“You know how he looks at you? With love and adoration,” said her daughter, clearly pleased with herself.
James stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped only in a towel. Droplets of water glistened on the toned muscles of his chest. Not just a man—a dream. In Lillian’s chest, her heart ached sweetly.
James sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for her to pull her into a kiss. She tilted her head away.
“Don’t—or I’ll never leave. I have to go. Emily’s probably home already.” Lillian nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder.
He sighed.
“Lil, how much longer? When are you going to tell your daughter about us?”
“Three months ago, you didn’t even know I existed, and you were doing just fine,” Lillian replied, standing and slipping into her clothes.
“I don’t think I was living at all—just waiting for you. I can’t go a single day without—”
“Don’t break my heart. Don’t walk me out,” Lillian interrupted, slipping from the room before he could protest.
She walked down the street, ignoring the glances of passersby. It felt like they all knew where she’d been. Men looked with curiosity; women with judgement.
It wasn’t surprising—she had it all: poise, grace, striking eyes and full lips. A few strands of her dark hair had escaped her clip, but right now, she wished she could disappear.
***
She’d married young, at twenty, out of deep, mutual love. Almost immediately, she’d gotten pregnant. Her husband had begged her to consider an abortion—too soon, too much responsibility, they’d have time later. But she refused, giving birth to a healthy girl, hoping he’d change. He hadn’t. Some men were simply indifferent to children.
Then the phone call came. A stranger, a woman, giving her an address where her husband often spent his evenings. She didn’t rush to confront him. She waited, asked him directly. He denied everything, then defended himself, then shouted:
“Some crazy woman tells you something, and you believe her? You’re just as mad. I’m leaving, and you’ll regret this—”
The door slammed. For a while, Lillian didn’t want to live, but her daughter needed her. Two weeks later, she stood under a tree outside that address and waited. Soon, her husband walked by, arm in arm with a younger woman. They disappeared inside.
The next day, Lillian filed for divorce. She wasn’t the forgiving type. She enrolled her daughter in nursery and returned to work.
Over the years, men came and went, but none ever felt worth the risk—until James. Handsome, tall, her perfect match. Their romance burned fast and fierce. One evening, Emily asked where she was going, dressed so carefully.
“On a date,” Lillian answered, half-joking, half-serious.
“Ah,” Emily said knowingly. She never asked again.
Emily took after her in figure, though not in beauty. People often wondered how two attractive parents had such an ordinary-looking daughter. Lillian didn’t mind. Beauty was a burden, a magnet for envy. She’d never had close friends—not because of her personality, but because other girls felt dull beside her. Maybe that’s why she’d married so young, hoping to find companionship in her husband.
“Pleasant enough, but not nearly good enough for you,” her mother had remarked back then.
***
“Emily, I’m home,” Lillian called as she entered the flat.
“Still doing homework,” came the muffled reply.
Lillian changed, then headed to the kitchen. Soon, Emily joined her, breaking off a piece of bread.
“Don’t spoil your appetite, dinner’s almost ready,” Lillian said, setting the table. “I need to talk to you.”
“Then talk,” Emily said between bites.
“My birthday’s coming up.”
“I remember, Mum.”
“I’d like to invite… someone.” Lillian hesitated.
“The one you’re sleeping with?” Emily said calmly, eyes locked on her mother.
“We’re *seeing* each other. And show some respect.”
“What’s the difference? At your age, dating and sleeping together are the same thing.”
“So, can I invite him? Are you okay with it?”
“Whatever. Is Gran coming?” Emily shrugged.
Relief washed over Lillian. Fifteen was a difficult age, but Emily seemed unfazed.
“Gran’s visiting Sunday. I just want you two to get along.”
“Fine, invite him,” Emily said dismissively.
On Saturday morning, Lillian cooked feverishly, eager to impress James with her skills. He arrived with a massive bouquet, a ring in hand. Lillian was stunned by his intensity.
Desperate to charm Emily, James was loud, cracking jokes, telling stories. But Emily remained quiet, reserved. After he left, Lillian cleared the table and sat beside her daughter, reaching out—only for Emily to lean away.
“You didn’t like him?” Lillian asked.
“No,” Emily replied flatly.
“Why?” Lillian couldn’t hide her disappointment.
“Just didn’t. I get it—you’re young, you want love. But Mum, he’s *using* you. Why can’t you see it?”
“Did Gran put you up to this?”
“Gran has nothing to do with it! I have *eyes*,” Emily said desperately as Lillian stood.
“Mum, do you love him?” Emily asked softly. Lillian nodded without turning. “Then keep seeing him. Just don’t let him move in.”
“Why?” Lillian spun around.
“I don’t like him, that’s all,” Emily said firmly.
Strangely, Lillian felt relief. James had rushed things—the ring, the future plans—yet revealed little about himself. And Emily? She mattered only because she lived with Lillian.
The next day, James called, saying he missed her. He never asked if Emily approved. Too confident, or too indifferent?
Lillian lied. “Gran’s coming tonight. I won’t have time.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow,” she agreed, relieved.
With Gran, Emily was cheerful, chatty. No mention of James. Maybe her daughter saw what she couldn’t—blinded by love.
Things continued. They met at his place for hours. One evening, James brought up their future again, growing angry when Lillian asked for patience.
“That selfish girl is ruining your happiness!” he yelled. “In a few years, she’ll fall in love herself, and you’ll be alone!”
“Are you breaking up with me?” Lillian asked coldly.
“No, I just—it slipped out,” James backtracked.
They parted on worse terms. Two days later, Emily arrived home late.
“Where were you? What about homework?” Lillian demanded.
“Done. Listen, I need to tell you something,” Emily rushed after her.
“You look pleased. What is it?”
“You won’t like it. Me and Nick… we *found* out about your James.”
“Found what? He wasn’t lost.”
“You don’t know the truth. He doesn’t live where he says. He’s got a wife—or a girlfriend—and a little boy.”
Lillian froze. “You followed him?”
“We saw them together. He didn’t leave. He smoked by the window, shirtless—Mum?”
Lillian fled to the bathroom, stifling a scream. Hot tears streamed down her face.
Later, Emily had already eaten, cleared her plate, and retreated. Lillian didn’t follow. She stood on the balcony, staring at the city lights, thinking.
Emily was right. His flat had always felt empty—no photos, barely any food. Just a place for their affair.
*How long would he have lied?*
Her chest tightened. She leaned over the railing, gasping.
“Mum!” Emily yanked her back. “You scared me!”
“Did you expect me to be happy about this?” Lillian snapped, then softened. “Don’t spy on him again.”
The next day, she confronted James. His flat confirmed everything—barely any clothes, no life there.
“You rent this just for us, don’t you? You’re *married*,” she said evenly.
He paled, then lashed out. “I thought you were different—not like those paranoid women—”
“Call me crazy again.” She smirked bitterly. “Are you married?”
Silence. She left his ring on the table and walked out.
She wandered for hours. Cutting out love was like amputating a rotting limb—painful, but necessary.
Three weeks later, the school year ended. Emily left for a trip to Edinburgh. Before she went, they talked.
“Mum… what about *Mr. Harrison*?”
“Who?”
“From downstairs,” Emily clarified.
Lillian pictured the quiet, bearded man in their building.
“He *loves* you,” Emily said confidently.
“How do you know?”
“You should see how he looks at you—like you’re the only person in the world.”
LillianShe smiled, realizing love had been waiting right beside her all along.
