NOT THE RIGHT ALEX Daisy stood in front of the mirror, changing her earrings for the third time. “Well, Button,” she addressed her dog, “these or those?” Button yawned. “Thanks for the support.” She glanced at the clock. Half an hour to go. Strange nerves. Usually she felt confident—suitors hovered around her. But this time… “Nonsense,” she decided, giving herself one last look in the mirror. “You’re the best!” Maybe it was because she’d never seen Alex before? Three weeks of phone calls—not a single meeting. Three weeks, and I haven’t got a word in edgeways, she suddenly thought, smirking. Daisy took a deep breath and picked up her handbag. Time to go. THREE WEEKS EARLIER “Oh, when will you finally get married and move out!” sighed her dad—the consultant neurosurgeon—over dinner. He’d just come home from a marathon surgery, hoping for a quiet evening with a volume of Terry Pratchett. But Daisy had spent the past half hour chattering non-stop, comparing British and American science fiction. “Dad, you said Pratchett was the peak—” “I did. Another time, love—I just need some peace tonight.” Daisy pouted and went quiet—for all of three minutes. “By the way, speaking of marriage,” her dad brightened up suddenly. “Remember Dr. Spencer—the head of the GP surgery where I sometimes help out?” “Yes?” “He’s got a son. Supposedly an excellent chap. Spencer asked for your number—to introduce you. I said yes.” Daisy grimaced. All these set-ups—so old-fashioned. For wallflowers, surely—not for her! But she didn’t have the heart to argue with her dad. THE FIRST CALL The “excellent chap” waited a few days before he called. “Hello?” “Hi, it’s Alex. Your dad mentioned me?” “He did,” Daisy replied, cool but slightly intrigued—the voice was pleasant. “My dad spoke really highly of you. Said you’re… extraordinary.” “I don’t know about that!” she laughed. “Just an ordinary med student. Paediatrics at St Mary’s. What about you?” “Oxford. Future surgeon.” Ah, that explained the slightly smug tone. They talked for an hour. Then another two. Then every day after. Alex talked about his cat Miranda, his love for sci-fi, and his worry that he was too thin, too pale, too tired… Sometimes Daisy caught herself thinking: Isn’t that supposed to be my role? She barely kept herself from saying, “Alex, just lighten up.” Though, he hated being called “Lex.” Still, if you overlooked the little things, she liked him. THE MEETING AT OXFORD CIRCUS Eventually, they arranged to meet. At Oxford Circus, by the Underground. To see a new film and then stroll over to “Cosmos,” the ice cream café on Regent Street. The rest—who knew? Daisy burst from the tube carriage and scanned the crowd. Bustle. Noise. That distinctive Underground smell. And there he was—tall, handsome, clutching a bouquet of roses by the pillar, craning for each train to arrive. She marched over, determined. “Alex?” He flinched, looked confused. “Excuse me, are you—?” “Daisy,” she said sharply, extending her hand—part handshake, part invitation to kiss it. Stunned by my beauty, she thought wryly. Gone all formal… He froze. “Daisy?” he repeated uncertainly. “But I—” “Come on!” She grabbed his sleeve. “We need to pick up our tickets!” “Wait, I wanted to—” “We’ll talk later!” She pulled him to the exit. He glanced back at the platform, as if searching for someone, but Daisy swept him away into the crowd. The roses were still in his grip. He looked at them, then at her—then surrendered. “All right,” he murmured. “Let’s go.” CINEMA AND CAFÉ They both enjoyed the film. Daisy admired her date’s stylish coat, the artsy, hand-knit scarf he obviously treasured. A whiff of expensive French cologne. Delicious vanilla ice cream at “Cosmos.” They agreed on pretty much everything. Well, mainly Daisy did the talking while he followed her every gesture with warm brown eyes, nodding along. Sometimes, in support, he’d gently enclose her animated hand in his large, reassuring palm. So manly—and so attractive! “You know,” he said during their walk along a twilit Shaftesbury Avenue, “you’re…” “Yes?” she prompted, wary. “So alive. So genuine.” She flashed an utterly enchanting smile—the best she could muster. She was in love. THREE MONTHS LATER The romance took off. They met almost daily and rang each other several times a day—which was as much as you could do before smartphones. After three months, Alex declared that he loved Daisy, couldn’t live without her, and wanted to marry her. Daisy, after a token ten minutes of dithering, rallied and said yes. “You’ll have to meet my parents,” her fiancé worried. “Let’s not rush that!” Daisy panicked. Much as her family wanted her settled, they were frightfully picky about potential candidates. Especially her gran. No one was ever good enough for her precious granddaughter, and Daisy’s parents tended to back Gran’s arguments. There was no way Daisy was giving up on Alex. She wasn’t hurrying to meet his parents either, in case someone let something slip. HER DAD’S BIRTHDAY A chance came a fortnight later. Despite his dislike for fuss, Dad decided to properly celebrate his 55th, inviting friends and colleagues. Daisy mysteriously announced she would be bringing someone. The guests were nearly all gathered when Daisy ushered her fiancé in, bearing carnations and a bottle of French brandy. “Dad, please meet…” she began, slightly embarrassed. The phone rang. “Hold on, back in a sec,” Dad dashed to answer. He came puffing back moments later: “That was Dr. Spencer—just getting directions from the tube. I’m so pleased he’s actually coming. Thought he was cross since you never met his son!” Daisy froze. “Never met him?” Dad stared at her, puzzled. “Well, yes. He said his boy waited for you at Oxford Circus for two hours. With flowers. But you never turned up.” Slowly, Daisy turned to Alex. He stood in the hall, pale, clutching the carnations, guilt written all over him. “We’ll be right back,” she hissed to her bewildered father. She dragged Alex to her bedroom. THE TRUTH Daisy closed the door. Turned to him. “Wait,” she said slowly, almost afraid to understand. “What do you mean—I never turned up?” Alex stayed silent. “You’re not Alex Spencer?” He shook his head. “You’re not Alex Spencer?!” “No,” he said softly. “I’m Alex Sullivan. A friend set me up with a girl—Natalie. I waited for her at Oxford Circus. And then you came up and…” “And I just took you along,” Daisy finished. They stood, silent, in her room. “I tried to explain—on our way to the cinema that first day. But you wouldn’t listen.” “I never listen,” she conceded. “It’s a gift.” Button whimpered at the door. Daisy sat on the bed. “So what now?” Alex looked at her—a long, serious look, maybe too serious. Then knelt beside her. “I don’t care how we met,” he said, “whether by chance or through someone’s dad.” “I love you. Will you marry me—for real, no mix-ups?” Daisy let out a relieved smile. “Okay. Then, let’s meet the parents. Warning—my lot are complicated.” “So’s mine. And I’ve got a cat with attitude.” “We’ll manage!” They left the room. In the living room, the guests waited—including, just arrived, Dr. Spencer and his son. Tall. Handsome. With a bouquet of roses. Daisy glanced at the real Alex Spencer. Then at her Alex—even paler, with his carnations. No, she thought. Not the right one. And she burst out laughing—for real this time. “Dad,” she called, “I’ve got news. And it’s a long story.”

Author Walton MerrittReading 10 minViews 1

NOT THE RIGHT ALEX

Daisy stood in front of her mirror, changing her earrings for the third time.
Well, Button, she addressed her spaniel, these or the pearl ones?
Button yawned extravagantly, somehow managing to look unimpressed.
Thanks for the moral support.
She glanced at her watch. Still half an hour to go.
A strange flutter of nerves. Normally, Daisy was self-assuredboys flocked around her without any effort on her part. But tonight…
Nonsense, she declared, examining her reflection one last time. Youre simply fabulous!
Perhaps it was because shed never actually met William yet? Three weeks of phone calls, and not so much as a glimpse in person.
Three weeks and I havent gotten a word in edgeways, she thought with a wry grin.
Daisy sighed, reached for her handbag.
Time to go.

THREE WEEKS EARLIER
When are you finally going to get married and move out? her father, the esteemed neurosurgeon, sighed at the dinner table.
He had just come home after hours in theatre and desperately wanted a quiet evening with an old copy of H.G. Wells.
But Daisy had been rattling on for half an hour, comparing British and American science fiction.
Dad, youre the one who said Wells was the top
Yes, I did. Rain check on that debate? I could do with a bit of quiet.
Daisy pretended to sulk and fell silentfor all of three minutes.
Speaking of which, her father brightened suddenly, do you remember Dr. Barkerthe chief at the practice where I filled in last year?
What about him?
He has a son. Very respectable young man, apparently. Barkers asked for your number, wanted to arrange an introduction. I said itd be fine.
Daisy grimaced.
All these engineered introductionsso utterly old-fashioned. Meant for plain Janes and spinsters, surely, not her.
Still, she didnt like to cross Dad.

THE FIRST CALL
Respectable young man waited a few days before dialling her number.
Hello?
Good evening. Its William. Did your dad mention me?
He did, replied Daisy, with the barest touch of intrigue. Lovely voice, she realised.
My fathers always praised you. Said youre rather…unusual.
Well, Im just a regular student. Kings College, paediatrics. And you?
Imperial. Training as a surgeon…
Of course, Daisy thoughtexplains the hint of bravado.
They talked for an hour.
Then another two.
Then every day.
William chatted away about his cat, Blanche, his passion for fantasy novels, and his brooding over his appearancewas he too thin, too pale, too weary?
Daisy listened, but sometimes caught herself thinking, Isnt that supposed to be my role?
She fought the urge to laugh and say, Will, just chill out, honestly. He couldnt stand being called Will.
Still, apart from such trifles, she rather liked him.

MEETING AT PICCADILLY
At last, they made plans to meet.
Piccadilly station, right near the big Eros statue.
Cinema firstthe new film everyone was on aboutthen perhaps a stroll up Regent Street and ice cream at Starlight Café.
Daisy burst off the train and scanned the concourse.
Crowds everywhere. The electric hum of the Underground, tinged with eau de tube.
There he wastall, nice looking, holding a bouquet of red roses, lurking next to a pillar and eyeing every train expectantly.
She approached decisively.
William?
He jumped slightly, looked rather lost.
Sorry, are you…
Daisy, she said, businesslike, offering her hand for either a shake or a kiss, who could say.
Stunned by my beauty, she thought with a secret smirk. Reverted to the formal you already…
He stood there, dumbstruck.
Daisy? he echoed, hesitant. But I
Come on! she grabbed his sleeve. Weve got to collect the tickets!
Wait, I need to say
Later! she tugged him towards the exit.
He glanced back at the platform, as if seeking someone, but Daisy had already led him into the swell of the crowd.
The roses still in his grip.
He looked at the flowers, then at herand gave in.
Alright, he murmured. Lead the way.

THE FILM AND THE CAFÉ
They enjoyed the movie.
Daisy also admired his stylish coat, the hand-knit scarf (obviously his mums work), and the faint whiff of expensive cologne.
The ice cream at Starlight with its crunchy topping was divine.
And how they seemed to share an opinion on everything.
Well, Daisy mostly delivered monologues, and he listened, brown eyes shining, nodding in agreement.
Sometimes hed gently rest his broad, warm hand over her little gesticulating one.
How dashing!
You know, he said as they wandered along a dusky Carnaby Street, youre so… He trailed off.
So what? Daisy demanded, half-charmed, half-suspicious.
Lively. Genuine.
Daisy favoured him with the most dazzling smile she could muster.
She was smitten.

THREE MONTHS LATER
The romance blossomed at top speed.
They met almost daily, crammed in even more calls, wishing for more before smartphones arrived.
Three months in, William proclaimed he loved Daisy, couldnt live without her, and wished to marry her.
Daisy, after the appropriate ten minutes of banter, joyfully said yes.
Time you met my family, said her fiancé, worry creasing his brow.
Maybe lets hold off? Daisy said hurriedly.
Her family, always keen to marry her off, were notoriously critical about suitors.
Especially Gran.
No one was ever good enough for her precious darling granddaughter, and Mum and Dad usually went along with Gran.
Daisy was definitely not parting with William.
Nor was she in any rush to meet his familylest the news bounce back to her own.

FATHERS BIRTHDAY
A couple of weeks later, opportunity knocked.
Her father, usually averse to parties, decided to throw a do for his 55th and invited friends and colleagues.
Daisy mysteriously announced she would not be arriving alone this time.
The flat was humming with guests when Daisy let in her fiancé, roses and a bottle of French brandy in hand.
Dad, please meet she began, nervously grand.
Just then, the phone rang.
One second, love, Dad darted off.
He returned flushed minutes later:
That was Barkerhes walking from the station and needed the way. Im so pleased hes comingI thought hed completely cut me off after you missed the date with his lad!
Daisy froze.
Missed?
Dad looked at her, puzzled:
Well, yes. He said his son waited for you two hours at Piccadillyhad flowers and everything. Said you never showed.
Daisy slowly turned to William.
He stood by the door, pale, carnations in hand, guilt in his eyes.
Wont be long, Dad, Daisy hissed, dragging William to her bedroom.

TRUTH
Daisy closed the door and turned to him.
Hold on, she said, choosing every word. What dyou mean I never showed?
William stared at the carpet.
Youre not the William?
He shook his head.
Youre not William Barker?
No, he whispered. Im William Turner. My mate said to meet this girlJenny. I waited for her at Piccadilly. Then you walked over and…
And I just kidnapped you, said Daisy, almost in awe.
They stared at each other.
I tried to explain, he said quietly. That first night, on our way to the cinema. But you didnt let me.
I never listen, Daisy admitted. Its a gift.
Button whined anxiously at the door.
Daisy sat on the edge of the bed.
What now?
William gazed at herlong, deeply, a little too seriously.
Then he knelt beside her.
I dont care how we metby fate or because of someones dad.
I love you, and I want you for my wife. Properly. No more mix-ups.
Daisys smile was pure relief.
Alright. Then come and meet the family. But be warned: were a handful.
I hear you. And mine is no picnic. Plus, the cats an absolute tyrant.
Well cope!
They stepped back into the sitting room.
There were the guestsand, just arriving, Dr. Barker with his son:
Tall, handsome, holding roses.
Daisy looked at the real William Barker.
Then at her own William, pale and trembling, with his bunch of carnations.
No, she thought. Not him.
And for the first time that night, she broke into genuine, unrestrained laughter.
Dad, she said, I have something to tell you. Its a long story…Everyone turned towards herher father, Dr. Barker, the two Williams, an audience on the brink of a farce. Daisy, for once, found no clever words, just the bubbling urge to laugh again. But William Turner reached for her hand, and as he did, Daisy caught her fathers bemused look and her mothers wary hope. Gran arched an eyebrow, curious and ruthless.

Well? her father prodded, arms crossed.

Daisy raised her chin, suddenly certain. You wanted me to meet Dr. Barkers son. I didin a manner of speaking. But I chose my own William, all the same.

Dr. Barker chuckled, shoulders shaking. Sometimes fates better than introductions, old friend.

Behind him, the real William Barker managed a gracious, faintly mortified smile, and offered his unused bouquet to Daisy. She accepted it graciouslythen passed half the stems to Button, who barked approval, tail thumping.

Perhaps, Daisy said, voice steady, this is what comes of trying to script love stories. They always find their own plot.

The room filled with laughterawkward, joyful, dizzy with relief. Someone started up Happy Birthday, glasses clinked, Gran insisted on kissing William Turners cheeks, and even the two Williams exchanged a wry handshake, a silent pact of confusion.

Later, as the party buzzed and London glittered outside, Daisy found herself on the balcony, William by her side, breathing in rain-sweet air and the scent of crushed carnations.

So, William murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face, wrong introductions, train mix-ups, and impractical fatherswould you change anything?

Daisy leaned her head against his shoulder and grinned. Not for the world. Some stories are just better when you dont know the ending.

And somewhere between her laughter and the city lights, she knew she had found exactly the right Alexonly, it turned out, his name was William after all.

— “After I’m Gone, You’ll Have to Move Out—I’m Leaving the Flat to My Son…” — “I’m Sorry, Gail, but after I’m gone you’ll need to leave this flat,” said Anthony to his wife. “I’m leaving it to my son. I’ve already sorted out the paperwork. I hope you won’t hold it against me? You have your own children—they’ll look after you.” Life had tossed Gail about. Raised in a children’s home, she had never known her parents. She married young, for love, but happiness eluded her. Thirty-five years ago she was left a widow—a young woman with two small children—when her husband Nicholas died tragically. She lived alone for five years, working tirelessly so her daughter and son wanted for nothing, until she met Anthony. Thankfully, Gail had a place of her own—her late husband’s flat had come to her by inheritance. Her new partner Anthony was thirteen years her senior, owned a three-bedroom flat, and earned well. They moved in together, and Gail’s children soon got along with him. Her older daughter, Vicky, was initially cautious, but Anthony won her trust. Gail’s younger son, Barry, immediately began calling Anthony “Dad.” Anthony raised them as his own—never stingy with time, effort, or money. Both Vicky and Barry were grateful for their happy childhoods. *** Barry and Vicky had long since moved out. Vicky married young. Barry, who dreamed of joining the army, hadn’t lived at home in years. Ten years ago, Gail called her children home. She wanted to discuss an important matter. “I want to sell our two-bedroom flat,” she told them. “We need major renovations here—new furniture, new pipes. No one’s lived in the two-bed for years, it’s just sitting empty. I wanted your blessing to sell it and split the money?” Vicky shrugged, “I don’t mind. I don’t need the flat, but to be honest, Mum, I wouldn’t turn down the money. You know my son needs treatment—we haven’t given up hope of getting him on his feet.” Vicky’s eldest had been born with a disability and needed costly ongoing rehab. Barry agreed, “I’m fine with it. Mum, give my share to Vicky—let her take Grisha to London for treatment. I’m paying my mortgage just fine. My nephew’s health matters more.” Gail sold the two-bed, gave half to Vicky, and put the rest into renovating Anthony’s flat—new wiring, plumbing, and appliances, all paid for from her own pocket. She didn’t know then that her investments would end up benefiting someone else, or that after thirty years her husband would betray her. Anthony’s health deteriorated four years ago. His knees ached so much he sometimes couldn’t get out of bed. Gail insisted he seek treatment. “Tony, stop acting like a child. Get to a doctor! I’ll go with you—someone has to look after your health.” Anthony groaned, “I know how this ends—expensive meds that won’t help. My knees have hurt most of my life—now it’s worse, but I’m almost seventy. No wonder they ache.” Vicky urged Anthony to see a doctor, and Gail went with him. The doctor sighed, “This is serious. Your joints need urgent care. You’ve got to lose weight, or things will get worse.” Gail took his health in hand—changing his diet to healthy foods, cutting out treats. Anthony refused to follow the advice, calling it all nonsense, but eventually agreed to treatment and a diet. But the medicine offered only brief respite. His pain returned, moving around the flat was hard; Gail would help him to the loo and bathroom. His heart and blood pressure gave him trouble too. Vicky and Barry spent as much time with Anthony as possible. *** For years, Anthony battled on, but his condition see-sawed. Gail stayed by his side. Six months ago, during a hospitalisation, she was preparing food for him when a knock came at the door—a young man with familiar features. “Hello! Is Mr Anthony Williams at home?” “I’m afraid he’s not. And you are?” “My name’s Simon. I’m Anthony’s son.” Gail was taken aback—this young man looked just like her husband in his youth. Simon explained, “I haven’t seen Dad in years. May I wait? I’d like to talk to him.” Gail invited him in. Simon soon shared, “Dad’s always been… let’s say, particular. It’s strange seeing him weak—he was always so strong. May I go with you to the hospital?” “Of course,” smiled Gail. “Tony will be glad to see you.” Gail hadn’t known Anthony had a son. He’d never spoken of a previous marriage, always claiming he’d never become a father—despite Gail’s attempts for a third child. Anthony didn’t at first recognise Simon. But as they reconnected, Anthony admitted his past: “Simon’s mum and I were married four years. I left when Simon was three—she cheated on me with my cousin! She later married him and told me to forget I had a son. For years I tried to see Simon, but they shut me out… Nearly thirty years, and now Simon’s found me. I don’t know how to relate to him—he’s blood, but a stranger.” “Tony,” Gail said gently, “he’s your son. Don’t turn him away. Let him in, so you won’t regret it later.” Anthony took her advice. Simon began visiting regularly—even meeting Vicky and Barry, who welcomed him. Gail was glad her husband had reunited with his son. Gail and Anthony had savings, mostly from money Gail set aside after selling her flat. Anthony hadn’t worked in years; it was Gail’s income that kept them going. She checked the account rarely, but was alarmed by a sudden bank notification—£1,500 missing. She confronted Anthony: “Tony, where’s our bank card? Someone’s taken out £1,500!” Anthony was unruffled, “No one robbed us. I gave the card to Simon—he needed the money, so I helped him.” “Why didn’t you tell me? Why not ask first?” “That’s none of your business,” Anthony snapped. “My son needed help, so I helped. What’s the problem?” Gail, shocked at his rudeness, asked for the card back. Anthony refused—“He’s my son, close family! You’re being ridiculous.” Gail, normally calm, lost her temper. “Tony, why should your son use my money? You haven’t put a penny in that account for years! I want the card back!” Anthony shouted, but Gail called the bank and had the card blocked. That evening, Simon appeared, frustrated: “Dad, the card doesn’t work anymore!” Gail replied, “No, because I blocked it. We helped you, but you don’t get free rein. My savings are mine—understood? From now on, all financial matters go through me.” Simon was offended and left. Anthony raged at Gail. After their row, she realised for the first time that she was tired of her husband. *** A few days passed, with no word from Simon. Anthony sulked, ignoring Gail, who retreated to her daughter’s for a break. When she returned, Anthony seemed cheerful. Gail was relieved, hoping he no longer resented her. But Anthony announced, “I was at the solicitor today. I’ve gifted the flat to my son.” Gail narrowed her eyes. “And for what, exactly?” “Simon’s my son, my only heir. I have no other children. When I’m gone, he’ll own this property. By the way, Gail, I’d suggest you start thinking about where you’ll live—the kids will look after you, I’m sure.” Gail was quietly wounded. Legally, perhaps she had no claim to the flat—but she had invested everything here, made it a home. Now it was all lost to her. “Thank you, Tony,” she said softly. “You’re right—I need to sort my own future. Call your son—let him look after you now.” “Why should Simon move in here?” Anthony was confused. Gail shrugged, packing a suitcase. “You don’t like being alone. Now your son can keep you company.” “And where will you go?” Anthony asked, baffled. “I’m leaving you. Getting a divorce, becoming free at last. I’ll call the kids and start making plans.” Gail moved in with her son, Barry, in his spacious flat; Vicky would have had her, but Gail didn’t want to crowd her daughter. At court, Anthony tried to avoid the divorce, but Gail insisted. To Anthony and his son, she was seen as grasping after property that was never hers. After I’m Gone, You’ll Have to Move Out—I’m Leaving the Flat to My Son… The True Story of Gail, Her Husband’s Betrayal, and the Home She Lost After Thirty Years Together

The Choice “Turns out, Feddy is very much married…” sighed Susan, perched on a park bench with a referral slip for the hospital tightly gripped in her pocket. Her flatmates back at the halls envied her when they saw her with that dashing, clean-shaven, blue-eyed dark-haired gent, thinking she’d hit the jackpot with such a charming man. But, as it turns out, there was nothing to envy. Susan shivered, recalling the first and only time she met Feddy’s wife – who’d waited for her outside the factory gates to set the record straight. “Hello there! You must be Susan!” the woman began. “And you are?” Susan asked, startled and tense from the tall, slim woman’s piercing, ashy-blonde gaze. “I’m Olivia – Feddy Myles’ wife.” “What?” “You heard me!” “Another naïve girl,” Olivia said calmly. “How many of you are out there, chasing after someone else’s happiness?” “How dare you?” “Listen,” Olivia said, gently gripping Susan’s elbow. “You should be asking yourself the same question. I, his legal wife, have seen you with my husband – and now you’re acting haughty instead of apologising or feeling any shame… But maybe that’s not in your nature. He’s had more of your lot than I can count on my fingers and toes. Getting involved with a married man is shameless.” “He’s a man, a hunter, you see? For him, you’re just a brief fling. He’ll move on soon enough. Keep away from him. By the way, we have two daughters – I can show you a family photo.” Olivia produced a cherished snap, handing it to the stunned Susan. “Here. Proof of true love. This was us in Brighton just two months ago…” “Well, what do you want from me? Sort things with your husband yourself.” “Don’t worry, I will! He only started at this factory recently and, lo and behold, then you turn up. Walk away, won’t you? Don’t fall for his promises – Feddy isn’t about to get divorced. Don’t waste your time. What’s your age – thirty?” “Twenty-five,” Susan retorted, wounded. “Even more reason. There’s still plenty of time for you to get married and have a family. Leave Feddy be.” Susan listened no longer. She walked away on shaky legs, her dreams suddenly eclipsed by the arrival of her lover’s wife. “Betrayer…” she muttered, choking back her tears – she wouldn’t let the world see her pain, not on the street and not in front of her workmates. That evening, Feddy showed up at Susan’s with flowers as if nothing had happened. She kicked him out, swollen-eyed, unswayed by his vows of everlasting love and talk of an impending divorce, after his wife’s revelation changed everything. For two weeks, Susan was left reeling. Feddy didn’t pester her again and acted as though he’d never met her, averting his gaze whenever they crossed paths. Misery never comes alone… At first, Susan blamed her morning sickness and dizzy spells on nerves, but soon reality struck – her all-consuming, naive affair with Feddy had left consequences. “Six weeks,” sounded like a sentence. Susan couldn’t bear the thought of being a single mum. She was terrified, convinced everyone else knew – and now she faced their silent judgement for trusting a man she barely knew, who’d hidden his family all along. What could she have done? Ask for ID on the first date? He wore no ring. Some married men don’t. She should have been suspicious when he insisted they keep their relationship secret at work, but love blinded her until his betrayal became the talk of the office, especially after Olivia’s visit. “I’m pregnant,” she finally confided to her former lover at lunch, desperation pushing her forward. “I’ll give you money, but deal with it,” he grunted. Next day, Feddy resigned, vanishing from her life forever. Susan knew she couldn’t delay forever. Ignoring the doctor’s warnings, she took the referral for the ‘operation’ and found herself gripping that slip on a park bench, terrified to let go. “In a hurry?” said a young man in a sharp suit, plopping down beside her with an enormous bouquet of burgundy chrysanthemums. “Sorry?” she looked up with hollow eyes. “Your watch is fast,” he said, nodding at the gold watch on her wrist. “Oh, it’s always ten minutes ahead,” she replied wearily, turning away. “I keep resetting it, but it’s hopeless.” “The weather’s wonderful today, isn’t it? Real Indian summer. My mum loves this time of year. She always says she made the right choice on a day like this – and never once regretted it. You know,” the stranger chattered on, “My mum’s truly something – I owe her everything.” “What about your dad?” Susan found herself asking. “She never talks about him, and I’ve learnt not to ask. She’s better off without him, I think…” “I just came from a job interview actually. Imagine, they picked me out of ten applicants for a top position – and I’ve barely any experience! It still feels unreal. My mum’s the one who gave me the confidence I needed. My first paycheque will get her a holiday by the sea – she’s never been.” “Have you?” “No.” Susan studied the candid lad, noting his burgundy tie. “Gift from mum,” he said proudly, stroking it. “Sorry – I’m rambling. But you seemed so sad, I just wanted to share my joy.” Susan shook her head – he didn’t annoy her at all. In fact, he’d stopped her downward spiral, and his love for his mother was touching. “What devotion!” she thought. “His mum’s so lucky… I wish I had a son like him…” “Well, I’d better be off – my mum’s waiting and worrying. Don’t rush, though!” “Pardon?” “I meant your watch,” he grinned. “Oh,” she smiled softly in return. A minute later, he was gone. Susan tore up her referral slip in tiny pieces and lingered on the bench, breathing in the crisp autumn air, warmth and light finally returning to her heart. She wasn’t alone after all. Some women raise and nurture wonderful sons single-handedly. A pity she hadn’t asked the lad’s name – but it didn’t matter any more. She’d made her choice. *** Twenty-three years later… “Mum, I’m going to be late,” Stan said, standing at the mirror as his mother carefully knotted the new burgundy tie she’d bought him for an important interview. “Maybe forget about the tie…” “It gives confidence, trust me. You’ll be amazing, they’ll definitely hire you!” Susan finished neatening his collar and stepped back to admire her grown boy. “I’m nervous – what if…?” “This job’s meant for you. Just answer their questions clearly and don’t forget to smile. You’ll be irresistible.” “Okay, Mum,” Stan kissed her cheek and hurried out the door. Susan watched him go, her heart swelling as her dearest strode off to catch the bus. Suddenly, a shock ran through her – she’d seen this before… That young man in the park, more than twenty years ago… Stan in his business suit looked just like him now… How had she forgotten that day for so many years? But now, the memory pulsed with life again. Was it really fate, giving her a glimpse of the future she’d almost thrown away? Showing her – literally – the child she might have lost, steering her onto the right path? She never did learn his mother’s name, nor asked his name, but now – it didn’t matter. Everything turned out just as it should. That afternoon, Stan came home beaming, with a huge bunch of burgundy chrysanthemums to match his tie, announcing he’d got the job. He promised they’d finally go to the seaside, since his mum had never been. Now it was time for him to take care of her, and he’d move mountains to make her happy. No matter what life threw at them, Susan always found comfort in her son’s embrace. They survived it all, and her brave choice had given her a life she’d never regret. Just as it was meant to be!