As Long As I Will…

For as Long as I Shall…

Emily had always been a well-behaved child. She did well in school, never caused much trouble for her mother or grandmother. But in her final year at school, everything changed when she fell in love. Suddenly, she skipped classes, talked back, and wore heavy makeup. Veronica stumbled upon expensive cosmetics in her daughter’s drawer and confronted her.

“Someone gave them to me,” Emily muttered.

“And who exactly is so generous?” Veronica pressed.

“Oliver.”

“Oh? And where does he get the money?” Veronica assumed he was a classmate.

“He works, actually.”

Veronica’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t some schoolboy—this was a grown man, graduated, employed.

“Do you even realise how young you are to be with someone like that?” she demanded.

“I’m not a child. You had me at eighteen—doesn’t that make me just like you?” Emily retorted, voice shaking before she whispered, “You always said I took after you.”

Veronica stared at her, horrified.

“I’m leaving.” Emily brushed past her toward the door.

“Where are you going? We’re not done!” Veronica chased after her. “What about your schoolwork? Your A-levels are coming up!”

Emily straightened abruptly, blowing a strand of hair from her face as she glared.

“Schoolwork? Really, Mum? Who’s *your* late-night visitor? Think I don’t know?”

Veronica had thought herself careful, assuming Emily was too self-absorbed to notice. But the triumphant smirk Emily threw her as she slammed the door made it painfully clear—she’d known all along.

“Emily!” Veronica’s voice cracked as the door shut.

She stumbled back to the sofa, numb. Her daughter had grown up—and with it, the problems had grown too. Pregnant? God, no. She should’ve talked to her sooner, but Veronica had clung to the idea that Emily was still a child. Now, desperate for advice, she called the one person left—her mother.

“Mum, what do I do? Emily’s seeing a grown man. She’s pregnant!” The words tumbled out in a rush.

“Are you sure you’re not overreacting?”

“No! She admitted it. She won’t listen—”

“She’s just like you. You never listened either. Should’ve married that man—what was his name?”

“I didn’t love him! This isn’t about me!”

“It *is* about you. You married young, Emily would’ve had a father, she wouldn’t be looking for one in some stranger.”

Veronica swallowed hard. Her mother was right.

“Mum… why didn’t you let me have the abortion?” she whispered.

“Do you regret having Emily?”

“No, of course not, but—”

“Then there’s your answer. Imagine your life without her. Don’t shout at her—you’ll only make it worse.”

They talked for hours. Veronica waited up, heart pounding, until Emily came home. She followed her into the bedroom just as Emily pulled her jumper off. Veronica’s breath caught—Emily had always been slender, but now, her stomach curved slightly. It was real. A wave of heat rushed through Veronica.

“How far along? Three, four months?”

Emily flinched, clutching the jumper against her belly.

“My girl…” Veronica pulled her close. “I won’t yell. I just need to know—so I can help.”

Tears welled in Emily’s eyes. “He swore I wouldn’t get pregnant.”

“Does he know?”

A nod.

“What happens now?”

“I’m sorry, Mum.”

“Don’t cry. How did you even meet? Where does he work?”

“At a—Mum, he’s good. We’ll marry after exams. He rents a flat near here.”

“So he’s not from London?”

“No. Graduated from uni last year.”

“You’re keeping it? What about university?”

“I’ll go later,” Emily mumbled, avoiding her eyes.

“Right. It’s late. Sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Veronica left, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Memories flooded back—her own school crush, a party, too much cheap wine. Waking up to hands she hadn’t invited. She’d hoped for no consequences. There were always consequences.

When she told her mother, the boy’s parents blamed her—claimed she’d seduced him.

“You think because I was widowed young, I raised a tart?” her mother had spat. “Teach your son accountability!”

She’d forced Veronica through university, convinced her to keep the baby. It was agony—years of resentment. But Emily grew, and the pain faded. Or so Veronica thought. Now history repeated itself. A bitter laugh escaped her. *A grandmother at thirty-six.*

The boy’s parents sent him away. Veronica avoided love for years—until Oliver, her younger colleague, pursued her relentlessly. For months, they’d met secretly at his place. She’d lied to Emily, who’d seen right through her.

Oliver had proposed early on. But fear kept Veronica from introducing him to Emily. What if he preferred her? Another betrayal would destroy her.

Guilt ate at her. She should’ve been there more—but now Emily was in love. The next day, Veronica begged her to reconsider.

“Don’t throw your life away. I’ve been there—it’s hard. In a few years, you’ll see things differently—even him.”

Emily’s voice was small. “Did you regret having me?”

“At first. But I love you—that’s why I don’t want this for you.”

Doubt flickered in Emily’s eyes before she hardened. “We’re getting married. It’ll be different for us.”

Veronica told Oliver.

“That’s brilliant! Once she’s settled, we’ll marry—you’ll move in.” His joy stung.

Emily married Oliver in August. Veronica still hesitated—until Emily asked to stay briefly after their landlord kicked them out over the pregnancy.

“Of course,” Veronica said instantly.

But three became a crowd. To give them space, she moved in with Oliver.

“Finally,” he grinned. “You’re staying.”

But unease gnawed at her. Weeks passed—Emily and her husband showed no sign of leaving. Oliver grew impatient.

“You’re doubting me again.” He proposed once more. She asked for time.

Then vertigo hit at work. Days later, a positive test. Too soon—her grandchild and child would be the same age. She kept it secret, throwing herself into helping Emily, who’d just given birth.

One evening, exhaustion took her. Emily finally noticed.

“Are you pregnant? Have you lost your mind? At your age?”

“My age? I’m thirty-six—women have babies later now!”

“And what about me? You won’t have time to help. We’ll be pushing prams together—a joke!”

“He’s not some boy. He’s a man!”

Emily called Oliver, spilling the truth. He was thrilled, then hurt she’d hidden it.

“She wants me to terminate. She’s right—a grandson and son the same age…”

“Don’t you dare!” Oliver snapped.

He fretted over her, warning her not to overexert. But one afternoon, as she lifted baby Paul, a sharp pain nearly blinded her. She doubled over.

Blood came that night. Oliver blamed Emily—”She didn’t want you to have it!”—before storming out.

Days passed. No calls. Veronica packed her bags. Then—the lock turned.

“I knew you’d run,” Oliver murmured, taking her suitcase. “I slept at the office. I won’t lose you.”

They talked for hours.

“You’re burning out. Emily’s grown—she’ll manage. You need rest.”

Despite protests, he booked a holiday to Spain. Slowly, colour returned to Veronica’s cheeks.

Emily surprised her with a call. “Mum… are you okay?”

Oliver proposed again. This time, she said yes.

Back home, they filed for marriage. Emily visited weekends with Paul. Watching Oliver play with him, Veronica ached—for the child lost, for love found late, for her daughter, forced too soon into adulthood.

But she was only thirty-seven. Perhaps she’d dare to be a mother again. She had every right to try.

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As Long As I Will…