A Difficult Decision
“Nan, I don’t want porridge,” murmured Alfie, gently pushing his bowl away while keeping his eyes locked on Valerie.
It was exactly what her daughter used to do—slide her plate toward the edge until it toppled onto the floor. How did he pick that up? He’d never seen it. Grown-up Emily had never done it. Was it something in his blood?
Valerie had scolded her daughter for it, but she couldn’t bring herself to be angry with Alfie.
“Stop!” she ordered just as the bowl teetered. “If you don’t want it, don’t eat it. Have your tea.”
“Can I ‘ave a sweet?” Alfie asked.
“No sweets. You already had one before breakfast and spoiled your appetite. Nothing till lunch.”
“But Naaaaan,” he whined.
Tears welled in his eyes, his lips trembling on the brink of a sob. The little scamp knew exactly how it tugged at her heart.
*He cries just like his mum did.* The thought made Valerie soften, but before she could relent, the doorbell rang.
“Have a biscuit instead,” she said, slipping out of the kitchen.
“I don’t *want* biscuits!” Alfie called after her petulantly.
Valerie opened the door to find Edward, her son-in-law and Alfie’s father, standing there.
“Hello, Valerie. You look lovely as ever,” he said with a warm smile.
The compliment pleased her, but she answered stiffly. “You too. Come in.”
“Daddy!” Alfie hurtled into the hall.
Edward bent down, scooping him into his arms. “Blimey, you’re getting heavy! Growing like a weed.” His eyes softened with affection.
“What’d you bring me?” Alfie wriggled back slightly to grin at him.
“Were you good? Listened to Nan? No trouble?” Edward glanced at Valerie for confirmation. She said nothing, avoiding his gaze.
“Out with it, what’ve you done?” Edward jostled Alfie playfully.
“Didn’t eat my porridge. Got in trouble at nursery—fought with Tommy. He started it! Pushed me and took my toy car. I hit him back. Got told off, but *he* didn’t.”
“That’s not fair,” Edward sympathised.
“Alfie, go to your room. I need to talk to your dad.”
Edward lowered him to the floor, fished a toy car from his coat pocket, and handed it over. Beaming, Alfie scampered off. Edward followed Valerie to the kitchen, sitting at the table while she cleared the half-eaten porridge and lingered by the sink.
“That Tommy’s mother had a lot to say—demanded I punish Alfie. But that boy’s always shoving kids about, then crying when they retaliate. Kids scrap—it’s normal. Still, you shouldn’t encourage Alfie to hit back,” she chided.
“I can’t thank you enough, Valerie, for taking care of my boy. I’d be lost without you.”
“Course I would. I’m his nan.”
She knew she was being coy. Yes, Alfie was her grandson, but she looked more like his mum than his grandmother.
“Valerie, maybe we should hire a nanny?” Edward always used her full name, reinforcing the formality between them. She frowned.
“Don’t be daft.” She shot him a quick glance. He was watching her intently—a woman always knows when a man’s looking. It flustered her.
She turned back to the sink, turned the tap on, then off. *Stop fidgeting. Don’t let him notice.* Crossing her arms, she faced him.
“No nanny. You think some stranger’ll care for him better than me? Not happening.”
“But he’s a handful. You should have your own life…” Edward trailed off, clearing his throat.
“So should you.”
Their eyes met, then darted away.
She’d never understood what a man like Edward saw in her flighty, impulsive daughter. He was fifteen years older than Emily—closer to Valerie’s age than hers.
But he’d loved Emily. Of that, Valerie was sure. Enough to envy her. When Emily announced her engagement, Valerie had tried to dissuade her.
“He’s older, wiser, and you’re barely out of nappies. What could you possibly have in common?”
“Mum, we love each other. I’m twenty! If you say no, I’ll leave. I’m marrying him either way. You’re just jealous,” Emily had snapped.
“Don’t rush. Get to know each other first.” Valerie had hoped Edward would lose interest. “Someone your own age would suit you better.”
“They’re all boring. Tell the truth—if you’d met him first, wouldn’t *you* have married him?”
*She has no idea how right she is.*
Valerie had tried reasoning with Edward, too—begging him not to marry her immature daughter.
“She’ll learn. I love her. She’ll be happy—I’ll make sure of it.” His certainty had left no room for doubt.
They’d married. Emily dropped out of uni after getting pregnant, then threw herself into being a wife—ringing Valerie daily for cooking advice. And she’d been a good mum.
When Alfie started nursery, Emily returned to uni part-time. Edward fudged paperwork, listing her as his employee. Then he bought her that damned motorbike.
Valerie had raged—*the most dangerous thing on the road!* A car would’ve been safer.
“I taught her to ride. She’s careful,” he’d defended.
“You? I’d never have guessed.”
“Why not?” He’d smirked, pulling her into a reassuring hug. She’d shivered at his touch—thank God he hadn’t noticed. *Disgraceful—his mother-in-law melting like a schoolgirl!*
But she *was* a woman. A young one.
Valerie had fallen hard at eighteen, gotten pregnant, and been abandoned by the terrified lad. Her mother had forbidden an abortion, minded Emily while Valerie finished uni. She’d never married again—too afraid to trust. If only she’d met Edward back then. Tall, composed, with that rugged charm. She understood why Emily had loved him.
The day it happened, she’d picked Alfie up from nursery. No premonitions. Emily had gone to watch bike races outside town.
On their way back, a speeding SUV clipped the last two bikers. The lad survived with a broken leg. Emily didn’t—her head injury was too severe. A week later, she was gone.
Valerie had blamed Edward.
“Why’d you buy her that bike? Teach her to ride? She’d be alive if not for you!” she’d screamed at his hollow-eyed grief.
She thought her pain was greater—until she took Alfie in. Edward didn’t protest. He visited often, bringing toys, money, spending time with his son. She knew she was selfish, keeping him from his dad—but Alfie filled the void Emily left.
A year passed. A rainy summer loomed. Edward suggested a seaside holiday.
“Go,” Valerie agreed. “You two need time together.”
“No—*you’re* coming. You need a break too. No arguments.”
“I’ll cramp your style. You’ll meet some girl there…” She turned to the rain-streaked window.
“Don’t be daft. We’re not going without you.”
“Fine.” Truthfully, she was terrified of Edward taking Alfie alone.
After he left, Valerie dug out her summer dresses, held them up in the mirror.
Caught Alfie staring from the sofa. Shame burned her. *Who are you primping for? You’re his dead wife’s mother—he still loves her.* She shoved the clothes back.
At the hotel, Edward booked her a separate room. On the beach, she stole glances at his toned body. Other women did too.
He played with Alfie, building sandcastles. Nearby mums flirted shamelessly, stoking Valerie’s jealousy. She marched over. Edward scooted aside, making space.
“Alfie, let’s put your shirt on—you’ll burn.” She hid a smirk as the women’s smiles faded. *They think I’m his wife.*
Sleepless nights tormented her. She willed the holiday to end.
Then Edward gashed his foot on the sink. The bleeding wouldn’t stop—hospital stitches.
Next day, she and Alfie went to the beach alone. Returning, she checked on Edward. He lounged in shorts, bandaged foot propped, reading.
“Just seeing how you are,” she mumbled, turning to leave.
He caught her wrist. “Stay.”
She remained standing, avoiding his bare chest.
“I’ve wanted to say… Don’t misunderstand—I loved Emily. But as she aged, I imagined she’d look like you. You—”
“*What*?” she snapped.
Hopping up, he pulled her close. “If youHe kissed her softly, and in that moment, under the weight of guilt and longing, Valerie realized some choices are made not with the mind, but with the heart.
