She’d given up on love. Then fate handed her a second chance…
Simon walked into the flat late that evening. Exhaustion lined his face, his eyes clouded with quiet conflict. He kicked off his shoes without a word, headed straight to the kitchen, and slumped into a chair.
“Fancy some dinner, love?” fussed Claire. “Roast duck, just how you like it—stuffed with apples and all. What’s got you so glum?”
He looked at her properly then—no hint of his usual grin.
“Claire, we need to talk. I can’t keep splitting my life in two. When do we make this official? I’ve got my own place, after all.”
Her stomach dropped. The moment she’d been dodging for years had finally caught up with her.
“Alright,” she said softly. “But first, you meet my kids.”
They arranged to meet at a café. Liam and Ethan sat stiffly on one side of the table, Emily beside Claire. When Simon walked in, the kids froze—mouths hanging open, eyes wide. At first, Claire didn’t get it. But when her sons exchanged furious glances, it clicked.
“You’re joking, Mum!” Liam burst out first. “Dating at your age? What’s next, a bloody hen party?”
“Seriously, we thought you had more sense,” Ethan sneered. “Women your age are supposed to be knitting, not shacking up with blokes.”
“I’m forty-four,” Claire murmured.
“Exactly—so live quietly on your own. Liam and I’ll get a flat. We’re not playing happy families with you and your fancy man.”
Emily just turned away. Didn’t speak to her for a whole month.
Claire didn’t cry. She just sat there in the dark, replaying her life like an old film.
…Back when she’d been the golden girl. Straight-A student, doting parents who dreamed of her getting into Oxbridge. Then, at seventeen, she fell hard—for a bloke named Mark.
Twenty-four, gruff-voiced, hands rough from labour. Her dad took one look and slammed the door when Mark came to ask for her hand. Claire didn’t care. Three months later, she ran off with him to Manchester.
At first, it was magic. Baby Liam arrived. Her parents softened—helped buy them a terrace house. Then came Ethan, and they upgraded to a three-bed. But that’s when the fairy tale soured.
Mark’s family were a mess. Drunk uncle, no-show parents. He started vanishing for days, crashing at their place, coming home reeking of ale. Work? Forget it. No boss would keep a bloke who binged every payday.
Claire held it all together. Two jobs, night classes, scrubbing floors at midnight. Too proud to beg her parents. Meanwhile, Mark sprawled on the sofa yelling, “Where’s my lager?”
The final straw? Coming home pregnant with Emily, overhearing him grumble, “No cream for my tea? Well, pop out and get some, then.” That was it. Divorce papers. Paid for his taxi herself as he laughed, certain she’d cave. Joke was on him.
He never got back in. New locks. Nosy Mrs. Wilkins next door made sure of it. The divorce was quick—he never even knew about Emily.
Three months later, Mark died. A fire at his parents’ cottage—gas left on. His brother survived. Him? Gone. Claire felt guilt, sure—but mostly relief. She wasn’t his keeper.
Then came Emily. Three kids. Two jobs. Three hours of sleep if she was lucky.
She forgot what it felt like to be a woman. Just Mum—always Mum. Every penny from survivor benefits went into savings for the kids.
Love? Crossed it off the list. Figured she didn’t deserve it.
Till that rainy night. Colleague’s birthday drinks, missed the last bus, downpour. Then—headlights. A car slowing.
“Need a lift?”
Just a normal bloke. Kind eyes. Simon. Turned out he lived three streets over. Started driving her to work, bringing coffee in a thermos, telling her she was lovely.
Claire didn’t know how to take compliments anymore. But with him? Easy. He’d divorced after catching his wife cheating. No kids.
Then—he asked her to move in. And she… panicked.
The kids cut her off. Called her selfish, said they’d rent their own place.
It wrecked her. Until something inside snapped.
“Fine,” she told the boys. “We’ll sell this place, split it into three flats. You’re grown. And I—I don’t owe you my loneliness.”
She moved in with Simon.
Then, the miracle. Claire got pregnant—against all odds. Doctors warned her. She didn’t care.
Simon never left her side. Hospital runs, nights by her bed. He was a dad from the first heartbeat.
The kids? Radio silence.
Till discharge day. All three turned up—flowers, balloons, shamefaced.
Now the house rings with laughter again. Little Daisy charging about, Emily baking with her, Liam bringing his girlfriend round, Ethan hosting Sunday roasts.
Claire catches Simon’s eye—heart skipping.
She could’ve said no. Stayed alone. But she chose to live.
And she knows now: it’s never too late. Not when real love walks in.
