“You finally matter to someone.”
“You don’t need my son, love. He’ll ruin your life.”
“That’s not true, Sophia Margery. And how can you say such things about Steven? He’s your only child!”
“That’s exactly why I’m warning you. I know my son too well to doubt my words.”
Sophia Margery slowly walked out of the kitchen, leaving Lena sitting at the table in her new evening dress—the one she’d bought just to impress Steven, hoping to knock him off his feet.
She’d been in love with her neighbour’s son for years. It started when she was just a girl, barely ten, already capable of a fierce, quiet devotion. Steven was seven years older. Seventeen when they first met, back when her family moved to Little Welling from the next village after her father lost his job. Sophia had lived there for years, raising Steven alone.
“Such a respectable family,” Lena’s mother said that evening, returning from Sophia’s. Though Sophia was fifteen years older, the two women became friends, and Lena and Steven saw each other often.
A year after meeting, Steven left for university in the city, while Lena stayed behind—never forgetting him, still visiting Sophia every week.
Right after graduation, Steven got married. The news shattered Lena. She refused to believe it was love; in her mind, marriage was forever. Her own parents had been together nearly twenty years, her grandparents until death. Even Sophia once said she’d stayed married to Steven’s father until he vanished without a trace overseas.
“Didn’t even introduce his wife,” Sophia complained bitterly during a visit. “Some city girl, full of airs.”
“Well, go visit them yourself,” Lena’s mother suggested. “Meet your daughter-in-law, see how he’s living.”
Sophia only waved her off.
“Why bother? If Steven didn’t invite me to the wedding, then I don’t need to know her.”
Lena pitied Sophia but worried more that Steven would never return. Then, barely a year later, he came back—alone, lugging a few bags.
“Sophia’s son’s home,” her mother announced.
Lena nearly knocked her over bolting out the door. She sprinted to Sophia’s house and collided with Steven as he stepped out for a smoke.
“Oi, Lena love!” He grinned, ruffling her hair.
She noticed how much he’d changed: a proper man now. A beard, flecks of grey at his temples—at just twenty-five.
“Steven,” she breathed, fighting the urge to touch his face. “You’re back?”
He gave a half-hearted shrug.
“Dunno yet. Split with the wife. Had to come back to Mum’s. Lived with her parents, y’know? Nothing I did was right. Drove me mad.”
Lena stared, baffled. How could anyone think *he* was the problem? He was wonderful. Handsome, kind, clever. That city girl must’ve been awful—no wonder Sophia hadn’t wanted to meet her.
“Maybe we could… see a film?” she dared.
Steven shook his head.
“Can’t. Mum’s got me running ragged.”
Lena hid her disappointment. Just having him near—breathing the same air, speaking to her—was enough. Maybe, in time, he’d realise *she* was the one meant for him.
But Sophia wasn’t thrilled he’d returned. She tried getting him work at the local farm, then pulled strings in town—nothing satisfied him.
“I’m tired of his moaning,” she admitted to Lena one day. “Now I see why his marriage failed. Wasn’t her—it was him.”
“That’s not true!” Lena flared. “Steven’s *good*! You just don’t understand him!”
Sophia scoffed.
“Right, I don’t know my own son. Selfish, just like his father.” She looked away. Lena bit back her protests—Sophia seemed too heartbroken to argue.
After months of unemployment, Steven left again without even saying goodbye. Lena cried for weeks.
Then tragedy struck: her parents died in a crash. Barely eighteen, her dreams of university shattered, she’d have drowned in grief without Sophia’s help.
Steven came to the funeral—with a blonde, doe-eyed girl clinging to his arm. The sight stabbed through Lena.
Two weeks later, Sophia mentioned—offhand—that he’d remarried. The words hit like lightning.
Lena stayed in Little Welling, working as a farmhand, clawing her way out of depression.
That December, Sophia revealed Steven was visiting for Christmas.
“His wife coming too?” Lena asked, already knowing.
“No. Just him.” Sophia smirked. “Think he’d slum it here if his love life was rosy?”
Lena’s heart leapt. Finally! She’d tell him how she felt.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Sophia warned.
Lena—who’d just bought a sparkling dress—froze.
“Why? I… I care about him.”
“Too much. He doesn’t deserve it.”
The bitterness in Sophia’s voice made Lena flinch. She bought the dress anyway, then showed it off proudly—only for Sophia to sigh:
“You don’t need my son. He’ll ruin your life.”
Lena stared. How could Sophia, who *adored* Steven, say he wasn’t good enough? Didn’t she see how much Lena loved him?
On New Year’s Eve, Steven stumbled to her door—drunk, furious after a row with Sophia. He brought cheap champagne and a foul mood.
“Let’s drink,” he muttered, ignoring her dress.
That night changed everything for Lena. When she woke, he was still there—her love, finally beside her.
He left two days later without a word. She wept, pestered Sophia for updates, but the old woman just frowned in silent disapproval.
“I warned you,” Sophia said flatly. Lena had no reply.
In February, she discovered she was pregnant. She called Steven from the bus to town. He met her at a café near the station, coldly stating, “Got twenty minutes.”
The news didn’t delight him. Lena searched his face for joy—found nothing.
“If you’re expecting a proposal, don’t,” he finally said. “Met someone else. Serious.”
Lena blinked rapidly, as if grit had flown into her eye. To her, that night had been magic. To him—a mistake.
Back in Little Welling, she agonised for days before facing Sophia, who cut straight to it:
“You’re keeping it?”
“How did—?”
“Not stupid, am I? Small village.” Sophia sighed, taking her hand. “Listen, I won’t tell you what to do. Years ago, I had an affair with a married man. Thought I’d build my future on someone else’s pain. Got pregnant—had Steven. Do I regret it? Maybe. Could’ve married a decent bloke, had a proper family. But I chose this. You’ll live easier knowing *you* made the choice—not because someone told you.”
Lena gaped.
“But where’s *my* mistake? Loving your son?”
“Maybe,” Sophia shrugged. “Or maybe you’ll regret the abortion. Or keeping a child whose father doesn’t want them. Like me. You’ll spin lies—about a ‘missing’ dad—just to hide the truth.”
“Steven’s father… he’s alive?”
Sophia laughed dryly.
“Alive and thriving. Fifth wife now. Wouldn’t marry *me*, but hopped from one to the next. Steven takes after him, though he’s never met the man.”
Lena left without another word. By morning, her decision was made.
Her daughter, Olivia, was born in October. By the next Christmas, Sophia was gone. She’d held her granddaughter once. Steven never visited his dying mother—Lena took care of everything.
At the funeral, Steven gave a stiff nod, his latest girlfriend at his side. Lena said nothing about Olivia. He didn’t ask.
Six months later, he returned to settle Sophia’s estate—expecting the house and land. The solicitor’s words floored him:
“Everything was left to Helena Elizabeth Sawyer. She inherited months ago.”
Steven swayed.
“*Helena*? I’m her *son*! Her *blood*!”
“I tried calling,” the solicitor said calmly. “Phone disconnected. You’re still registered at your first wife’s, though you don’t live there. How was I to reach you?”
“You can contest it,” the man added.
Steven stormed to Lena’s, hammering on the door—only to freeze when a stranger answered.
“Who’re you?” Steven snapped. Then he spotted Lena behind the man.
“It’s fine, Will,” she said softly, stepping out. “He’s here for me.”
Steven sneered. “Finally found *someone*, eh? Guess you’re good enough for *somebody*.”
The words stung, but Lena stayed quiet. She wouldn’t fight the father of her child—the manShe turned back to the warmth of Will’s embrace, realizing at last that the love she’d spent years chasing had been beside her all along.
