Helen paced back and forth across the flat, unable to settle. For days now, Daniel had been coming home late. Last night, he hadn’t returned until dawn. She’d scolded him—couldn’t he at least call, so she wouldn’t worry? They’d argued. Now she waited again, heels clicking against the floorboards, eyes darting to the clock.
*He’s in love. But a phone call wouldn’t kill him.* Sooner or later, he’d marry. She’d have to get used to it. Who knew what sort of wife he’d end up with? More heartache, no doubt. *Best not to dwell. He’s a grown man, but it still tears at me.* She couldn’t stop the spiral of thoughts.
Once, she’d laughed at mothers who smothered their grown sons. Now she was no better. Every girl Daniel brought home, if he bothered at all, she found unworthy. Like any mother, she believed he ought to consult her on something as vital as choosing a wife. *She* knew what he needed. The thoughts crowded in, endless. *Just come home already.*
The lock clicked. Helen startled, though she’d been listening for it. *Finally!* She rushed toward the hall—then stopped halfway, retreating to the kitchen. She sat at the table, hands folded.
“Mum, why are you still up?” Daniel stood in the doorway.
“You know I worry. You could’ve called,” she said, voice tight.
“I’m an adult. I don’t need to account for every move.”
“Where were you?” Her gaze hardened.
“With Sophie.” His voice softened, lower now.
“Another girl. And not the last, I’m sure. But you’ve only got one mother.” She couldn’t mask the jealousy.
“Another? She’s the one, Mum. Like you.” He kissed her cheek. “Don’t speak ill of her. You’ll regret it later. And how else would I choose a wife if I didn’t meet anyone? You always said not to marry the first girl I fancied. Right?”
“I did,” Helen admitted. “So, you’ve chosen?”
Daniel crouched beside her, searching her face. Her heart swelled. *He looks just like his father.* That same gaze, that smile.
“I have.” He buried his head in her lap.
“Then introduce us,” she said, gentler now.
“I will. Only—” He looked up.
“What? Is something wrong with her?” Helen almost asked if he meant to bring home some stray, like the kittens and puppies he’d dragged in as a boy. A kind heart was one thing, but you couldn’t save them all. Back then, she’d pretended allergies, sneezing until he found other homes for them. That trick wouldn’t work now.
The words burned her tongue, but Daniel’s warning glance silenced her.
“She’s perfect. Beautiful, cooks well. I love her. But she’s not alone.”
“You’re in love with a married woman?”
Fear must’ve flashed across her face, because he quickly said, “No. 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 boy, her sunshine, the one she’d move heaven and earth for—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 girls don’t appeal anymore?” she snapped.
“This is why I didn’t tell you. I knew you wouldn’t understand.” Daniel stood. “Remember that girl at your work? The one left with a child? You said she’d find a good man to be a father. Why can’t that man be me?”
“Love fades, Daniel. I loved your father madly, and he left us.”
“Exactly. No guarantee a young girl would last. I love Sophie. And her boy. He’s brilliant. Even if you object, I won’t leave her. Understood? Drop it.”
“I raised you to be happy—”
“Enough. It’s *my* life. If you interfere, I’ll go.” He walked out.
“Daniel—”
He left for work the next morning without breakfast. They didn’t speak. Late returns, straight to his room. Helen didn’t know how to mend it.
It felt like yesterday she’d cradled him, sung lullabies, bandaged his knees. Now he had a life of his own. Letting go wasn’t easy.
“Let’s talk,” she tried once.
“When you’re ready to listen.”
“He loves her, Helen. Push too hard, and you’ll lose him,” said Margaret, the eldest at work. Helen had confided over lunch, needing to vent.
“I know I was wrong, but I couldn’t stop myself,” she near-whispered.
“Did you want him tethered forever? He needs your support, not your scorn. Did your mother-in-law welcome you straight off?”
“Not exactly. But I was younger, childless.” Helen sniffed.
“And she still found faults. Mothers always do. Some make peace with daughters-in-law. Others wage war. It never ends well. You married without baggage, yet raised yours alone.”
“Daniel said the same.”
“Then yield. He’s not married yet. Comes home. He’s waiting for you to show wisdom, to love him enough to accept her. Meet 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. It couldn’t go on. She’d visit Sophie, ask her to let Daniel go. Resolute, she got the address from Daniel’s mate.
Tuesdays and Fridays, Daniel hit the gym after work. She had an hour or two. But turning up empty-handed felt too combative. A cake? That was for making up. A toy? A kindness—but for the boy, not her. The boy was blameless.
In the shop, she lost herself picking toys. This lorry today, that one next time. *If there is a next time.*
She rang the bell. A pretty woman answered. A smiling boy dashed behind her, then faltered at the stranger.
“Hello. I’m Daniel’s mum,” Helen said.
“I guessed. Come in. Oliver, go play.” Sophie nudged him away.
Helen slipped off her shoes, stepping into Daniel’s oversized slippers. The flat was cosy, clean.
“I’m Oliver! Look at my aeroplane! It makes engine noises!” He demonstrated.
“Brilliant. I brought you something.” Helen produced a small box.
Oliver’s eyes lit up. For fifteen minutes, they tested the lorry’s doors, its wheels.
“You knew I wanted this?”
“I guessed. I’ve a grown-up son.”
Helen forgot her purpose. Sophie drifted in and out, likely cooking. She only remembered when Daniel’s arrival loomed. *Where else would he be?*
“I should go,” Helen said.
“Wait for Daniel?” Sophie leaned in the doorway.
“Will you come back?” Oliver asked.
“Yes.” She meant it.
Walking home, she replayed Oliver’s joy. How quickly he’d claimed her as family. Warmth spread in her chest. She’d liked Sophie’s restraint, letting them bond.
Back home, the flat felt cavernous. If Daniel left, she’d be utterly alone. The thought crushed her. She wept.
Next morning, she told Margaret about her “confrontation”—how she’d ached to hug Oliver, breathe in that sweet child scent.
Then Daniel called, cheerful, as if nothing had happened. Sophie had baked a cake. Would she come? *He knew.* He gave the address anyway.
Helen stopped at the shops. Cake was fine, but gifts were manners. She bought Oliver’s next lorry and four colourful glass cups.
“Thanks, Mum.” Daniel kissed her, helped with her coat. “Four cups?”
“Three for you, one for me. For visits.” Helen flushed.
Sophie smiled.
“We’ll need a fifth soon, Mum. I waited for you to propose.” Daniel produced a velvet box. “Sophie, marry me?”
*”What?”* Helen gasped. “You’re—? Expecting?”
“Not yet. But we will. A girl.” Daniel grinned, hugging her. “You’ve wanted to be a grandma.”
“You’re my grandma?” Oliver’s face was pure wonder.
