“You know how he looks at you? Like he’s absolutely smitten,” said Emily, pleased with herself.
Oliver stepped out of the bathroom, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. Droplets of water glistened on his toned chest. Not just a man—an absolute dream. A bittersweet ache fluttered in Rebecca’s heart.
Oliver perched on the edge of the bed and leaned in for a kiss, but she turned her face away.
“Don’t—or I’ll never leave. I have to go. Emily’s probably home by now.” Rebecca rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.
He sighed.
“Becca, how much longer? When are you going to tell her about us?”
“Three months ago, you didn’t even know I existed, and you were perfectly happy.” She stood and started getting dressed.
“I don’t think I was living at all until I met you. I can’t go a single day without—”
“Don’t break my heart. Don’t walk me out.” With that, Rebecca slipped from the room.
Outside, she kept her head down, ignoring the stares. It felt like everyone knew where she’d come from. Men eyed her with curiosity; women—with judgment.
No surprise. She had it all—a striking figure, graceful posture, a face with expressive eyes and full lips. Dark, unruly curls escaped the clip at her nape. Yet, right now, she wished she were invisible.
***
She’d married young, at twenty, madly in love. Almost immediately, she fell pregnant. Her husband urged her to terminate—too soon, he said, they needed stability first. But Rebecca refused and gave birth to a healthy girl, hoping he’d come around. He never did. Well, many men were indifferent to children.
Then came the call—a woman relaying an address where her husband often spent evenings. Rebecca didn’t rush to check. She waited, confronted him directly. Denials turned to excuses, then shouting:
“You’d believe some lunatic over me? You’re no better. I’m leaving, and you’ll regret this!”
The door slammed. Rebecca didn’t want to live, but her daughter needed her. Two weeks later, she stood under a tree outside the given address. Soon enough, her husband walked by, arm-in-arm with a younger woman. They disappeared inside.
The next day, she filed for divorce. Forgiveness wasn’t in her nature. She enrolled Emily in nursery and returned to work.
Men came and went, but none convinced her to risk her heart again—until Oliver. Tall, handsome, her match. Their affair was fiery, consuming. Once, Emily asked where she was going all dressed up.
“A date,” Rebecca half-joked.
“Ohhh,” Emily drawled knowingly. She never pressed further.
Emily inherited her mother’s figure but not her striking looks. People whispered—how could such stunning parents have such an ordinary daughter? Rebecca didn’t mind. Beauty was trouble.
She’d never had close girlfriends. Not her fault—envy made others keep their distance. Maybe that was why she’d married so young, seeking friendship in a husband.
“He’s a bit plain for you, even if he’s handsome,” her mother had said.
***
“Emily, I’m home,” Rebecca called, stepping into the flat.
“Homework,” came the muffled reply from her room.
Rebecca changed and headed to the kitchen. Emily soon followed, tearing off a chunk of bread.
“Don’t spoil your appetite. Dinner’s almost ready.” Rebecca set the table, then hesitated. “I wanted to talk.”
“Talk, then.” Emily dug into her meal.
“My birthday’s coming up.”
“I remember, Mum.”
“I’d like to invite… someone.”
“The one you’re sleeping with?” Emily’s tone was matter-of-fact.
“Seeing. And mind your manners.”
“What’s the difference? At your age, dating and sleeping together are the same thing.”
“So, can I invite him? You don’t mind?”
“Whatever. Will Gran come?”
Relief washed over Rebecca. Fifteen was a tricky age, but Emily seemed unfazed.
“Gran’s visiting Sunday. I just want you two to get along.”
“Sure, Mum, invite him.”
That Saturday, Rebecca cooked all morning, determined to impress Oliver. He arrived with roses, presented a ring. She was stunned by his intensity, his eagerness to charm Emily—loud stories, relentless jokes. Emily, though, remained quiet, reserved.
After he left, Rebecca tidied up and sat beside Emily, reaching for a hug. Emily dodged.
“You don’t like him?”
“No.”
“Why?” Rebecca’s disappointment slipped through.
“Just don’t.” A pause. “I get it—you’re young, you want love. But Mum, he’s using you. Can’t you see?”
“Did Gran put you up to this?”
“Gran’s got nothing to do with it. I’ve got eyes.” Desperation flashed in Emily’s gaze.
Rebecca stood.
“Mum, do you love him?” Emily’s voice was soft.
Without turning, Rebecca nodded.
“Then keep seeing him. Just don’t move him in here.”
“Why?” Rebecca whirled around.
“Because I don’t like him. That’s it.”
Oddly, Rebecca felt relief. Things with Oliver had moved too fast—the ring, the relentless talk of a future, yet he’d revealed little about himself. Emily barely registered in his plans.
The next day, he called, missing her, wanting to meet. Never asked if Emily liked him. Arrogance or apathy?
“Gran’s coming tonight. No time.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow.”
With Gran there, Emily was lively, chatty. No mention of Oliver. Maybe her daughter saw what love blinded her to.
Things continued as they were—brief meetings at Oliver’s. Once, he lashed out when she hesitated about moving in:
“In a few years, she’ll fall in love and leave you alone!”
“Are you breaking up with me?”
“No, I just—lost my temper.”
They parted coldly. Two days later, Emily came home late.
“Where were you? Homework?” Rebecca snapped.
“Done after school. I’ve got news.” Emily followed her to the kitchen.
“Wash up. Dinner’s ready. You look pleased.”
“I am. You might not like it, though.”
“School trip money again?”
“Mum… James and I found out about your Oliver.”
“He wasn’t lost.”
“But you don’t know the truth.” Emily’s eyes burned.
“What truth?”
“He doesn’t live on Victoria Street. He’s on Kensington Road—with a wife. Or a woman and a four-year-old boy.”
“What? You had no right to spy! Maybe it’s his sister, ex—”
“No, Mum, his current family. We watched them. He didn’t leave. He smoked by the window, shirtless…” Emily faltered at Rebecca’s shock.
Rebecca fled to the bathroom, muffling a scream, tears streaming. When she emerged, Emily had eaten, cleared her plate, and vanished into her room. Rebecca didn’t follow. She stepped onto the balcony, staring at city lights, thinking.
Emily was right. Oliver’s flat had always felt staged—no mess, no photos. Once, peeking in the fridge for snacks, she’d found it bare. Even a bachelor would keep basics. Had she ignored the signs, blinded by love?
She pressed against the railing, breath short.
“Mum!” Emily yanked her back.
“You scared me! I didn’t think you’d—”
“Should I be happy? Let’s go inside.” They sat together. “It’s fine. Just… no more spying.” She hugged Emily.
The next day, she confronted Oliver, yanking open his wardrobe. Two shirts. Bare shelves.
“You rent this place for us. You live elsewhere.”
His face paled, then twisted in anger.
“I thought you weren’t like other women—suspicious, paranoid—”
“Going to call me crazy next?” Rebecca scoffed. “Are you married?”
Silence. She left the ring on the table.
Wandering streets, she ached. Love was like gangrene—cut it out fast or lose everything. She’d survived before. She would again.
Three weeks later, school ended, and Emily left for a weekend trip. Before leaving, she asked,
“Mum… what about David? From downstairs?”
“Who?”
“The quiet one. The handyman.”
Rebecca pictured the unremarkable, bearded man in their building.
“He’s in love with you,” Emily said confidently.
“How’s that?”
“The way he looks at you—like you’re everything.”
“My nosy girl. He’s kind, but that’s not enough.”
“James is picking me up. Just think about David.”
And she did. Remembered things she’d overlooked—how, years ago, he’d helped with the pram, always “running into her” in slippers. How heHe was waiting there all along, steady and true, while she chased after shadows, until one quiet evening, their hands finally touched over a shared cup of tea.
