Helen paced back and forth across the flat, unable to settle. For days now, James had been coming home late. Yesterday, he hadn’t returned until nearly dawn. She’d scolded him—couldn’t he at least call so she wouldn’t worry? They’d argued. Now, here she was again, counting the hours, her footsteps echoing in the quiet.
“He loves me, but he could still ring. Sooner or later, he’ll marry. I’ll have to get used to it. Who knows what sort of wife he’ll end up with? More worries ahead. Best not to dwell on it. He’s grown, but my heart still aches.” Helen couldn’t stop her thoughts spiralling.
She used to laugh at mothers who smothered their grown sons, yet here she was, no better. Every girl James brought home, if he bothered to introduce them at all, seemed unworthy. Like all mothers, she believed he ought to consult her on something as important as marriage. After all, she knew best. The thoughts swarmed relentlessly. If only he’d come home already.
The latch clicked. Helen startled, though she’d been waiting, ears straining. “Finally!” She rushed to the hallway but stopped midway, retreating to the kitchen instead, hands folded stiffly on the table.
“Mum, why are you still up?” James stood in the doorway.
“You know I worry. You could’ve called,” she said reproachfully.
“Mum, I’m an adult. I don’t need to account for every move.”
“Where were you?” Her tone was sharp.
“At Sophie’s.” His voice softened, warming.
“Another girlfriend—and not the last, I’m sure. But you’ve only got one mother.” Jealousy bled through.
“Not ‘another.’ She’s the one. Just like you, Mum.” He kissed her cheek. “Don’t speak badly of her. You’ll regret it later. How could I choose a wife without dating? You always said not to marry the first girl I fancied. Right?”
“I did,” Helen admitted. “So, you’ve chosen?”
James knelt beside her, searching her face. Her heart swelled. He looked so like his father—the same eyes, the same smile.
“I have, Mum.” He rested his head in her lap.
“Then introduce us,” she said, calmer.
“I will, but…” He lifted his head.
“What? Is something wrong with her?” Helen nearly asked if he meant to bring home some stray, like the kittens and puppies he’d dragged in as a boy. Compassion was fine, but you couldn’t save them all. Back then, she’d feigned allergies, sneezing until he rehomed them. Now, that wouldn’t work.
The words hovered, but James’ warning glance silenced her.
“She’s perfect, Mum. Beautiful, cooks brilliantly—I adore her. But she’s not alone.”
“You’re in love with a married woman?”
Fear must have shown, because James quickly added, “No! But she has a son. He’s five.”
“Five?” Helen gasped. “How old is she?”
“Mum, don’t shout. Yes, she’s older.”
“I see.” Rage choked her. Her darling boy, her sunshine, was in love with an older woman—a mother!
“What do you ‘see’? I love her. People make mistakes—you’ve said so yourself.”
“Yes, but some mistakes last a lifetime. And young, free women don’t appeal anymore?” she snapped.
“This is why I didn’t tell you. I knew you wouldn’t understand. Remember that girl at your work—seduced and abandoned? You felt sorry for her, said she’d find a good man to be a father to her daughter. Why can’t that man be me?”
“Love fades, son. I adored your father, and he left us.”
“Exactly, Mum. A young, free girl doesn’t guarantee forever. I love Sophie. And her son. He’s wonderful. Even if you oppose us, I won’t leave her. Understood? Let’s leave it there.”
“I raised you to be happy—”
“Enough. It’s my life. If you interfere, I’ll go.” He strode to his room.
“James…”
Morning came. He left for work without breakfast. Days passed in silence. Helen was lost. It seemed only yesterday she’d sung him lullabies, bandaged his knees. Now, he had a life of his own. Accepting it wasn’t easy.
“James, we need to talk,” she ventured.
“We will when you’re ready to listen.”
“He must truly love her. Push too hard, and you’ll lose him,” advised Margaret, the eldest at work.
Helen had confided her heartache over lunch, craving solace. “I know I’m wrong, but I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Did you expect him to stay forever? He needs your support, not stubbornness. Did your mother-in-law welcome you straight away?”
“Not at first. But I was younger, childless.”
“And she still found fault. Mothers always do. Some make peace; others wage war. Nothing good comes of it. He isn’t married yet. He comes home. He’s hurting too, waiting for you to show wisdom. Meet this Sophie. See what’s so special. And stop crying—he’s not going to war, just getting married. The heart wants what it wants.”
Helen steadied. Three weeks of silence was enough. She’d visit Sophie, ask her to let James go. She steeled herself, getting the address from James’ friend.
Tuesdays and Fridays, James went to the gym after work. She had an hour. Bringing nothing felt too confrontational. A cake? Too reconciliatory. A toy? For the boy, not his mother. The child was blameless.
At the shop, she lost herself choosing toys—this car today, that one next time. Though there’d likely be no next time.
Helen rang the bell. A pretty woman answered. A smiling boy peeked behind her, curiosity replacing delight at the unfamiliar aunt.
“Hello, I’m James’ mum,” Helen said.
“I guessed. Come in. Charlie, go play.” Sophie nudged him away.
Helen removed her shoes, slipping into large slippers—James’, likely. The flat was cosy, tidy.
“I’m Charlie. Look at my plane! It makes engine noises!” He demonstrated, buzzing the propeller.
“Brilliant! I brought you something too.” Helen produced a small box.
Charlie’s eyes lit up. For fifteen minutes, they tested the car’s doors, wheels racing across the floor.
“You knew I wanted this?”
“I guessed. I’ve a grown-up son.”
Helen forgot her purpose. Sophie drifted in and out, likely cooking. Reality struck when James’ return neared—where else would he be?
“I should go,” Helen said.
“Won’t you wait for James?” Sophie leaned in the doorway.
“Will you come back?” Charlie asked hopefully.
“I will.” She meant it.
Walking home, Helen recalled Charlie’s joy. How easily he’d accepted her. Sophie hadn’t interfered, letting them bond. Entering her silent flat, she imagined James never returning—the loneliness crushed her.
Next morning, she told Margaret about her “confrontation”—how she’d longed to hug Charlie, breathe in his sweet, childish scent.
Then James called, casual as ever: Sophie had baked a cake. Would she come? He gave the address—he knew she’d been.
After work, Helen bought another car for Charlie and four colourful glass cups.
“Thanks, Mum.” James kissed her like old times. “Four cups?”
“For you three, and one for me… when I visit.” She flushed.
Sophie smiled.
“We’ll need a fifth soon, Mum. I waited to propose.” James produced a velvet box. “Sophie, marry me?”
“What?” Helen gasped. “You’re… expecting?”
“Not yet. But we will. A girl.” James grinned, hugging her. “You’ll be a grandmother.”
“You’re my grandma?” Charlie’s face shone with wonder.
And just like that, Helen realised—love wasn’t about holding on, but knowing when to let go.
