You have to take them off straight away. Our house is clean!”
The boy was deadly serious. White shirt, little bow tie, steady gaze.
“Er… can I not? They’re clean.”
“Fine… but you have to wear these slippers. They’re yours. Mum bought them. So you don’t bring dirt in. I’m Charlie. Are you Gregory?”
“Yes. Pleasure to meet you.”
“We’ve got rules. I don’t wear shoes inside. Only if I walk by the wall and jump over the rug.”
“Is your mum strict?”
“Very. But she’s nice. Especially if you’re good. Then maybe you won’t need slippers.”
Gregory laughed. Charlie took his hand.
“Are you staying forever?”
“I’d like to. If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t. Mum’ll be happy. And Gran… Gran’ll wake up and just know.”
“Know what?”
“She’s got a nose for it. And a heart. She always knows when someone’s good.”
They sat building the set, laughing, arguing. The boy was warming to him, and Gregory—Gregory couldn’t look away. Then the door opened behind them.
“Mum, he kept his trousers on!” Charlie shouted.
Alison laughed. Then she stepped closer, touched Gregory’s shoulder, and whispered:
“If you’re ready—stay. But fair warning: our rules are odd.”
Gregory smiled.
“For you? I’ll follow any rule. Even cross the rug in my pants. Just let me stay near you.”
Charlie went quiet, then whispered:
“Dad…”
Gregory turned. The boy looked away.
“Can I call you that?”
Gregory didn’t answer. Just nodded. And for the first time in years, something in his chest felt warm. He hadn’t come for a visit. He’d come home.
