Mum for Olivia

Author Harlan CovingtonReading 9 minViews 1

Victor Harper drove his fiancée to his parents house for the first ever introduction.

What if they dont like me? fretted Olivia as they stepped onto the front lawn.

Impossible! Youre the best Ive ever had, Victor urged, flinging the front door wide.

In the hallway, Victors mother, Evelyn Harper, greeted them.

Mother, this is Olivia, Victor announced.

You were going to introduce your bride to us? the lady asked, eyeing Olivia.

Well, here she is! her husband chuckled.

Hmm, the motherinlaw murmured dubiously, but that was only the beginning of the day the Harpers would never forget.

Olivia fell head over heels for Victor at first sight. The tall, sandyhaired young man with clear blue eyes won her over with his calm, sensible nature and genuine kindness. Despite a tenyear age gap, Victors previous marriage and his teenage daughter, Olivia gladly agreed to become his wife.

The meeting with Victors family left an indelible imprint on Olivia. When they entered the drawingroom, the future motherinlaw sniffed disapprovingly and asked Victor, You said youd bring us your bride.

Yes, thats her, Victor beamed. Meet Olivia!

Right? Evelyn shrugged and retreated to another room. I thought youd hired a housekeeper instead.

Olivia, still a bit bewildered, looked at her fiancé.

Dont mind her, Victor soothed, Mum just cant tell a joke.

All evening, Evelyn pretended not to notice Olivia, launching into nostalgic tales about Victors exwife, Margaret.

Margaret calls all the time, asks about dads health. Shed run a mile to bring a homemade pienever seen anything like it! she cooed, rolling her eyes at Olivia.

Victor, hugging Olivia, replied, Olivias a brilliant housewife too.

How charming, Evelyn said, her tone dripping with condescension. Where will you live? Ive already turned your bedroom into my walkin wardrobe, Ruth.

Dont worry, Mum, Olivia has her own flat, Victor said, preparing to leave.

Victor, Im sure Ive offended your family! Olivia sighed as they stepped out.

Youre exaggerating. Ruth is just a friends daughtermy dad and Leonard have been business partners forever. We were set up as youngsters, married young, and only when Sophie was born did I realise Ruth was a disaster. She cares only for shopping and parties. I hoped wed part amicably, that shed gladly hand over her daughter, but shes dug her heels in. We fought, and Sophie stayed with her.

Why does your mum treat her so well? Olivia asked.

Because Ruth was a convenient arrangement. Our families are tightknit, and Mum will get used to youshell see youre the best girl in the world!

As weeks passed, Evelyns sarcasm grew louder. Where she once pretended not to notice, she now openly mocked Olivias cooking, housekeeping, and appearance.

You dont look good next to my son, she sneered. Get a proper haircut, some makeup, dress like you actually care about my sons wages!

Victor, hearing the tirade, snapped back:

Mum! One more word about my wife and Im cutting you off. Stop it, or Ill speak to my father. Olivia is the most wonderful person and I love her!

From then on Evelyn toned down her attacks on Olivia, but she doubled down on praising Margaret. Meanwhile, Margaret, who had never called Victor before, suddenly bombarded him with phone calls.

Victor, youve stopped seeing Sophie! How about a weekend together?

You never let me see my child! Victor snapped. Ill take her for the weekend without you!

But Im the mother! Margaret protested. How could I let her go?

Youll send her back to her own father!

And you have a NEW WIFE now! she retorted.

Unlike you, Olivia is kind, caring, and will look after Sophie just fine, Victor said, hanging up and giving Olivia a reassuring glance.

Nice to meet your daughter! Olivia smiled brightly.

A few days later Olivia found a little girl on her doorstep with bright orange curls and eyes the colour of her fathers. Sophie, shy at first, clung to Victor.

Lets have tea! Olivia chirped, instantly falling in love with her new stepdaughter and her husband.

At first Sophie was nervous and hesitant, but Olivias patience coaxed her out of her shell until she behaved like any other child. Margaret began shuttling Sophie to Victor more often, claiming the girl was bored. Olivia and Victor relished the extra playtime, and Sophie returned the affection.

One day, when Victor was at work, I told my mum Im locked in my room and she never plays with me, Sophie confessed, eyes welling.

What? Olivia gasped.

My mum sends me to my room and tells me not to bother her. She never plays or goes out with me. Can I live with you?

Id love that, sweetheart, Olivia whispered, fighting back tears. But I doubt your mum will agree.

Why? Im useless to her anyway! Sophie wailed.

Your mum loves you, dear. Shes just busy.

Busy? She doesnt work! Shes always out with friends or shopping. She never takes me!

Alright, love, Ill talk to your dad. Hell sort something out, Olivia soothed, ruffling Sophies curls.

Victor, later that evening, mused, Ive thought about this, but Ruth wont give up. She doesnt need a daughter, she just wants to spite me for the divorce. Ill figure something out.

Days turned into weeks, and Victor never succeeded in convincing Margaret to hand over Sophie, even as Ruth kept sending the girl to Victors house.

When Olivia discovered she was pregnant, the couples joy knew no boundsuntil Margaret, as usual, barged in with Sophie, refusing to let the girl stay with her father.

Youve betrayed your daughter by trying for another child! Margaret hissed, storming out.

Sophie, darling, whats happened? Why are you angry? Olivia asked.

Im not needed any more! This is your new baby! Sophie shouted, snatching Olivias hand.

She turned and ran, sobbing, while Olivia and Victor tried desperately to comfort her, promising she would always be their beloved child. Sophie eventually calmed, though she kept her distance.

When little Danny was born, Margaret suddenly announced a holiday, leaving Sophie with Victor.

Youre doing this on purpose! Victor fumed. You know Olivia is tied up with the baby, Im at workwho will look after Sophie?

I have no idea, love, Margaret sang, you wanted the girl back, so why did you have another?

Victors phone crackled with static, but Olivia placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Dont worry, love. Having Sophie with us will actually help. Itll give me a break, she whispered.

Surprisingly, Sophie took to caring for her baby brother. She helped hang the wash, rocked Danny, and when he slept they sat with tea, chatting like old friends. When Margaret returned, Olivia tearfully said goodbye to Sophie.

Christmas approached, and Evelyn invited Victor and his family to spend the holidays at her cottage. Olivia sensed something was off, but Victor reassured her everything would be fine.

Im sure mum wont ruin the festivities. My dad will keep an eye on things, and youll finally get a break from the housework. Grandma and granddad will be on hand, too, Victor promised.

The fatherinlaw, a stern but fair man with a thick silver beard that hinted at hidden humour, was wellliked by Olivia. Yet Evelyn found another excuse to slight Olivia, this time by inviting Margaret, who arrived looking flawless in a designer dress, hair perfectly styled, and makeup immaculate.

The old lady ignored her grandson, while Victor, his dad, and Sophie helped Olivia with the baby, allowing her a moments peace.

When Victor and his father slipped into the study for a mens chat, Evelyn gushed over Margaret, reminiscing about their youthful days. She laughed loudly about how Victors split with Ruth was hilarious, making little Danny cry.

Olivia! Whats this? Why is your child wailing? You cant soothe him? Ruth never did this! Evelyn shrieked.

Olivia rushed to the nursery, tears streaming, as the house filled with shouting.

What did you say? Evelyn demanded, eyes wide.

I said youre terrible, and you too, Mum! All you do is gossip and shop! Dad pays for everything, you just spend it! Olivia Olivia youd better be my mother! Sophie wailed, flinging herself out of the room, knocking over bewildered men standing in the doorway.

Olivia dressed the sleeping Danny, determined never to stay in that house again. Suddenly, tiny hands clutched at her.

Olivia, can I come with you?

Sophie, love, who would let us? Olivia replied, tears spilling.

No one will stop us! shouted Victors father from the hallway. Sophie, sweetie, you may go with Olivia, if she agrees.

Thanks, Dad! Victor shouted as he entered, laughing as he pushed a sled down the snowy street, his favourite girls trailing behind him.

My Ex Invited Me to Dinner “to Apologise”… But I Came Bearing a Gift He Never Expected The invitation arrived on an ordinary day—which made it all the more striking. My phone buzzed while I was in the kitchen, hands wet, hair tied up hurriedly. Nothing in my world was prepared for the past. “Hey. Can we meet? Just for dinner. I need to tell you something.” I read the message slowly. Not because I didn’t understand the words. But because I could feel their weight. Years ago, I would have clung to that message like a lifebuoy. I’d have imagined it was a sign—the universe returning something it owed me. But I was no longer that woman. Now, I was a woman capable of switching off the lamp and falling asleep without waiting for anyone’s call. A woman who could be alone without feeling abandoned. A woman who no longer hands her peace to someone who once neglected it. And still… I replied. “All right. Where?” Only then did I realise: I hadn’t written “why.” I hadn’t written “what for.” I hadn’t written “how are you.” I hadn’t written “do I miss you.” That made me smile. I wasn’t trembling. I was choosing. The restaurant was one of those places where the light spills onto the tables like gold. Soft music, white tablecloths, expensive glass that sings quiet notes at a touch. I arrived slightly early. Not out of impatience. But because it’s always wise to have time to scan the room, find your exits, and arrange your thoughts. When he walked in, I didn’t recognise him at first. Not because he was different, but because he looked… tired. He wore a suit bought for a different man. Too much effort, too little ease. He saw me and his eyes lingered on my face longer than propriety allows. It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t love. It was the awkward admission: “She hasn’t stayed put where I left her.” “Hi,” he said, his voice softer. I nodded slightly. “Hello.” He sat. Ordered wine. Then, without asking, ordered for me—the same thing I used to like. Once, that gesture would have warmed my heart. Now, it seemed like a trick. Men sometimes think that remembering your taste wins them a place at your table again. I sipped my wine. Slowly. No rush. He started with something that sounded “right”: “You’re very beautiful.” He said it as if waiting for me to melt. I smiled slightly. “Thank you.” And nothing more. He swallowed. “I don’t know where to begin,” he added. “Start with the truth,” I said, calm. It was a strange moment. When a woman stops fearing the truth, the man across from her starts fearing to speak it. He stared at his glass. “I messed up with you.” Pause. His words arrived like a delayed train—rolling in, but no one waiting on the platform. “How?” I asked quietly. He gave a sour smile. “You know.” “No. Say it.” He met my eyes. “I… made you feel small.” There it was. Finally. He didn’t say, “I left you.” He didn’t say, “I cheated.” He didn’t say, “I was afraid of you.” He said it plainly: He had shrunk me to feel bigger himself. Then he began to talk. About stress. About ambition. About how “he wasn’t ready.” About how I was “too strong.” I listened carefully. Not to judge. But to see if this man had the spine to admit his fault without using me as his mirror. And when he finished, he exhaled: “I want to come back.” Just like that. No warning. No shame. As if returning was his natural right once he’d said “I’m sorry.” And here comes the moment women know too well: when the man from your past returns, not out of understanding, but because he hasn’t found a softer place for his ego. I looked at him and felt something unexpected. Not anger. Not pain. Clarity. He returned not with love, but need. And I was no longer the solution to someone else’s need. The dessert arrived. The waiter set a small dish in front of us. He looked at me expectantly. “Please… give me a chance.” Once, that “please” would have shaken me. Now it sounded like a late apology to a woman who’s already stepped out. I pulled a small box from my bag. Not a store gift. My own box—simple, elegant, unadorned. I placed it on the table between us. He blinked. “What’s this?” “For you,” I said. There was hope in his eyes—a flicker of the hope that women are still “soft,” still willing to give. He took the box and opened it. Inside was a key. A single, ordinary key on a plain keyring. He looked confused. “What… is this?” I sipped my wine and said calmly: “It’s the key to the old flat.” His face froze. That flat… those were our last days. That was where the humiliation happened, the one I never told anyone about. He remembered. Of course he remembered. The last time, he’d said to me: “Leave the key. It’s not yours anymore.” He’d said it as if I was a thing, not a person. And that day, I’d left the key on the table and walked out. No scene. No conversation. No explanation. But the truth is… I didn’t leave it. I’d kept the spare. Not for revenge. Because I knew: one day, I’d need to put a full stop. Every ending needs a full stop, not an ellipsis. And there I was, years later. Same man. Same table. But a different woman. “I kept it,” I said. “Not because I hoped you’d come back. But because I knew one day you’d want me back.” He grew pale. Tried to smile. “Is this… a joke?” “No,” I answered softly. “It’s closure.” I took the key from his hand, closed the box, and put it away. “I didn’t come to this dinner to take you back,” I said. “I came to be certain of something.” “Of what?” I looked at him. This time, I looked without love or hate. As a woman who sees the truth, unflinching. “That my decision back then was the right one.” He tried to speak, but the words stuck. There was a time he was used to having the last word. Now, the ending was in my hands. I stood. Left money for my share of the bill. He rose sharply. “Wait… so that’s it? That’s how it ends?” I smiled gently. Almost tenderly. “No. This is how it begins.” “How what begins?” “My life, without your attempts to return to it.” He stood motionless. I took my coat, slowly, with grace. A woman shouldn’t rush in such moments. And just before leaving, I looked back. “Thank you for dinner,” I said. “I have no more questions. No more ‘what ifs’.” Then I left. Outside, the air was crisp. Fresh. As if the city whispered: “Welcome to the freedom you deserve.” ❓And what about you? If an ex returned with an apology and wanted a new beginning, would you give him another chance—or close the door with grace and dignity?