**Mirage**
Over dinner, Dad kept shooting dissatisfied glances at his son. Ethan guessed Mum must have told him about his plan to study at a university in London after finishing school.
Dad abruptly pushed his empty plate away and glared at him. “Here it comes,” Ethan thought. He wished he could sink through the floor or vanish. Under his father’s furious stare, the spaghetti in his throat felt stuck—neither swallowed nor spat out.
Mum came to the rescue. She distracted Dad, placing a mug of tea in front of him and sliding the biscuit tin closer.
“Thanks, Mum, I’m full. I’ll have tea later,” Ethan said, rising from the table.
“Sit back down!” Dad barked. Ethan knew better than to argue, so he obeyed.
“I’ve got homework…” he started.
“It can wait. Your mum says you’re planning to go to London. What’s wrong with here? We raised you, thought you’d help us in our old age, and now you’re running off?”
“I’m not running…” Ethan mumbled.
“Then explain. What’s so special about London?”
“There are more opportunities there. I want to be an architect—there’s no course like that here,” Ethan snapped back.
“James, let him go. His teachers say he’s bright,” Mum said soothingly, resting a hand on Dad’s shoulder.
“We can’t afford it. Everything’s paid for there, but here it’s free. See the difference?” Dad fumed.
“I’ll get a scholarship,” Ethan shot back. “I’m going anyway.”
“James, calm down, he’s not leaving tomorrow—there are exams first. Go on, love, do your homework.” Mum flicked her eyes toward the door. Ethan didn’t need telling twice, slipping straight out of the kitchen.
“Stop coddling him! We’ve raised trouble for ourselves. Who’ll care for us in old age now?” Ethan froze outside his room, gripping the doorknob as he listened.
“Don’t be so dramatic. London’s barely two hours by train—he’ll visit…”
Dad grumbled something inaudible.
“Drink your tea before it’s cold. Sugar?” Mum asked.
“Honestly, like I’m a child… I can manage,” Dad muttered irritably.
The storm had passed. Ethan shut himself in his room, his heart singing. It was late March—just two more months of school, exams, but none of it mattered. He was going to London, where life would be exciting, full of possibilities. He’d make something of himself.
After prom, Ethan and Mum went to the capital to submit his application. Mum’s cousin, a plain and bitter woman, greeted them coldly, complaining about all the relatives flocking to London—as if she had endless space.
“Fine, he can stay. Might liven the place up. But I’ve got high blood pressure—don’t come in late, no guests. Breakfast I’ll make, dinner I’ll share, but you’re on your own for lunch,” she laid down the rules. Mum just nodded.
“How much for rent?” Mum asked cautiously, hoping she’d refuse or take offense. Money between family? But no such luck.
“You know how it is—this is London, not your little town. Life’s expensive here.” She curled her thin lips and named a sum that would have been astronomical back home.
Mum gasped, exchanging a glance with Ethan.
“Mum, I’ll just stay in halls—”
“Don’t be silly, love. How would you study? Your dad and I will send money, don’t worry. Just focus on your work.”
“Listen to her. Barely set foot in London and already picky. Don’t tell your dad about the money—I’ll handle him,” Mum sighed on the train ride home.
Ethan got in. He arrived in London a few days early to settle in. Commuting from the outer boroughs to uni meant changing trains—long and inconvenient—but it was still London!
He left early each morning, wandering the city until late. At Primrose Hill, the view took his breath away. Nearby, a tour group stopped, and their guide, a young woman, began speaking. Ethan edged closer to listen. She noticed but said nothing. When the group moved on, she lingered, checking her phone.
“You tell stories well,” Ethan said. She smiled and asked where he was from.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Newcomers always have that look—lost and amazed.”
Ethan explained he was here to study, though living on the outskirts barely felt different from his small town. They chatted as they wandered off the hill.
“I live nearby,” she suddenly said. “Tired from walking? Come up for tea if you’ve got time. Then I need to pick my daughter up from nursery.” She laughed as his face fell.
Her name was Diana. Nearly twice his age. She fed him soup, poured tea. Warm and content, he didn’t want to leave.
“Can I visit again?” he asked on his way out.
She studied him—not mocking, not pitying, just thoughtful. “Come by,” she said simply.
He lasted a day before returning, loitering outside, unsure. Then he spotted Diana with her daughter, Emily. He stammered excuses, but Diana saw right through him. While Ethan played with Emily, Diana cooked. They ate together, the girl begging him to read her a bedtime story.
Then… it was too late to go back to his cousin’s.
“Stay,” Diana said.
He did. He told his parents he’d moved in with a classmate—his father covering the rent—to save the commute. No more money needed. But Mum still secretly sent bits to his card.
On holidays, he visited home, counting days till he could return to London—to Diana. His hometown now felt small, cramped, dull.
Ethan often picked Emily up from nursery, played with her. Weekends, they explored the city, saw films. Ashamed of relying on Diana, after his first year, he switched to part-time study and found work. What started as one night became years with Diana.
By third year, he met Lauren—a lively, stunning girl. Now he stayed out late, muttering about work, avoiding Diana’s gaze. She’d nod sadly, reheating dinner. At night, he turned away, claiming exhaustion while dreaming of golden-haired Lauren.
“You’ve met someone, haven’t you?” Diana asked one evening. “I’m not your wife. You’re free.”
Ethan admitted he’d fallen for someone—just hadn’t known how to say it. He was relieved to stop lying—to Lauren. *And to me*, Diana’s eyes said.
He packed his things—far more than he’d arrived with—and left. Halfway downstairs, he waited for the door to slam. Silence. Diana stood listening to his footsteps.
Outside, he gulped air, hating his cowardice and ingratitude. Without looking back, he hurried to the Tube, justifying himself all the way. Their age gap *was* huge—how could it have lasted? He’d promised nothing. *She* had invited him. And Lauren—young, intoxicating. Finally, he breathed freely, thinking only of her.
Now he could openly pursue her—which he did. He crashed in a storage room at work. When her parents were out, Lauren let him shower, do laundry. Soon, they slept together. When her parents found out, Lauren was already pregnant. Polite people, they skipped the shouting, fast-tracked a wedding. Ethan didn’t tell his parents. He hadn’t visited in ages—too busy working.
In their spacious home, he felt like a guest—unlike at Diana’s. His in-laws nitpicked, polite but condescending. Tolerated for their daughter’s sake. His father-in-law got him a job at his firm. Lauren was used to luxury.
Ethan had dreamed of architecture. Now he pushed paper, growing bitter and withdrawn. The passion faded fast—he and Lauren were nothing alike. Without the baby, he’d have left.
Then a scooter knocked her down on the way to the clinic. Lauren lost consciousness, then the baby. She shut down, shut him out. He felt blamed.
More and more, he remembered Diana, their little family. Home was unbearable. He lingered after work, sat in cafés. One evening, his feet carried him to Diana’s street. A woman exited the building; he caught the door. He took the stairs three at a time.
When Diana answered, she barely seemed surprised.
“Wrong address, or just passing by?” she teased, but he saw she was glad.
“No, I came to see you.”
“You’ve grown up,” she said, setting the table.
“Where’s Emily?”
“Dance class. Back in an hour.”
“You haven’t changed.” He pulled her close.
Later, in bed, he confessed: tired, unfulfilled…
“Lauren’s parents sent her to the coast. I can’t stand them. Pushing papers at her dad’s firm—not what I wanted.”
“That bad?” Diana asked.
“We’reAnd as the years passed, Ethan often found himself at Diana’s grave, whispering his regrets to the wind, knowing too late that the love he’d chased elsewhere had always been waiting for him right here.
