He Chose Family, Just Not Ours

“Mum, give it a rest!” Oliver turned sharply from the window where he’d been watching cars pass. “How many times? I’ve explained a hundred times!”
“Explained?!” Helen flung her hands up. “And what did you explain? That you’re dumping us for some strange woman and her kids?”
“She’s not strange! Grace is my wife!” His fist clenched, voice trembling with anger. “And those kids are mine now! Mine! Get it?”
Emma sat silently at the kitchen table, twisting a teaspoon. Tears dripped straight into her cold tea. She wasn’t crying; they just flowed, like the rain outside.
“Yours?!” Helen let out a bitter laugh, more chilling than a shout. “Are you mad? You’ve got a sister who can barely walk after the crash! A mother who gave her life for you! And you… you leave us for strangers?”
Oliver slumped onto the sofa arm, running a hand over his face. These endless arguments were exhausting him, giving him splitting headaches.
“Mum, try to understand. I’m thirty-two. I’ve a right to a life.”
“A life?” Helen sat opposite, taking his hands. “Oliver, love, what kind of life is it with a divorced woman and two kids not your own? You’re young, handsome, good job. Find a younger girl, have your own kids…”
“I don’t want other kids!” He pulled his hands away. “Max and Evie – they *are* mine. Max called me Dad yesterday. First time anyone’s ever called me that. Get it?”
Emma sniffed, rising from the table. Limping, she slowly approached her brother.
“Oliver… what about me?” Her voice was fragile, strained. “You know I can’t cope alone since the crash. Mum’s a pensioner, hasn’t got much. Who’ll help me if not you?”
He held her then, smoothing her hair. “Em, I’m not dying. Just living apart. I’ll help, course I will. But I’ve my own family now.”
“You always had family!” Helen burst out. “Us! Your blood!”
“Grace is pregnant,” Oliver said quietly.
Silence hung thick. Only the clock ticked and the rain drummed outside.
“What?” His mother paled, sinking into the armchair.
“Grace is having a baby. *Our* baby. See now? I can’t leave her.”
Emma stepped back, eyes wide. “How far?”
“Five weeks. Docs say all’s fine.”
“Lord…” Helen covered her face. “What have you done, son? What?”
Helen had been a nursery nurse for thirty years. She loved children dearly, but pictured her Oliver’s kids differently. Not from a divorced woman with a ready-made family, but from a nice local girl.
“Mum, what’s wrong?” Oliver sat beside her, trying to embrace her. “You’ll finally get your grandbaby. Isn’t that good?”
“From who?” She shifted away. “From a woman who already rushed into marriage? Who’s already got two? Who even is she?”
“Grace is a children’s ward nurse at our hospital. She’s lovely, kind. Her kids are wonderful, well-behaved.”
“Where’s their father?” Helen pressed.
“Killed in the army. Grace was only twenty-two, left with two babies.”
“Ah,” Helen nodded. “So she needed a mug to support them. Found one.”
“Mum!” Oliver exploded. “Stop it! I’m not a mug! I’m a grown man in love!”
“Love?” Helen stood, pacing. “What do you know of love? Stayed home all these years, went to work, helped us. Never had a proper girlfriend. First one wrapped you round her little finger.”
Emma rested her head on her hands. Since the crash, headaches came often, worse with arguments. “My head’s splitting. Can you keep it down?”
“Sorry, Em,” Oliver touched her forehead. “No fever. Took your pills?”
“Yes. Doesn’t help.”
“We’ll see the GP tomorrow,” he promised.
“Tomorrow?” Helen scoffed. “No time tomorrow. You’ve other worries now. Getting strangers’ kids to school. Helping with homework.”
“He’s eight. She’s five. *Not* strangers,” Oliver repeated wearily. “We’ll go tomorrow.”
“And the next day? Next week?” Helen pushed. “When *she* starts to show, she’ll need constant help. No time then for Emma.”
“There will be. I’m not moving to Mars. Just across town.”
“Across town,” Helen echoed mockingly. “You used to live next door. Emma sick in the night, she’d knock, you’d come. What now? Cure her by phone?”
Oliver leaned back, defeated. Same circle. His mother wouldn’t see sense, Emma wept, and he felt guilty while resenting the feeling.
“Oliver, could I meet Grace?” Emma asked suddenly.
“Why?” Helen eyed her suspiciously.
“Want to see her. See what’s special.”
“Course you can,” Oliver brightened. “Meet tomorrow? At a cafe, ours?”
“Yours?” Helen frowned. “Where’s that?”
“Renting a two-bed flat. Saving for a three-bed, for the kids.”
“Saved what on?”
“I’ve some savings. Grace will sell her studio.”
“Ah, got it,” Helen nodded. “So she needs your money too. Makes sense.”
“Mum, stop!” He jumped up. “Keep it up, I’ll stop visiting!”
“Not visit your own mother and sick sister?” Tears welled in her voice. “How can you say that?”
“I can! I’m sick of hearing nastiness about my wife!”
“Wife…” Helen shook her head. “Registry office done?”
“Next week. Church wedding after the baby.”
“Church wedding?” She perched on the chair arm. “In church?”
“Church. Grace is faithful.”
“Kids been baptized?”
“Course. We go to parish church Sundays.”
Helen considered. She believed too, rarely went to services, prayed at home. But if Grace takes the kids, maybe she wasn’t bad.
“Oliver, what’s she like?” Emma asked. “Tell us properly, no temper.”
He sat by her, took her hand. “Very kind. Quiet, calm. Respected at work. Kids adore her, even difficult ones. Max and Olivia are polite. Grace raised them alone five years, managed.”
“Pretty?” Emma seemed to need this.
“To me? Very. No model, mind… but there’s a light. Kind eyes, warm smile. Always pleased when I come home. Meets me at the door.”
“Weren’t we pleased?” his mother murmured.
“You were. But different. Pleased I brought help, money or talk. She’s pleased just I’m *here*. See the difference?”
Emma nodded. She did. Since the crash, knowing she’d never fully recover, she felt a burden. Even to her brother. She feared he came
Oliver glanced at the rain-streaked window, a quiet certainty settling within him. He knew Valerie’s doubts would linger, and Catherine’s path remained arduous, but with Lena by his side and the children calling his heart home, they would make it work, even through the London drizzle, for better times lay ahead.