**Can’t Breathe**
I turned the key slowly and tiptoed into the flat. No matter how quietly I tried to close the door behind me, the latch still clicked. Without switching on the lights, I slipped off my shoes and crept toward my bedroom. Then—click—the sharp sound of the switch behind me cut through the silence like a gunshot.
“Beth, where have you been? It’s so late! I rang Daisy—you lied to me,” Mum’s voice carried down the hall.
I froze, taking a shaky breath before turning to face her.
“Why are you still up?” I shot back.
“How could I sleep when you weren’t home? I was worried.” Her tired eyes searched mine, creased with concern.
“I’m an adult, Mum. Stop keeping tabs on me,” I muttered.
“Right, an adult…” With a dismissive wave, she walked away, leaving the door half-open.
I hesitated, then followed her and sank onto the sofa beside her.
“Mum, I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”
She looked exhausted, the harsh ceiling light deepening the lines on her face.
“I wasn’t alone. I was with James. We went to the cinema, then for a walk. You don’t have to worry.”
“James?”
“Yeah. I met him two weeks ago. He’s… different. Knows so much.” A smile tugged at my lips as I leaned into her, resting my head on her shoulder.
“So last time, it was him too, not Daisy?”
“Sorry.”
“Beth, I get it, but why lie? Is he at uni with you?”
“He’s graduated. Works now.”
“So he’s older?” She sighed. “I’d like to meet him.”
“Of course. You’ll like him.”
She gave me a sad look. “Didn’t realise you’d grown up so fast. Go to bed, it’s late.”
“Night, Mum.” I kissed her cheek and slipped away.
Under the covers, I stared at the ceiling, replaying every word, every kiss, lost in dreams…
By morning, she’d left for work. I ate the breakfast she’d left, then grabbed my phone.
“Hey, you at work yet?” My voice was bright.
“Yeah.” James’ reply was curt.
“Did I interrupt?” My stomach knotted at his distant tone.
“A bit. I’ll call you back.” The line went dead.
“‘You’? As in plural?” I stared at the dark screen until my reflection blurred. *He must have people around.*
I tried reading, but the words blurred together. Called Daisy instead. We met for ice cream—I boasted about falling in love—when James finally rang.
“Sorry, Sparrow. Bad timing earlier. Meet tonight?”
“Yes!”
Later, I told him Mum wanted to meet him.
“You *told* her?” His voice tightened. “She’s fine with this?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?”
“Parents mean serious commitment. We’ve only just—”
“*Aren’t* we serious?” My chest tightened.
“Of course.” He pulled me close, his face hidden. “She’ll interrogate me, though.”
“How many girlfriends’ mums *have* you met?” I poked his ribs, laughing.
“Twice, maybe.”
“Nothing to hide, then?” I teased. “No secret wives?”
“Don’t be daft.”
We walked arm in arm, him whispering how he’d missed me, how he’d never felt like this before. Promised once his mum was better, he’d invite me over. Since his dad died, she panicked at phone calls, so he kept his switched off at home…
*He’s devoted. That’s good. Means he’ll be a good husband.*
On Saturday, he cancelled—his mum was ill, paramedics came.
Mum sliced her chocolate cake. “At least he’s a caring son. Means he’ll treat you right.”
I forced down a bite, restless. Wandered out later, bought ice cream—then froze.
James. Pushing a pram. A blonde woman beside him.
I ducked behind a tree. Watched them pass.
Ice cream melted over my fingers. I tossed it, walked home numb.
*If not his wife, who?*
I rang. His phone was off.
That evening, he called, cheeky as ever. “Missed you. Got a surprise.”
Curiosity won. I met him. His mate’s flat. Just us.
Afterward, blissful, I asked about the pram.
“Neighbour. Ran into her at the chemist’s.” He laughed. “Jealous?”
“Thought she was your wife.”
“*You’re* my wife.”
He kissed me. Called a taxi.
I memorised the address he gave the driver.
Twice a week after that, we met at the flat. The rest—waiting, aching. He’d rush off—*Mum needs her injection*—and I’d float home, addicted.
By winter, I was glass. Mum noticed.
“Beth, talk to me.”
I cracked. “I’m pregnant.”
Her hands flew to her mouth. “Does he know?”
I shook my head.
“Tell him.”
Next day, I went to his building. An old man pointed me upstairs.
A baby cried inside. The blonde opened the door.
“James here?”
Her face shifted. “Who are—?” A crash. She fled inside.
The truth hit like a train.
*Wife. Kid. No sick mum. All lies.*
My phone buzzed. *“The hell were you thinking, showing up?”*
I sobbed all the way home.
Mum was decorating the tree. “Help me, love.”
I locked myself in the bathroom. Ran the taps. Found Dad’s razor.
Mum broke the door open just in time.
Hospital lights burned my eyes.
“You scared me half to death,” she whispered, gripping my hand.
After exams, we went to the coast. Met a boy from the next street over.
I laughed again. Mostly.
Sometimes, though—a shadow. A flicker of old pain.
But it fades.
Everything does.
*You didn’t know. How could you? No one shows you the wreckage at the start. Run. If you can’t run, crawl. Before they break your wings for good.*
