“You know how he looks at you?” Her daughter said with a satisfied grin. “With love and admiration.”
James stepped out of the bathroom, draped only in a towel. Water droplets glistened on his toned chest. More than just a man—an absolute dream. Emily felt her heart flutter.
He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching to kiss her, but she turned her head away.
“Don’t,” Emily murmured. “If you do, I’ll never leave. I have to go. Sophie’s probably home already.” She brushed her cheek against his shoulder.
James sighed. “Em, how much longer? When are you going to tell your daughter about us?”
“Three months ago, you didn’t even know I existed, and you were perfectly happy,” Emily countered, getting up to dress.
“I don’t think I was happy at all. I was just waiting for you. I can’t go a single day without—”
“Don’t break my heart,” she whispered. “Don’t walk me out.” With that, she slipped out of the room.
Outside, she walked with her head down, avoiding the stares of passersby. It felt as if everyone knew where she’d come from. The men glanced with curiosity, the women… with judgment.
And why wouldn’t they? She had everything—slim figure, elegant posture, striking eyes, full lips. Her dark, wavy hair had escaped its clip at the nape of her neck. Right now, she wished she could disappear.
***
She’d married young, at twenty, head over heels in love. She fell pregnant almost immediately. Her husband pushed for an abortion—too soon, they needed stability first. But Emily refused and gave birth to a healthy girl, hoping he’d soften with time. He never did. And so many men, after all, were indifferent to children.
Then came the phone call. A woman gave an address where Emily’s husband often spent his evenings. She didn’t rush to check. She waited, confronted him directly. At first, he denied it, then justified himself, then shouted:
“You believe some madwoman over me? You’re no better. I’m leaving, and you’ll regret this.”
The door slammed behind him. Emily didn’t want to live, but her daughter needed her. She survived. Two weeks later, she went to that address, stood behind a tree, and waited. Soon enough, she saw him—arm in arm with another woman, disappearing into the building.
The next day, she filed for divorce. She couldn’t forgive. Not her nature. She put Sophie in nursery and went back to work.
Men drifted in and out of her life, but none sparked enough interest to risk her heart again. Until, years later, James walked in. Tall, handsome, everything she could want. Their romance burned fast and fierce. One day, Sophie asked why she was dressing up so carefully.
“A date,” Emily answered, half-joking, half-serious.
Sophie just hummed knowingly and never asked again.
She’d inherited Emily’s figure but not her striking features. People often wondered how such beautiful parents had an ordinary-looking daughter. Emily didn’t mind. Beauty brought trouble more than joy.
She’d never had close friends. Other women resented her, afraid of paling in comparison. Maybe that was why she married so young—hoping her husband would be her confidant.
“He’s a bit rough around the edges for you,” her mother had said.
***
“Sophie, I’m home,” Emily called as she stepped inside.
“Doing homework,” her daughter replied from her room.
Emily changed and went to the kitchen. Soon, Sophie followed, sitting at the table and tearing off a piece of bread.
“Don’t spoil your appetite,” Emily chided, setting plates down. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“So talk,” Sophie said between bites.
“My birthday’s coming up.”
“I remember.”
“I’d like to invite… someone.” Emily hesitated.
“The guy you’re sleeping with?” Sophie asked bluntly.
“We’re dating. And must you phrase it like that?”
“At your age, dating and sleeping together are the same thing.”
“So, can I invite him? Are you okay with that?”
“Whatever. Is Grandma coming?” Sophie asked casually.
Emily exhaled. Fifteen was a tricky age, but at least Sophie seemed unfazed.
“Grandma’s coming Sunday. I just want you two to get along.”
“Sure, Mum, invite him.”
Saturday morning, Emily cooked feverishly, determined to impress James. He arrived with a bouquet of red roses, gave her a ring. She was stunned, overwhelmed by his eagerness.
Trying to win Sophie over, he joked, talked loudly. Sophie remained quiet, serious. After he left, Emily cleared the table, then sat beside her daughter.
“You didn’t like him?”
“No.”
“Why?” Emily couldn’t hide her disappointment.
“Just didn’t.” Sophie hesitated. “Mum… he’s using you. How can’t you see it?”
“Has Grandma been talking to you?”
“This isn’t about Grandma. I’ve got eyes.” Sophie looked at her helplessly.
Emily stood.
“Mum… do you love him?” Sophie asked softly. Without turning, Emily nodded. “Fine. Date him. Just don’t bring him here to live.”
“Why?”
“I just don’t like him.”
Emily couldn’t get another word out of her.
Strangely, she felt… relief. Things had moved too fast with James. The ring, his talk of their future—yet he’d told her so little about himself. Sophie barely seemed to matter.
The next day, James called, full of longing. He never asked if Sophie liked him. Too confident?
“Grandma’s coming tonight. I won’t have time.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow.” Emily felt lighter.
With Grandma there, Sophie was cheerful, chatty. No mention of James. Maybe Sophie saw what love blinded her to.
***
Three weeks later, school ended. Sophie left for a short trip to London with her class. Before she left, they sat talking.
“Mum, what about Henry from downstairs?” Sophie asked suddenly.
“Who?”
“Henry. First floor.”
Emily pictured the unremarkable, bearded man in their building.
“He’s in love with you,” Sophie said firmly. “You know how he looks at you?”
“How?”
“With love and admiration.”
Emily laughed. “You’re too sharp. He’s kind, but that’s not enough. I need love.”
Sophie grinned. “Just think about it.”
And she did. She remembered things she’d overlooked. Once, years ago, pushing Sophie’s pram, she’d struggled at the door. Henry appeared, helping her inside. After that, he often “coincidentally” bumped into her—always in slippers, always offering help.
Every woman in the building called him for odd jobs. He never refused, never took money.
Under that beard, his age was hard to guess. But his eyes were warm, young. No one had ever seen him with a woman…
Maybe Sophie was right. Handsome James hadn’t won her over, but Henry… Emily recalled how, after the divorce, he’d quietly replaced her locks.
“Why?” she’d asked.
“Just being careful. You’re alone now.”
Only later did a neighbor mention her ex showing up, trying to take things. Henry stopped him.
He’d always been there. She just hadn’t seen him.
The day after Sophie left, Emily knocked on his door. He opened immediately, as if expecting her.
“My lock’s stuck. Could you take a look?”
“I’ll grab my tools.”
Fifteen minutes later, he knocked. She barely recognized him—clean-shaven, in a neat suit and tie.
“You’re fixing locks dressed like that?” she teased.
He smiled, wrinkles fanning from his eyes. “Seems fine to me.”
She led him to the kitchen, where she’d set the table for two.
“Sophie’s away. No one to eat with.”
“Don’t fuss. Sit.”
So she did. And just like that, she realized—love had been waiting quietly beside her all along.
