“Mum, don’t marry him,”
“Mum, Jack has asked me to move in with him,” Emily began carefully after dinner.
“Where will you live?” her mum asked after a slight pause.
“He’s got his own flat. His dad bought it when he started uni.”
“Aren’t you rushing things? There’s still a whole year left before you graduate. What if you get pregnant?” Mum turned off the tap, dried her hands, and faced Emily.
“I know you raised me alone, and you’re scared I’ll make the same mistake—that you’ll end up completely on your own…” Emily couldn’t tell if her mum was against it or not.
“You’re old enough to be responsible for your choices. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got someone too.”
“I had a feeling. Why haven’t you ever mentioned him or introduced us?” Emily asked curiously.
“I don’t know.” Her mum lowered her eyes. “I was scared, I suppose. The thing is… he’s younger than me.” She met Emily’s gaze.
“So what? That’s trendy these days. Does that mean you’re okay with me and Jack?” Emily jumped up and hugged her.
At first, Emily called her mum daily, often dropping by in the evenings. She still had a key, but now she rang the bell. One evening, a handsome young man answered. His tight T-shirt accentuated his toned chest and arms.
“Your daughter’s here,” he said with a bright, white-toothed smile.
“Daughter, but not yours,” Emily muttered, stepping inside.
Her mum was cooking, looking livelier—dressed differently too. No more cosy dressing gowns; now she stood at the stove in white joggers and a pink cropped top.
“Ryan, we need to talk,” she said when he wandered into the kitchen.
“Got it. Have your chat, ladies,” he grinned, his dark eyes glinting.
“Mum, he’s at least fifteen years younger. You look great, but the gap’s still obvious,” Emily whispered after he left.
“So what? You said it’s trendy now,” her mum smiled.
Emily barely recognised her. Usually so composed, now she was always grinning like a schoolgirl. And those clothes…
“Right. Is that why you hid him from me? What’s next—don’t tell me you’re marrying him?” Emily said, bewildered.
“What if I am? Would you mind?”
Emily opened her mouth, but her mum cut in.
“We haven’t discussed it yet. I’ve never felt like this—like I’ve grown wings. I’m so happy!” Her mum gave a guilty smile. “How about you? No rows with Jack?”
“No. I should go—he’s probably wondering where I am.”
Walking home, Emily felt unsettled. She’d never felt so out of place in her own mum’s flat.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asked when she got back.
“Guess what? Mum’s in love,” Emily said, peeling off her coat.
“And? She’s still young. Is he some old creep? An ex-con? If not, I don’t see the problem,” Jack shrugged.
Emily stared at him like he’d betrayed her.
“Ryan’s practically your age. Looks like a film star. Of course *she’s* smitten—young, handsome. But him? He’s just using her. I refuse to believe he loves her,” Emily fumed.
“Love’s blind. Or—are *you* jealous? Fancy him yourself?” Jack teased. “Careful, I’m the possessive type. I’ll challenge him to a duel.”
Emily rolled her eyes.
“Stop joking. I’m not jealous. I just don’t get what he wants with a middle-aged woman. There are hundreds of young girls who’d throw themselves at him.”
“Maybe he genuinely fancies your mum. Or maybe he’s after her flat,” Jack joked.
“We’re not rich. Just a thin gold chain, earrings, and a cubic zirconia ring. Hardly worth scamming someone over,” Emily said.
“What about the flat? Property’s always valuable.”
“But Mum said he hasn’t proposed. They’ve not been together long. How’s he getting the flat? By killing her? Then he’d have to kill me too—I’m on the lease.”
“Relax, Em, I was kidding. She’s in love. I doubt they’ll marry. Your mum’s smart—she knows what she’s doing,” Jack said seriously.
“That’s just it—she *doesn’t*. You should’ve seen her dopey grin. And the clothes! He’s turning her into a teenager, but she’s *not*.”
“She’s your *mum*—you don’t see her as a woman. Don’t jump the gun. Let her be happy for once,” Jack reasoned.
“But he’ll dump her. She’ll be heartbroken.”
“Would you like it if she’d forbidden us to be together? She let *you* go. Don’t ruin this for her.”
“Wait till he breaks her heart—or worse? Easy for *you* to say. She’s not *your* mum.”
“I *don’t* have a mum,” Jack snapped. “If I did, I wouldn’t interfere.”
“Sorry.” Emily bit her lip. Maybe he was right. Why assume the worst? Maybe it *was* love.
They dropped it, but unease lingered. Days later, Emily visited again, hoping to learn more. She’d found Ryan’s social media—gym selfies, party pics, nothing revealing.
Mum answered the door, but didn’t seem thrilled. Probably expecting Ryan.
“You’re not happy to see me?”
“Don’t be silly. Just thought it was Ryan.” Mum shivered in an oversized jumper.
“You feeling okay? You’re pale.”
“I’m fine. Want some food?”
“Tea’s enough. Where’s Ryan?” Emily asked casually.
“Still at work. Late training session—he’s a fitness instructor.”
*No surprise there*, Emily thought. Aloud: “Ah. So that’s how you met.”
Her mum seemed distracted, fiddling with the hob knobs.
“Mum, are you alright?”
Her mum poured tea but didn’t drink.
“…I visited Ryan’s club. These young girls training… He said I should get a breast lift. And facial work,” she murmured.
“*Ryan* said—Mum, wake up! If a man nitpicks your looks, he doesn’t love you. He’ll leave anyway. Why risk surgery? People *die* from botched procedures!”
“Stop. I don’t meddle in *your* life. I’ve decided nothing yet. I love him—I want to keep him.” Her voice cracked. “Your dad left, never married me. I raised you, never lived for myself. With Ryan… I *feel* young. You’ll understand when you’re my age.”
“That’s not fair. I just don’t want to lose you. Promise you’ll *wait*?”
“—What’s all this?” Ryan strolled in, flashing that smirk.
Mum turned to him with a sycophantic smile. Emily felt sick.
“We lost track of time—”
“I’ve got seminar prep.” Emily edged past Ryan. Mum didn’t see her out.
“Let it go,” Jack said later. “Some people get love late—like a bad flu. Let her be happy while it lasts.”
“What if she dies botching her face?!”
“What can *we* do? Ban her? Hire a hitman?” Jack joked.
“You’re impossible!”
Mum called days later: she’d had the breast surgery.
“I’m at the clinic. The doctor’s done hundreds of these,” she said weakly.
Emily was relieved it wasn’t her face. “Call me after, okay?”
No call came. A stranger answered Mum’s phone: “She’s resting.”
Emily stormed to Mum’s flat—Jack reluctantly following. Ryan took ages to answer, shirtless under a robe.
“I was *asleep*,” he lied.
“You talked her into surgery, then nap?!” Emily shoved past—Jack wedged a foot in the door. Inside, a naked blonde lounged on the bed.
“Three’s a party,” she laughed.
Ryan threatened police. Emily scoffed: “*I* own this flat!”
“We’ve filed for marriage,” he bluffed.
Neighbour Mr. Harris—ex-army—peered in. Emily yelled, “Call the police! He’s brought a *hooker* here!”
Ryan and the blonde scrambled out.
“Mum won’t thank you,” Jack warned.
Emily found the blonde’s red bra—proof.
Mum called from hospital—feverish, implants removed. “Ryan’s not answering…”
*Nearly died, and still fretting over him*, Emily thought.
Post-op, Mum was a ghost. Emily showed her the bra—Mr. Harris backed herShe finally understood that love wasn’t about chasing youth or fixing flaws, but about finding someone who truly saw her—just as she was, right there all along.
