Lydia had been wandering down the street for quite some time. The betrayal from those she held dearest made her question her will to continue. She thought of him as her own son. But it turns out, he always harbored a hidden agenda, as the saying goes. She chuckled at the thought; she never liked clichés. She believed there were no bad people, only bad actions, and those actions often hurt the ones we love most.
With Ian, it was her second marriage. Her first hadn’t worked out, leaving her broken for a long time. She had once promised herself she wouldn’t marry again. Yet, as time moved on, so did she.
Ian had been her colleague for many years. He’d been married to her best friend. When Lydia was struggling with a wayward husband, they were always there for her. Everyone knew her story. When Valentine got sick, it was time for Lydia to return the favor. She raised money for the operation, did the laundry, cooked, and cleaned while her friend was hospitalized. But all efforts were in vain; Val passed away.
After his wife’s death, Ian was lost. So Lydia took on the responsibility of the funeral. Later, she helped raise little Steve. Then, after the anniversary of Val’s death, Ian casually said:
“Why don’t you stay with us?”
She agreed. Steve needed a mother figure, and a stranger wouldn’t love him as her own. Love or habit, who could say? But they became a happy family. Steve even began to call Lydia “mum,” but she stopped him:
“Your mum is Val. Never forget her.”
They merged their two small flats into one big one, and Ian insisted on putting it in his name. He proposed to make their relationship official several times, but Lydia always declined.
“Why do we need to? Are we planning on having children? Don’t we have enough on our plates with Steve?” Steve, although a good-hearted boy, was quite the handful. Even the nursery teachers complained, and once he started school, they called daily. Ian would get upset, scold him, even tried smacking him.
But Lydia defended him:
“Remember yourself. You weren’t exactly a gift either,” she’d say, and Ian would smile, recalling his youth.
“Should everyone be a rascal? My father disciplined me harshly.”
“Did it make you better?”
“No, but still. How do you teach what’s right and wrong?”
Lydia felt sad reflecting on those words. But she might never have discovered the truth if Ian hadn’t died unexpectedly. He was only forty-five, too young to die from a blood clot. If he’d been ill, they might have been prepared. He might have made a will. But his death was so sudden, so absurd, she felt she’d died with him.
Steve, now a grown young man at university and seeing a girl, had given Lydia no reason to expect anything bad. Yet, after the funeral, he came with his grandmother. He must have needed support for what he was about to say:
“The flat is mine and Nan’s. You aren’t anyone in this house. We give you a month to find somewhere else.”
Lydia was speechless, shocked by his words. On the other hand, if the boy she raised could throw her out like a stray dog, maybe she hadn’t been a good mother. Perhaps her life had been in vain. Where would she go now? Was she to start over?
Two weeks had passed since Steve’s visit, and Lydia still hadn’t come up with a plan. She hadn’t told anyone, out of shame. She had been proud of him, boasted about his success, how he got into college by himself, and the lovely girl he was seeing. But now? He wasn’t her son. She didn’t matter to him. She had no place in his life.
Lydia tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The doorbell rang. She reluctantly got up, put on her robe and slippers, and went to answer the door. Ian had often told her to ask who it was before opening, but she always trusted people, hoping nothing bad would happen. Standing at the doorstep was Steve:
“Mum Lydia, please forgive me. It was all Gran’s doing,” he wept, “she said you’d take everything for yourself, bring a man into our home, and I wouldn’t get anything. I didn’t know how it happened. Stay here, as long as you want, forever if you’d like. This is your home, too. I want my mum back, just like before.” Lydia cried, and Steve wiped her tears.
“But why didn’t you use your key?” Lydia asked.
“I didn’t want to intrude.”
“Silly, what kind of life do I have without you?”
They stood on the threshold for a long time, staring at each other, crying. Finally, Lydia came to her senses.
“Why are we standing here? Let’s have some tea.”
“Yes, let’s. I have so much to tell you!”
