Zoe was marrying off her daughter. The guest list was modest—around thirty-five people, mostly the groom’s relatives and friends.
Her daughter, Charlotte, was radiant, as brides always are. For Zoe, her early marriage at nineteen came as a shock. Like any mother of a conscientious, well-brought-up girl, she had hoped Charlotte would finish university first, and then… But life had other plans. Charlotte was in her second year, her fiancé, Oliver, in his final term. They had decided to marry—end of discussion. Oliver believed living unwed was childish; his girl deserved to be his wife, properly and forever.
Zoe’s ex-husband, Charlotte’s father, hadn’t attended, though he’d been invited. He did send a cheque—small comfort, but better than nothing. Five years had passed since he left, and he’d shown little interest in his daughter beyond the mandatory child support.
The wedding was in full swing. Everything was perfect—the toastmaster knew his job. But one guest unsettled Zoe, some distant cousin of Oliver’s. His eyes never left her. Wherever she stood in the hall, his gaze followed, sharp enough to bore holes. It made her bristle. How dare that boy stare so brazenly?
The strains of a waltz began—a rarity at modern weddings, where few even knew the steps. Zoe loved waltzing and, despite her irritation moments before, gladly took the young man’s hand. He danced like a dream. They were the most striking pair in the room, swirling at the centre of the circle. Zoe looked breathtaking—more like the bride’s sister than her mother. Her emerald-green dress flowed over her slender frame, her casually chic updo and the spark in her eyes made her impossible to ignore.
“Where did you learn to dance like that?” Zoe asked as he escorted her off the floor.
“Years of ballroom training,” he replied with a smile. “But I could tell straight away—no one here moves like you.”
For the rest of the evening, Daniel—they’d exchanged names—danced only with Zoe. He stayed close, ensuring he’d be first to claim the next dance. The champagne and the dizzying thrill of youth left her lightheaded. *Why not? He’s young, but when will I dance like this again?* she thought.
After the wedding, Charlotte moved in with her husband while they saved for a place. Zoe returned to work at the social services office, her brief holiday over. She was stunned when, at the end of her shift, Daniel appeared outside with a bouquet.
“What are you doing here—with flowers, no less? My colleagues will mock me mercilessly—asking what sixth form my suitor’s in!” she snapped.
“I’ve graduated. My workday ends earlier, and I *had* to see you. Got your details from Charlotte,” he said, almost defiant. “And I don’t look *that* young—I’m twenty-five, for heaven’s sake.”
“Well, I’m forty. Feel the difference? Take my advice—don’t waste your time. Look around! Plenty of pretty girls your age,” Zoe said, marching toward the bus stop.
“Forty? Impossible! And even if you were, I wouldn’t care. I’ll love you at any age, and no one can stop me—not even you. I believe in love at first sight now. From the moment I saw you at the wedding, I was lost.”
Daniel began meeting her daily, riding the bus to her stop before turning back. He asked for nothing, treating her with unwavering respect.
Zoe would be lying if she said his attentions didn’t flatter her. But the age gap loomed large. She refused to ruin his life—he belonged with someone his own age. No matter how hard she pushed him away, their bond deepened. And in time, Daniel proved himself tender, decent, and steadfast. When Zoe fell ill with pneumonia, he nursed her back to health. That was when she knew—his love was real.
His relentless devotion wore her down. What woman could resist? When Daniel proposed, even Charlotte and Oliver urged her to say yes. Zoe refused, convinced he’d leave her eventually.
Her resolve might’ve held if not for the unexpected pregnancy. A *baby*? She was on the verge of becoming a grandmother! If Daniel abandoned her, she’d be left to raise the child alone.
But he shattered every doubt. He and his parents vowed to stand by her, even if their marriage failed.
They wed quietly at home, just family—her figure by then left little to the imagination.
Now, their son Andrew is twenty.
Zoe and Daniel are still together. They share passions, communicate effortlessly—sometimes a glance is enough. By all accounts, they’re happy.
Only one shadow lingers. Zoe is sixty now; Daniel, just forty-five. She still torments herself—did she rob him of his future?
He insists he’s never been happier. And perhaps, in the end, that’s all that matters.
