**Who Your Man Lives With**
Stanley Andrews, or Stan to his friends and colleagues, had just been promoted to head of department at a large firm in Manchester. The promotion was well-earned—he was diligent, quiet, and punctual, never pushing for leadership but steady in his progress. The congratulations at work were subdued: Stan offered a small smile, thanked everyone, and assured them he’d do his best so the team wouldn’t regret his appointment.
His mother, Margaret, was the most thrilled. She’d been the one dragging him to doctors as a child, hiring tutors, buying him winter coats, and scrimping from her pension to pay for university. She insisted he treat his colleagues to homemade food—pies, salads, snacks. Though Stan initially brushed it off, he eventually agreed. He didn’t want to let her down.
On the day of the celebration, he drove to his mother’s flat to pick up the food. She had a cardiologist appointment, so everything was packed and waiting in the fridge. During his short lunch break, Stan decided not to carry everything alone and asked a new colleague, Emily, to come along. She eagerly agreed.
Emily, blonde and green-eyed, was the kind of woman people noticed. Around the office, whispers followed her—how she had her sights set on Stan, always flirting, smiling, angling for a lift home…
They stepped inside his mother’s modest but clean and cosy flat. Stan opened the fridge and began stacking containers. Emily perched on a stool, glancing around.
“Your mum’s place is so homely. Proper cosy. And who’s this?”
A little black dog trotted out from the bedroom, growling at the stranger.
“That’s Bumble,” Stan explained, scooping her up. “Don’t worry, she’s friendly.”
“Bumble? What a name,” Emily sneered. “Keep her away—she’ll ruin my tights.”
Stan fell silent. Her distaste bothered him more than he expected. But that wasn’t all—a plump black cat emerged from the hallway, rubbing against his legs.
“And this is Wellington,” Stan said softly, pulling a dish of boiled fish from the fridge. “Here you go, mate.”
Emily stepped back toward the door.
“Bit of a zoo, isn’t it? A cat and a dog in a tiny flat? The hair, the smell… Your mum’s not allergic?”
“Are you?” Stan asked quietly.
“Me? No… I don’t know. We never had pets. They’re filthy.”
Stan kept packing the bags, his smile gone. Emily stood aside, shooing Bumble away every time the dog sniffed at her shoes.
“I’ll come by tonight to walk them,” Stan finally said. “Mum’ll scold me for overfeeding them, but how could you not spoil them?”
“Wasting your time, honestly. But I suppose someone’s got to,” Emily muttered, heading for the door.
On the way back, she chattered about the new canteen menu, about Victoria’s skirt, about the accountant marrying for the third time. Stan walked in silence, nodding occasionally. His head buzzed with one thought: “Hollow. Fake. Wrong.”
Back at the office, they gave him a thermos, hugs, backslaps. After work, they set out food, drank a little, ate a lot. Emily hovered—a joke here, a lingering look there, an offer for a lift. But Stan simply said,
“Sorry, I’ve got plans. Another time.”
At home, his mother was waiting.
“How’d it go?” she asked, smiling as she opened the door.
“Brilliant, Mum. Your pies vanished first. Said they tasted restaurant-quality. They forgot about me entirely.”
“What about that girl you brought—Emily? Mrs. next door saw her. Said she was pretty. Is she…?”
“No. Just a colleague. And honestly, there’s no one yet. I lied before to make you happy. Sorry.”
“That’s all right. But if someone comes along—what should she be like?”
Stan thought for a moment.
“Kind. Clever. Good-hearted. And… loves you. And Wellington. And Bumble.”
His mother smiled.
“Oh, Stan, as long as she loves you, she’ll love us all. Even the grumpy old cat.”
He nodded, grabbed the lead, called both “beasts,” and headed outside. The three of them dashed across the courtyard like they were kids again—Mum waiting at home, a jam tart in his schoolbag, a puppy in his arms, a cat on his shoulder, and life stretching ahead.
His mother watched from the window, tightening her fists.
“Thirty years old, head of department, but still a boy at heart. God grant you real love, son… And may she love all of you at once. Wellington. Bumble. And me.”
*Diary Entry*
**Lesson:** Love isn’t just about who fits into your life, but who embraces it—flaws, pets, and all. If they can’t love the little things that make you whole, they’ll never love you right.
