He’s not what you expected…
“Dad and Mum are coming this weekend,” said Emily, trying to sound casual. “They really want to meet you.”
Liam, who was spreading strawberry jam on his toast, froze. He set the knife down slowly.
“Brilliant,” he replied, forcing a smile. “I… I’m looking forward to it. Really.”
But Emily knew him too well. She noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way he avoided her gaze.
“Liam, it’ll be fine. They’ll like you. You’ll see,” she said gently, taking his hand.
He smirked, but his eyes betrayed his worry.
“Em, your parents are proper, well-mannered folks… And then there’s me—beard, tattoos, an earring. To them, I’m their worst nightmare.”
“To me, you’re the kindest man alive,” Emily said firmly. “And they’ll see that. Just wait.”
The next week flew by in a whirl of preparations. Emily cleaned the flat, dusted off her parents’ favourite recipes, and made sure everything was spotless. Liam helped quietly—hanging new curtains, buying fresh flowers—but every evening, he’d step onto the balcony for a smoke, lost in thought.
Then came the day. Emily fussed with the tablecloth, rearranged the napkins for the tenth time. Liam, now in a white button-down with rolled-up sleeves, stood in front of the mirror, flattening his hair.
The buzzer rang.
“I’ll get it,” he breathed and stepped into the hallway.
There they stood—Margaret and Robert. Her mother’s eyes widened as if she’d seen a ghost. Her father frowned, glancing from Liam’s tattooed arms to the stud in his ear.
“Hello,” Liam said evenly, offering his hand. “I’m Liam. Pleasure to meet you.”
Robert hesitated but eventually shook it, nodding curtly. Margaret, sensing the tension, took charge:
“Well then, shall we come in? Emily’s waiting, isn’t she?”
Emily appeared from the kitchen, beaming nervously. She hugged her parents, then took Liam’s hand and led them inside.
Dinner was stiff at first. Margaret studied Liam like a puzzle. Robert fired off clipped questions—What do you do? How long have you been together? Where are your parents from?
When Liam mentioned he was a vet, Margaret raised an eyebrow.
“A vet? Didn’t see that coming. You don’t exactly look the part…”
He shrugged.
“Suppose not. But tattoos aren’t a diagnosis.”
A brief silence fell, broken by Robert:
“Why animals?”
Liam took a deep breath.
“When I was a kid, I found a dog hit by a car. He was barely alive. My mum and I rushed him to the clinic. Watching the vet fight for that silent patient… That’s when I knew.”
Robert’s expression softened. He began asking about cases, even sharing how he once rescued a cat from a drain.
By the end of the evening, the mood had lifted. Liam spoke about how animals sense kindness, how he’d spent nights nursing abandoned pups others had given up on.
As her parents left, Margaret suddenly hugged him.
“Thank you for being honest,” she murmured. “I… misjudged you.”
Robert shook his hand firmly.
“Take care of my girl. She’s one of a kind.”
When the door clicked shut, Liam exhaled.
“Thought your mum was about to start crossing herself and splashing holy water.”
Emily laughed, leaning into him.
“Told you they’d love you. Because you’re the best.”
They stood quietly, holding each other, as a ginger kitten—the very one Liam had rescued—slept soundly on the windowsill.
“Funny, isn’t it?” Liam murmured. “If not for you, if not for this little one… we might’ve never even spoken.”
“Now we’ve got a proper story for our future kids,” Emily smiled.
“And parents who didn’t disown me,” he added.
And they both laughed—light, genuine, knowing that true happiness is being accepted exactly as you are.
