No Air Left
Lucy turned the key slowly and stepped inside the flat, careful not to make a sound. But the lock clicked regardless. Without flipping the light switch, she slipped off her shoes and tiptoed toward her room—until the sharp snap of a switch behind her shattered the quiet like a gunshot.
“Lucy, where were you? Why so late? I called Daisy. You lied to me,” Mum’s voice cut through the dark.
Lucy froze, took a sharp breath, and turned.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” she shot back.
“How could I sleep when you weren’t home? I was worried,” Mum said, her eyes scanning Lucy’s face.
“I’m an adult, Mum. Stop keeping tabs on me,” Lucy muttered.
“Oh yes, very grown-up,” Mum sighed, waving a hand as she retreated to her room, leaving the door ajar.
Lucy hesitated, then followed, sinking onto the sofa beside her.
“Sorry, Mum. I lost track of time.”
Mum looked exhausted, the harsh light of the chandelier deepening the shadows under her eyes.
“I wasn’t alone. I was with James. We went to the cinema, then walked around. Don’t worry about me.”
“James?”
“Yeah. Met him two weeks ago. He’s… interesting. Knows so much.” A smile curled Lucy’s lips as she leaned into Mum, resting her head on her shoulder.
“So last time, it was him—not Daisy?”
“Sorry.”
“I get it, but why lie? Does he go to uni too?”
“He’s graduated, works already,” Lucy said quickly.
“So he’s older? Oh, love…” Mum sighed. Lucy tensed, ready to argue, but Mum spoke first. “Will you introduce me?”
“Of course. You’ll like him.”
“Didn’t even notice you growing up,” Mum murmured, giving her a sad look. “It’s late. Get some rest.”
“Night, Mum.” Lucy kissed her cheek and left.
Under the covers, Lucy stared at the ceiling, replaying every word, every touch, lost in dreams…
When she woke, Mum was already gone. Lucy washed up, ate the breakfast left out, and grabbed her phone.
“Hey, you at work?” she chirped.
“Yeah,” James answered, sharp.
“Bad time?” Her smile faltered at his cold tone.
“Yes. I’ll call you back.” The line went dead.
“Call *you* back?” Lucy stared blankly as the screen darkened.
*Someone’s with him*, she guessed, waiting. She tried reading but couldn’t focus. The telly offered nothing. She called Daisy and met her for ice cream, gushing about James—until he rang.
“Sorry, love. You caught me at a bad time. Busy. Meet tonight?”
“Yeah!” Lucy beamed.
“Mum wants to meet you,” she told James later.
“You told her about us?” He tensed. “She’s okay with it?” His eyes searched hers skeptically.
“Why wouldn’t she be?”
“It’s early days… Meeting parents means serious intentions…”
“And we’re not serious?” Lucy stiffened.
“I am serious about you.” He pulled her close, hiding his face. “But she’ll interrogate me.”
“How many girlfriends’ parents have you met? Spill.” She nudged him playfully.
“A couple.”
“Nothing to hide, then? No Bluebeard’s chamber of exes? You’re not married, are you?” She laughed.
“Course not. Where’d that come from?”
“Where are we going?” she changed the subject.
“Not much time. Mum needs me early. Just a walk?” He kissed her, and her doubts melted away.
They strolled arm in arm as James whispered how he’d lain awake missing her, how he’d never felt like this before. He’d introduce her to Mum properly soon—just not now, not after Dad’s death left her jumpy at phone calls…
Lucy pictured their future—meeting him after work, flowers, kisses… It was enough to make her heart skip.
“Still coming Saturday? Mum’s making her chocolate cake.”
James answered with another kiss.
On Saturday, he called—Mum was ill, an ambulance came, he couldn’t leave her…
Lucy slumped.
“It’s fine. A caring son makes a good husband. Let’s eat the cake,” Mum said.
Lucy forced down a slice. Restless, she wandered until Mum nudged her outside. The last summer warmth lingered, too precious to waste. She bought ice cream—then froze.
James pushed a pram, a blonde woman beside him. Lucy ducked behind a tree, watching until they passed. The ice cream melted. She tossed it, trudged home blinking back tears, searching for excuses. *If not his wife, then who?*
“Watch where you’re going!” a woman snapped.
“Sorry.” Lucy walked blind.
Then it hit her. He wasn’t home—no “ill” Mum. She called. His phone was off.
At his building, an old man directed her to the seventh floor. A baby cried inside. The door opened—the same blonde woman.
“You’re not the doctor. Who are you?”
“Does James live here?”
“Yes—” A crash, wailing. The woman rushed off, leaving Lucy staring.
He’d lied. The “neighbour” was his *wife*. A baby. No sick Mum. Just lies.
Her phone buzzed. James: *Why the hell did you come to my place? Lost your mind?*
She sobbed.
Home, Mum called, “Lucy? I’m decorating the tree! Help me—”
Lucy locked herself in the bathroom, ran the water, found Dad’s old razor…
Mum’s knocking turned to pounding. “Lucy! Open the door!”
Neighbours broke in. Lucy floated in red water…
She woke in hospital. Mum clutched her hand.
“Sweetheart—”
“I’m sorry…”
Exams blurred past. She blocked James. The pain dulled but never left.
That summer, at the seaside, she met Tom—same city, different uni.
She laughed again, the old Lucy. But sometimes shadows crossed her face.
It faded. Everything does…
*You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known your fairy tale would rot into lies and waiting. That you’d wake up tangled in someone else’s life. No one warned you…*
*Run. If you can’t run—crawl. Before they break your wings for good.*
