She’d given up on love. Then fate handed her a second chance…
Tom came home late one evening, exhaustion etched on his face, his eyes clouded with quiet turmoil. He kicked off his shoes, walked straight to the kitchen, and slumped into a chair.
“Tommy, love, you want supper?” Jenny fussed around him. “I’ve done roast duck, just how you like it. With apples, see? What’s got you so glum?”
He looked at her—no usual warm smile this time.
“Jen, we need to talk. I can’t keep living between two places. When are we finally going to be together? I’ve got my own flat, you know.”
Jenny’s face fell. The moment she’d been dodging had finally caught up with her.
“Alright,” she said softly. “But first… you’ve got to meet my kids.”
They arranged to meet at a café. James and Oliver sat on one side of the table, Emily beside Jenny. When Tom walked in, the kids froze, mouths hanging open. At first, Jenny didn’t get it—until she caught the furious glances between her sons. Then it hit her.
“You’re having a laugh, Mum!” James snapped first. “Dating at your age? What’s next, a midlife crisis? It’s embarrassing!”
“Mum, we thought you had sense,” Oliver added. “Women your age are meant to be baking cakes for grandkids, not bringing blokes home.”
“I’m only forty-four,” Jenny muttered.
“Exactly, so live quietly! James and I’ll get our own place. We’re not sharing a roof with you and your ‘boyfriend’.”
Emily just turned away. Didn’t speak to her mum for a solid month.
Jenny didn’t cry. She just sat in the dark, replaying her life. How it had all started.
…Back then, she’d been the perfect student. Bright, sensible, from a good family—parents who adored her, dreamed she’d get into Oxford or Cambridge. But at seventeen, she fell hard for Mark.
He was twenty-four. Tall, rough-voiced, strong hands, proud stare. Her parents hated him instantly. Dad kicked him out when he came asking for her hand. But Jenny didn’t listen. Two months later, she ran off with him to another city.
At first, it was a fairy tale. First came James. Her parents helped, bought them a flat. Then Oliver arrived—they even upgraded them to a three-bed. But that’s when the dream curdled into a mess.
Mark’s family were drinkers. His brother was a layabout, his parents partiers. Mark started spending longer with them, vanishing for weeks. Work? Ha! Who’d hire a bloke who went on benders every month?
Jenny carried it all. Two jobs, distance learning. Nights scrubbing floors. Too proud to beg her parents for help. And Mark? On the sofa, demanding “a cold one.”
When she came home pregnant with her third and heard, “No cream on top? Go get some then,” she snapped. Filed for divorce. Called him a cab, even paid for it. He laughed—thought she’d cave. Mistake.
He never came back. New locks. Nosy Mrs. Wilkins next door made sure he didn’t kick off. Divorce was quick. He never even knew he had a daughter.
Three months later, Mark died. A fire at his parents’ place—left the stove on. His parents survived, his brother too. Mark didn’t. Jenny felt guilty… but knew she wasn’t his keeper.
Then came Emily. Three kids. Work. Chores. Three-hour sleeps.
She forgot what being a woman felt like. Just focused on raising them. Every penny from widower’s benefits went into savings for the kids.
Love? She crossed it off. Thought she didn’t deserve it.
Then came that rainy night. A coworker’s birthday, a late bus stop, a downpour. No buses in sight. Then—a car slowed.
“Need a lift?”
Just an ordinary bloke. Warm eyes. Kind. Name was Tom. Turned out he lived nearby. Then he started waiting for her every morning, driving her to work, bringing her home. Made her coffee in the car. Said she was beautiful.
Jenny had forgotten what compliments felt like. But with him, it was easy. He’d divorced—caught his wife cheating. No kids.
Then—he asked her to move in. And she… panicked.
Her kids cut her off. Called her selfish. Said they’d move out.
Jenny ached. But then, something in her clicked.
“Fine,” she told the boys, “we’ll sell the house, split it into three flats. I’ll top up the difference. You’re grown. And I… don’t owe you my loneliness just because it suits you.”
She moved in with Tom.
Then—a miracle. Jenny got pregnant again. Doctors warned her it was risky. But she wouldn’t back down.
Tom never left her side. Rushed her to appointments, stayed awake at her bedside. He was a dad from the first heartbeat.
Her kids? Vanished. No calls. No texts.
But when she left the hospital with baby Lily, they were all there. Flowers. Balloons. Apologies.
Now, laughter fills the house again. Lily toddles around, and her big brothers and sister are back. Emily helps out. James brings his girlfriend over. Oliver hosted Sunday roast.
Jenny looks at Tom—her heart skips.
She could’ve said no. Stayed alone. But she chose to live.
Now she knows—it’s never too late to be happy. Not when real love finds you.
