Deciding to Have a Child Alone: A Confrontation Full of Doubt

*”You decided to have a child without a husband? Aren’t you ashamed, Mum?”* Lisa asked accusingly.

Right after her graduation ball, Lisa submitted her university applications. She had no doubt she’d get in—her A-level results were strong, better than last year’s entry requirements, even with room to spare.

That summer was blisteringly hot. Her best mate suggested a trip to stay with her aunt in Brighton. The idea of three weeks by the sea, free from her mother’s watchful eye, diving headfirst into grown-up life, was tempting. But the night before leaving, Lisa grew restless. Not because it was her first time traveling without Mum, but because she wouldn’t see James for weeks.

Ingrid, Lisa’s mum, had just turned thirty-seven. She and her husband split when Lisa was three. Lisa had no memory of him—not that there was much to remember. Her parents had married young, barely knowing each other, and crumbled under the first real tests—sleepless nights, a crying child, constant demands, money troubles, and resentment.

As Lisa got older, Ingrid tried to find love again, but the men she met either weren’t interested in raising someone else’s child or didn’t win Lisa’s approval.

Then, two years ago, James came into their lives. He visited often, though he never stayed the night—at least, not that Lisa noticed. He was fun, always bringing gifts, and on her last birthday, he’d given her a massive bouquet of red roses.

And Lisa fell in love.

James was two years younger than Ingrid. A small gap, but to Lisa, it meant everything. She convinced herself she suited him better than her mum did. Every glance, every word from him, she took as proof he felt the same. *Why wouldn’t he?* She was half her mother’s age, fresh-faced at eighteen. If he had to choose, surely it would be her. That’s what she told herself. And so, she burned with jealousy whenever he paid attention to Ingrid.

While she was away, soaking up the sun and sea, anything could happen. He might propose. And then James would be lost to her forever.

The night before leaving, Ingrid bustled around the kitchen while Lisa agonised over how to confess her feelings.

*”Liz, pop to the shop for me? Forgot the cheese, and we’re low on mayo,”* Ingrid called from the doorway.

*”Mum, I haven’t finished packing,”* Lisa muttered.

With a sigh, Ingrid went herself.

Minutes later, the doorbell rang. James. Lisa’s heart lurched. This was her chance—just the two of them, no interruptions.

She played the gracious host, settling him on the sofa, making small talk, then flipping on the telly and sitting close. He shifted slightly but didn’t pull away.

Their shoulders brushed. Lisa’s pulse raced. Boldness surged through her—she grabbed his arm, pressed closer. His cheek was inches from her lips. She’d never been this near, never inhaled his cologne mixed with something purely him.

It intoxicated her. Before she could stop herself, she kissed his cheek.

James didn’t recoil, just tilted his head away and stood. Confusion flickered in his eyes. Shame crashed over her. She’d imagined it all. To him, she was just Ingrid’s daughter. Flushed, she dropped her gaze.

The lock turned. Whatever James might’ve said was lost as Ingrid hurried in, breathless.

*”James! You’re early—oh, I completely forgot the cheese! Remembered the mayo at the till, though. This trip’s scrambled my brain. Salad’s nearly done—dinner in a minute.”* She beamed at him.

The way they looked at each other—tender, loving—made Lisa’s chest ache. He’d never looked at *her* like that. She bolted to her room.

*”What’s got into her?”* Ingrid asked, bewildered. *”Did something happen?”*

*”So, what’s for dinner?”* James deflected.

*”Oh, you must be starving. One sec—”* She paused in the doorway. *”I’ve got news. After we eat.”* Then she vanished.

*”Wonder what that is,”* James murmured to himself, still puzzling over Lisa’s kiss.

Meanwhile, Lisa pressed against her door, heart hammering, praying something—*anything*—would make James leave. Facing him now was unbearable.

But when Ingrid called her for dinner, she went. She sat opposite James, eyes down, forcing laughter at his stories like nothing had changed.

Yet that fleeting closeness hung between them, unsettling her.

*”So, what’s this news?”* James asked as Ingrid cleared the plates.

*”Patience,”* she teased, fluttering her lashes.

Lisa cringed. Her mother acting like a giggling schoolgirl made her skin crawl.

*”Lisa’s off to Brighton tomorrow—all on her own. My little girl, grown up. I can’t quite believe it. Maybe I shouldn’t let her go…”* Ingrid fretted aloud.

*”I’m not alone, I’m with friends. And we’re staying with adults,”* Lisa snapped.

*”Lisa’s sensible. She’ll be fine,”* James said, meeting Lisa’s gaze. Her stomach flipped. *”Besides, what’s there to do here all summer?”*

*”Right, three whole weeks without me cramping your style,”* Lisa shot back.

*”Lisa! What’s wrong with you today?”*

*”Nothing.”* She shoved her chair back—scraping it loudly, just to annoy Ingrid—and stormed off.

Voices murmured from the kitchen. Later, after James left, Ingrid knocked.

*”Talk to me. You’ve never been like this. What’s going on?”* She perched on the edge of the bed. Lisa curled away, silent. *”Did you pack everything?”*

*Obviously. Can’t you see the bloody rucksack?* Lisa fumed inwardly.

*”Why are you angry?”*

*”You act… ridiculous. Giggling, flirting—it’s embarrassing.”*

*”I’m not pretending. Love makes you silly. You’ll understand someday.”* Ingrid stroked her back. Lisa jerked away.

*”Is that what you came to say?”*

*”Turn around. I can’t talk to your back.”*

Lisa rolled over, staring at the ceiling.

*”I want you to be the first to know. I love you more than anything. Always will.”* A pause. *”I’m pregnant.”*

It took a moment to sink in.

*”Pregnant? James’s?”* Lisa’s voice cracked. *”So you’re getting married?”*

*”No. He’s married. But it doesn’t matter.”*

*”Married? Mum, listen to yourself! You’re having a baby alone? Aren’t you ashamed?”*

*”Why should I be? I’m a grown woman—”*

*”Exactly. Would you be this calm if it were me? Why doesn’t *he* leave his wife?”*

*”It’s complicated. Maybe later, after the baby—”*

*”You haven’t told him?”* Lisa sat up sharply. They locked eyes until Ingrid looked away.

*”I didn’t want him thinking I was trapping him.”*

*”Mum, you’ll be on maternity leave, I’ll be at uni—how will we live? By the time this kid finishes school, you’ll be retiring. Another child alone? Have an abortion. Don’t humiliate yourself.”*

*”Absolutely not. You’ll marry, move out… I’ll be alone—”*

*”You’ll have grandchildren!”* Lisa’s voice broke. *”Just get rid of it. James won’t know. If he hasn’t left his wife yet, he won’t. You know that. It’s disgusting. You’re too old!”*

*”I never thought you’d—”* Ingrid faltered.

*”What did you expect? Congratulations? You say I’ll marry, have kids—your grandchild and son would be the same age! That’s normal to you? It’s revolting!”*

*”Fine. I’ve heard you.”* Ingrid left slowly.

Later, guilt gnawed at Lisa. Women had babies in their forties all the time. It wouldn’t bother her—if it weren’t her mother. If it weren’t James. She knew where babies came from, but imagining *them* together made her sick.

The next morning, they barely spoke. Her friend’s dad drove them to the station. At the door, Lisa almost begged Ingrid to reconsider—but stayed silent.

*”Bye,”* she mumbled, stepping out.

*”Call me!”* Ingrid shouted after her.

The guilt nagged in the car. She thought about texting but got distracted byYears later, holding her baby brother Theodore’s tiny hand as he blew out his fifth birthday candles, Lisa finally understood that love wasn’t about possession, but about the quiet, unbreakable bonds that outlast even the fiercest storms.

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Deciding to Have a Child Alone: A Confrontation Full of Doubt