“Managing Love Life”
“Mum, why are you making such a fuss? Daniel said he loves me. We’re getting married,” Zoe said, eerily calm.
“How can I *not* make a fuss? You’re pregnant, unmarried, still in college, and I’ve never even met this bloke! Do you think a child is some kind of toy? That Daniel had better show up today, look me in the eye, and promise he’ll take responsibility, understood?”
“Stop shouting! I thought you’d be happy about a grandchild. I’ll fetch him—he’ll be back from work soon. I’ve got a key to his flat in student housing. I’ll wait there. You’re being *way* too dramatic,” Zoe huffed, flouncing out the door, her handbag swinging carelessly.
Catherine clutched her chest and slumped onto a kitchen stool, staring at her late husband’s portrait.
“That’s what happens without a father around,” she muttered to the photo. “Oh, Michael, why did you leave us so soon? I’ve failed our Zoe—rushed into everything. What if this lad walks out? How will we manage? My wages are barely enough, and who’ll hire a pregnant student? She’s got *half a year* left! Blimey, what a mess!”
She buried her face in her apron and wept. Life had weighed heavy on her shoulders when she was young—widowed at twenty, left with a two-year-old in a tiny Surrey village. Only her best mate and the neighbours knew the full struggle. She’d gone without meals to feed Zoe, juggled odd jobs, and now, just as things steadied, her daughter drops *this* bombshell.
“Right. Best get the pie dough started—son-in-law’s coming, eh? Oh, Zoe, Zoe…”
Once the table was set, Catherine changed into her Sunday dress and knitted socks to calm her nerves.
The front door creaked open—Zoe trudged in alone. Catherine peered behind her.
“Where’s the groom-to-be? Left him on the doorstep?”
“Gone. Vanished,” Zoe sniffled. “He dumped me.”
“*What?*” Catherine collapsed onto a chair.
“Just like that! Quit his job, packed his bags, and bolted. The landlady told me…”
Zoe’s eyes welled up. Single motherhood hadn’t been part of her plan.
“What do I do now, Mum?”
Catherine bit back an “I told you so.” A mother’s heart isn’t made of stone.
“You have the baby. That’s what. It won’t magic itself away. When’s it due?”
“July. Just in time to graduate,” Zoe sighed, rubbing her belly.
…Zoe delivered right on schedule—a girl she named Emily. And so, they became a trio, like three peas in a pod.
Emily grew up bright-eyed and cheeky. Catherine doted on her; Zoe, however, kept her at arm’s length. The girl was the *spitting image* of that cheating Daniel—same copper curls, same bright green eyes.
“Mummy’s home!” Six-year-old Emily would sprint to the door, arms wide.
“What’d you bring me?” She’d cling to Zoe’s sleeve, hopeful.
“Nothing,” Zoe would grumble.
“But *why*? You *promised* ice cream!”
“Piss off, I’m knackered!” Zoe would shove her off and lock herself in her room.
Emily would stand there, crying. She’d waited *all day* for a cuddle. And now nursery kids mocked her “dad-less” family drawing—just her, Mum, and Nan.
Catherine would scoop her up, but the hurt ran deep.
“Daddy? Where’s my daddy? Why’s Mummy *mean*?” Emily would wail.
Catherine would squeeze her tight. “Not everyone has a dad, love. More pies for us, eh? Let’s pop to the shop for ice cream.”
The magic word always worked.
“And Mummy too?”
“And Mummy.”
Mother’s Day was *their* holiday—just women, after all. The table groaned with food, Zoe’s mates brought gifts, laughter rang out. But this year, Zoe brought a *man*. No warning.
On their doorstep stood a silver-haired bloke in a Savile Row suit, *decades* older.
“Mum, meet Alexander. My boss. He’s being transferred—promotion. We’re getting married.”
“*What?*” Catherine froze.
“Is *he* my daddy?” Emily piped up from the hallway.
Alexander chuckled. “No, poppet. Here’s a doll for you.”
Emily turned away. Something about him felt… *off*.
The evening dragged. Alexander barely hid his disdain for their “quaint” life. Zoe fawned over him, snapping at Emily.
“Sit *properly*! What will Uncle Alex think? Stop *fidgeting*!”
Catherine stayed quiet. Alexander held court, bragging about his promotion, their “lovely” Hampshire cottage.
“Emily’s coming too, right? Is the nursery nice there?”
Alexander shot Zoe a look. She changed the subject.
“Mum, why’s work? Retire—we’ll send you money.”
“Retire? On what?”
“Alex’ll provide. You’ll want for *nothing*.”
“Why would you—?”
“Emily, bedtime. Take your doll,” Alexander ordered.
Emily glanced at Nan’s nod and left—doll abandoned by the door.
“Mum, here’s the thing… We’re not taking Emily. Just till we’re settled—”
Catherine *exploded*. “She’s not a *goldfish*! You’re dumping her *for a man*?”
“It’s *temporary*,” Zoe simpered. “A new father needs *bonding* time.”
“Go ahead. But lay one finger on my Em, and you’ll *regret it*. I’ll tell her you’re on business. That poor lamb’s heartbroken *enough* without her mum choosing some prat over her!”
Zoe stormed out.
A week later, she packed. Emily hovered, fussing.
“Mummy, pack your *scarf*! What if it snows? And mittens!”
Zoe laughed. “It’s the *South Coast*, silly.”
Catherine’s heart ached as Emily smothered Zoe in hugs.
“Take Mr. Bearington. He’s my *favourite*.”
Zoe tossed the teddy in the suitcase. Emily tucked him in with a jumper.
“Don’t be sad, Bear. Mummy’s just cross ’cos she’ll miss me. Look after her, ’kay?”
Catherine fled to the loo, sobbing into a towel.
“Taxi’s here!” Zoe chirped. “No need to see me off.”
“Mummy, *no!*” Emily lunged. Zoe pried her off.
“Ugh, I’ll miss my *flight*! Mum, *take* her!”
Catherine held a weeping Emily as Zoe vanished.
Neither six months nor six years later did Zoe return. Just occasional cheques and calls. Catherine worked; the money went into Emily’s uni fund.
At graduation, Emily stood beside Nan as peers posed with parents.
“Proud of you, love,” Catherine whispered. “Wish your mum saw this. Sorry I raised her wrong.”
Emily kissed her cheek. “*You’re* my family. I’d *never* leave you. I forgave her ages ago. You should too.”
…Emily aced uni, Nan beaming at every milestone.
Then *they* appeared—designer-clad, smug.
Turns out, Alexander was sterile. Now *Emily* was their heir.
“Darling, we’re *collecting* you,” Zoe simpered, holding out Mr. Bearington.
Emily cuddled the bear. “Missed you, Bear. But I’m *staying*.” She smiled sweetly. “Wedding’s soon. Nan’s moving in with me. Keep your money—we never touched it. Now scram. Our *real* family’s taking us to dinner.”
A Jaguar pulled up. The chauffeur’s door swing left Zoe and Alexander slack-jawed.
…On the flight home, Zoe felt inexplicably hollow. The sea of clouds mirrored her mood.
*Odd*, she thought. *I’ve got everything—why do I want to cry?*
Maybe it was conscience. Or the ghost of a daughter’s love. But Zoe wasn’t ready to face that yet.
