“Mum, I’m bringing my girlfriend over today. I want you to meet her. I’ve been dreaming about this for ages, but it never worked out. Her daughter’s at her grandma’s right now, so today’s perfect,” Yegor dropped this bombshell on his mum, Helen, in their spacious house in Manchester.
Helen froze, her heart tightening with worry. Yegor was only twenty-one, and here he was talking about some girlfriend with a kid? She knew nothing about his love life, and this news hit her like a bolt from the blue.
Helen had been widowed six years ago. Her husband, Victor, died suddenly—his heart stopped from a blood clot at just forty-three. He’d been full of life, their love unshakable. Victor and Helen had been inseparable since childhood—same class at school, dreaming and laughing together. In primary, he’d tugged her pigtails; by secondary, he carried her schoolbag; and by sixth form, they’d confessed their love. They married at eighteen, hardly imagining life apart.
Their marriage was happy. They supported each other, studied together, worked, built a cosy home. When Yegor turned thirteen, they started dreaming of a second child, but fate had other plans. Victor’s death shattered their world. Yegor, just fifteen, withdrew. Helen gritted her teeth, pulled herself together for his sake. She worked, raised him, and thought she’d managed—Yegor grew up, went to uni. She’d sighed with relief, but turns out, too soon.
“Mum, meet Sophie. My girlfriend,” Yegor said, opening the door.
Beside him stood a tall woman with long blonde hair. Elegant, in a stylish dress and heels, she smiled, but Helen couldn’t return it. Sophie was almost her age—nearly fifteen years older than Yegor. Helen felt everything inside her clench, but she swallowed it, greeted her politely, and invited her to the table.
Over dinner, Sophie shared her story. She was thirty-nine, renting a flat in Manchester, moved from another city. Her daughter, Lily, was five, in nursery.
“I know you’re probably shocked,” Sophie began, eyeing Helen pointedly. “I’m way older than Yegor. But age is just a number, right? When it’s love, it doesn’t matter. Yegor and I found each other. You, as a woman, get that, don’t you?” She smiled coyly, but there was a spark of challenge in her eyes.
Helen nodded, but doubts churned inside. After Sophie left, Yegor stayed back and said,
“Mum, you mean the world to me. Please try to understand. Yeah, Sophie’s older, but we love each other. It’s not just a fling—it’s serious. And Lily, her daughter, she’s so sweet. Mum… could they live with us? Sophie’s got no place of her own, and our house is big enough. If you say no, I’ll get it, I won’t be upset.”
Helen looked at her son, heart breaking. She wanted to protect him, warn him, but the hope in his eyes made refusal impossible.
“Fine,” she exhaled. “Just be happy, son.”
“Thanks, Mum! They’ll move in tomorrow! I knew you were the best!” Yegor hugged her tight and dashed off to call Sophie.
Alone, Helen rang her friend Marie. She listened without interrupting, then said,
“Love’s complicated, Lynn, but think—this woman’s got a kid, no home, and your son’s a young bloke with a big house. Convenient, don’t you reckon? Nearly twenty years between them. Maybe she’s just settling? Be careful, or you’ll wreck things with Yegor for good.”
Helen chewed it over. She’d tread carefully, watch Sophie, figure out her intentions. Next day, Sophie and Lily moved in. The little girl was lovely—shy at first, but soon showing Helen her dolls. Helen smiled despite herself, but unease lingered.
That evening, after putting Lily to bed, the adults had tea. Helen watched Yegor hug Sophie, a pang of jealousy stabbing her. Sophie’s eyes gleamed with triumph—*Your son’s mine now, and you can’t stop it*. Helen tried shrugging it off, but the thought crept back like a shadow.
Alone, she wondered—what if Sophie *did* love Yegor? Maybe they’d make it work. But doubts gnawed at her. That night, she dreamed of Victor. Young again, smiling faintly. He handed her a bunch of daisies, her favourite. She reached for him, but he dissolved. Helen woke in tears at 3 a.m., arms still outstretched, calling his name.
Then it hit her. She couldn’t interfere. Yegor was grown—let him choose. If he messed up, he’d fix it himself. Helen wiped her tears and lay back down, whispering, *”It’ll be alright. It has to be.”* But deep down, she feared his choice might break their family apart.
