He Came to Stay
Jeremy Whitmore was heading out to visit someone for the first time in ages—a woman who had been occupying his thoughts more and more lately. And yet, he’d once sworn to himself: no more families. No love, no marriages, no heartbreak.
After his divorce, life had spiralled. His wife had taken their three-year-old son and moved to another city. Jeremy had tried to fight it. He hadn’t believed the whispers about her affairs—not until he heard it straight from her, staring into her eyes as she said she was leaving for another man. “Love. Feelings I never had with you.”
He hadn’t begged her to stay. But he couldn’t imagine life without his boy. He’d raised him from day one—night feeds, nappies, teaching him to walk. They were inseparable. Now, he’d been erased. His son was a thousand miles away. When Jeremy, in a moment of desperation, had gone to see him, the boy hadn’t even glanced at the presents—just climbed onto his lap, squeezed his hand, and stayed silent. Then, as Jeremy prepared to leave, the little one put on his coat and stood by the door.
“I want to go with Daddy. I’m going with Daddy.”
They stopped him. Jeremy was shoved out. The sound of his son’s voice followed him down the stairs: “I want to go with Daddy!”
That was it. No more visits. Just the odd phone call, money transfers, and parcels. He’d become a ghost to his own son—there, but not really.
Jeremy shut down. There were women, sure, but the second things got serious, he vanished. Not for his own sake—for the boy who’d been taken from him.
Then he saw Eleanor. At a work event. Simple black dress, copper hair, serious eyes. It was like waking up. He found out everything: single mum, a three-year-old boy, lived with her mother, no men in the picture. Clever, beautiful, principled.
He started engineering excuses to see her—”accidentally” turning up near her office, outside the shops. Eleanor didn’t push him away, but she kept her distance. Things moved slowly. Then, finally, she invited him over—to meet her son and her mother. It was a sign.
Jeremy prepped as if for battle: coat, scarf, cologne, a gift—a big Lego set. He was nervous. Would the boy like him? Would they get along?
He rang the bell.
“Who is it?” came a small voice.
“Jeremy Whitmore,” he answered.
The door opened. A serious little boy in a white shirt and bow tie stood there.
“Hello. Come in!” he said officiously. “Mum’s just popped to the shop. She told me to greet you. But quietly—Grandma’s asleep. She’s got a headache. Come in! Oh, but… take your trousers off.”
“Sorry?” Jeremy blinked.
“You’ve been outside! Mum says trousers from outside have germs. Then we’ll all get poorly. You have to take them off in the hallway. It’s warm—you won’t freeze.”
The boy was dead serious, clearly parroting an adult. Jeremy hesitated.
“Could I… not take them off? They’re new. Clean. Didn’t even sit in the car. I’ve got a brush if you want me to clean them. I’m Jeremy. What’s your name?”
“Oliver. After Grandad. Pleased to meet you. Fine, keep your trousers on, but Mum’ll be cross. Here”—he thrust a pair of slippers at him—“Put these on. You *have* to!”
“Absolutely. Floor hygiene is serious business.”
“Mum got these just for you. I’m not allowed shoes inside. Only if it’s an *emergency*—then I have to go along the wall and jump over the rug. The house stays clean because we don’t make messes. That’s what Grandma says.”
Jeremy smiled. The kid was sharp, funny, and clearly trying to impress. He peered up at Jeremy with open, childish earnestness—and Jeremy felt something warm twist in his chest.
“Brought you something,” he said, holding out the Lego box. “Like building stuff?”
“Yeah, but I’m not very good yet. Mum says I’ll learn. I’m almost four.”
“Well, we’ll figure it out together. Deal?”
“Are you just visiting? Or… are you staying?”
Jeremy crouched down, meeting Oliver’s eyes.
“I’d really like to stay. Would that be alright?”
“Course.”
“Then I’m definitely marrying your mum.”
“Think about it! She makes you take your trousers off in the hall. She’s *proper* bossy.”
“We’ll work it out. Might even negotiate you some leniency.”
They laughed. A man’s hand closed around a tiny one. Trust settled between them in an instant.
When Eleanor got home, she didn’t go straight in. She heard her son’s voice first:
“See, you twist this bit, and the car’s done!”
Smiling, she turned—her mother stood in the doorway, watching the scene.
“Well, love…” her mum murmured. “He’s a good one. You can tell. Kids don’t trust just anyone like that, not straight off. Go on, call them for tea. Let this work out. It’s time you started living again. Early widowhood’s had its day. Leave the past where it belongs. Go on, my girl. There’s only light ahead now.”
Eleanor nodded, wiping her eyes. Something warm was glowing on the horizon. Life went on. And a new one was beginning—with the sort of man who came to stay.
