She had given up on herself. But then fate handed her a second chance—a life reborn.
Eddie stepped into the flat late at night, exhaustion etched into his face, a quiet storm behind his eyes. He toed off his shoes, walked to the kitchen, and slumped into a chair.
“Eddie, love, are you hungry?” Meredith fluttered around him. “I’ve roasted a duck, just how you like it. With apples, see? Why the long face?”
He met her gaze—no easy smile this time.
“Merry, 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.”
Meredith’s expression darkened. The thing she’d been dodging had finally caught up.
“Alright,” she murmured. “But first, you’ll have to meet my children.”
They gathered at a café. Oliver and Ethan sat stiffly on one side of the table, Amelia beside Meredith. When Eddie walked in, the kids froze, jaws slack. At first, she didn’t understand—but then her sons exchanged scowls, and the truth crashed over her.
“You’re having a laugh, Mum?” Oliver snapped first. “Getting a boyfriend at your age? What’s next, clubbing at sixty?”
“Mum, we thought you had sense,” Ethan muttered. “Most women your age are knitting booties, not bringing blokes home.”
“I’m forty-four,” Meredith said softly.
“Then act it,” Oliver shot back. “Live quietly, on your own. Ethan and I’ll rent somewhere. We’re not sharing a roof with you and your toyboy.”
Amelia turned away. For a whole month, she didn’t speak a word to her mother.
Meredith didn’t cry. She just sat in the dark, remembering how it all began.
Once, she’d been a straight-A student—quiet, bright, from a proper family. Her parents adored her, dreamed of her studying at Oxford or Cambridge. But at seventeen, she fell for a man named Mark.
Twenty-four, tall, with a rough voice and strong hands. Her father had thrown him out when he came asking for her hand. She didn’t listen. A few months later, she ran off with him to another city.
At first, it was a fairy tale. Oliver was born. Her parents helped, bought them a flat. Then came Ethan—they even upgraded to a three-bed. But that’s when the dream soured into a nightmare.
Mark’s family drank like fish. His brother was a layabout, his parents never home. Mark started vanishing for weeks, coming back stinking of ale. Work? Forget it. Who’d hire a man who binged every payday?
She carried it all—two jobs, night classes, cleaning until her hands cracked. Too proud to beg her parents for help. And Mark? Lying on the sofa, demanding a “cold one.”
The day she came home from the doctor—pregnant again—and heard, “No cream on top? Go fetch some, then,” something in her snapped. She filed for divorce. Called him a cab, paid the fare herself. He laughed, didn’t believe her. Mistake.
He never came back. New locks. The nosy old neighbor made sure he didn’t kick off. The divorce was quick. He never even knew he had a daughter.
Three months later, Mark died. A fire at his parents’—unattended stove. His brother survived. He didn’t. She felt guilt, but relief too. She wasn’t his keeper.
Amelia was born. Three kids. Work. Laundry. Three hours of sleep if she was lucky.
She forgot what it meant to feel feminine. Forgotten how to be wanted. Just raised them, poured every widow’s pension into their futures.
Love? She crossed it out. Assumed she didn’t deserve it.
Then came the rainy night. A colleague’s birthday, a missed bus, a downpour. A car slowed beside her.
“Need a lift?”
An ordinary bloke. Warm eyes. Kind. His name was Eddie. Lived nearby, it turned out. Soon, he waited for her every morning, drove her to work, brought her home. Made coffee in a thermos. Said she was beautiful.
She’d forgotten how to take a compliment. But with him, it was easy. He’d divorced—caught his wife cheating. No kids.
Then—he asked her to move in. And she… didn’t know what to do.
Her children turned their backs. Called her reckless, said they’d get their own place.
Meredith ached. But one day, something inside her clicked.
“Fine,” she told them. “We’ll sell the flat, buy three one-beds. I’ll cover the difference. You’re grown. And I—I don’t have to be lonely just because it suits you.”
She moved in with Eddie.
Then, a miracle—Meredith was pregnant again. The doctors warned her. She ignored them.
Eddie never left her side. Rushed her to appointments, kept vigil at her bedside. He was a father from the first heartbeat.
The kids? Gone. No calls, no texts.
But the day she left the hospital, all three showed up. Flowers. Balloons. Apologies.
Now, the flat rings with laughter again. Little Daisy tears through the halls, her older siblings by her side. Amelia visits, helps out. Oliver brings his wife round. Ethan hosts Sunday roasts.
Meredith looks at Eddie—and her heart still stutters.
She could’ve said no. Could’ve stayed alone. But she chose to live.
Now she knows: it’s never too late to be happy. Not if you’ve got someone who loves you right.
