“I’m taking the keys to my flat back. You won’t get another penny from me, Mum…”
Grace met Oliver on the street. She was rushing to the gym when the traffic lights stubbornly refused to change. Glancing around, she spotted a gap between cars and decided to dash across. Just then, a car came speeding around the corner—its driver in just as much of a hurry. The light turned amber, and he hit the gas. For a heart-stopping moment, it looked like Grace and the car were destined to collide. But the driver slammed the brakes and swerved. Miraculously, no one was hurt. The light turned red, and traffic ground to a halt.
Deafened by the screeching tyres, Grace froze, eyes squeezed shut, bracing for impact. Instead, she heard the driver yelling as he stumbled out of the car.
“Are you out of your mind? If you don’t care about yourself, at least think of others! What, fancied a game of human skittles? Couldn’t wait five seconds?”
Grace opened her eyes to see a man in his forties, his face twisted with anger.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she gasped, hands clasped like a penitent. “It’s just—my son’s got a competition, and he’d be gutted if I missed it. He’s worked so hard… My boss wouldn’t let me leave early. Every second counts!” Then she stopped mid-ramble.
The man listened, his fury fading. Without the shouting, he was actually rather handsome. Grace flushed.
The lights changed, and cars began moving. He grabbed her elbow and hauled her onto the pavement.
“Rushing to the gym?” he asked, calmer now.
“Yes—how did you know?”
“You just said you were headed to a competition. Get in; I’ll drive you.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly—”
“Get. In.”
She scrambled into the car. Three minutes later, they pulled up outside the gym. The man got out too.
“Really, I’m fine from here—” Grace babbled.
“Not here for you.”
“Daddy!” A teenage girl with a backpack hurtled toward him. They hugged, then piled back into the car. Grace stared, dazed, before snapping back to reality and bolting inside.
And that’s how she and Oliver met. Sometimes love blooms from near-misses and road rage.
Grace made it just in time to see her son compete. He took third place.
“So—café? Celebrate your win?” she asked when Tom emerged from the changing rooms.
“I didn’t win. It’s just third place,” he grumbled.
“‘Just third place,'” Grace mimicked. “Oh, come off it. How many boys competed? Only three podium spots, and you’re one of them. I’m proud of you. Next time, you’ll take gold.” She nudged him. “Nervous?”
“A bit. Let’s go home. I’m knackered. Thought you weren’t coming.”
Three days later, Grace spotted Oliver outside the gym again.
“You? Waiting for your daughter?”
“Name’s Oliver. No, her session ended hours ago. I was… waiting for you.” He hesitated. “Wanted to know if your boy won. Did you make it?”
“Thanks to you. He came third.”
“Brilliant! So, nearly getting flattened was worth it.” They laughed.
A boy approached. “Your son?” Oliver asked.
“Tom, yes. This is Oliver—”
“No need for surnames. Just Oliver.” He held out a hand. Tom shook it firmly.
As they walked home, Oliver invited them to watch a pro match that weekend.
“Seriously? Mum, let’s go!” Tom beamed.
“So, it’s a date?” Oliver asked hopefully.
“I’m not exactly a wrestling fan,” Grace admitted.
“Here’s my card. Save my number so you know it’s me calling.”
“I don’t have one.” She dialled the number on his card.
“Cheers, saved,” Oliver said, declining the call.
“Who was that?” Tom asked on the stairs.
“Remember when I nearly missed your competition? He gave me a lift. After nearly running me over.”
“You never said that bit.”
“Well, he didn’t. And I made it just in time to see you win.”
They started dating. Grace stayed late after work more often, and on training days, she and Oliver would wait for Tom together.
“Mum, is he… into you?” Tom asked once.
“What, am I some old hag?”
“No. You’re actually really fit.”
“Glad you noticed. I’m thirty-two—mum to you, but still young and fabulous to others. Mind?”
“Nah. D’you like him too?”
“…Yeah,” Grace admitted, pink-cheeked.
“His daughter’d be my sister, then?”
“Bit early for that. But… would you mind?”
“Dunno,” Tom said honestly.
He didn’t remember his dad, who’d left when he was two. Other boys bragged about gadgets—”Dad got it for me”—and Tom burned with envy. Not for the stuff, but for the dads.
When Oliver gave Tom a top-tier phone for his birthday, the ice melted. They became mates.
Three months later, Oliver proposed and asked them to move in.
“Enough hiding. We’re adults.”
“Too fast? Tom gets it, but living together’s different. And your ex might come back,” Grace fretted.
“We’ve been over this. Would you take your ex back? Neither would I. She left me for some City bloke, took our daughter, then got dumped. Now she’s begging to return, using Daisy as leverage. She should’ve thought of that before.” He sighed. “Let’s drop it. My mum’s enough drama. I love you.”
Grace agreed, reluctantly. Tom switched schools to avoid the cross-town commute.
“But my mates?” he whined.
“See them weekends.”
“Fine,” Tom muttered.
Grace hadn’t travelled in years. They planned a summer trip—not Brighton, but the Med. Oliver covered most costs, but between child support, his mum’s “ailments,” and spoiling Grace and Tom, money was tight. Grace started a holiday fund, with Oliver chipping in.
Before Christmas, Grace got a bonus and went to stash it—only to find the box empty. Who’d take it? Only Oliver or Tom had access. Oliver didn’t need it. So… Tom?
Grace paced, imagining bullies, threats, even drugs. When Tom got home, she blurted, “Where’s the money?”
“What money? No one’s threatening me. Try it,” he growled.
“Our holiday cash. Gone.”
“I didn’t even know where you kept it! You think I’d steal? Or is Oliver the thief?”
“I don’t know. But someone took it!”
Tom’s face crumpled. “You really think that? I’d lie about homework, but never this. If you care more about money than me—” He bolted.
“Tom!” Grace chased him downstairs, but he was gone. She turned to grab her coat—and Oliver walked in.
“Where’re you off to?”
“Tom ran off. Oh God, what have I done—”
“Calm down. What happened?”
“Later! I need to find him!” She sprinted out, Oliver hot on her heels.
They scoured streets and bus stops.
“Where is he? Please let him be safe,” Grace begged.
“Try his old mates,” Oliver suggested.
“I accused him of stealing. I didn’t mean— Who else could it be? You?”
“I’d have asked if I needed cash.” Oliver paled. “Wait… Mum has a key.”
Grace gasped. “You think—?”
“Look! There!” Oliver pointed. Tom hunched in a doorway, flinching from headlights. Oliver braked and ran.
“Tom! Wait! We know it wasn’t you!”
Tom stopped.
“Come home. Doesn’t matter who took it,” Oliver panted.
Grace hugged him. “Forgive me.”
“Last week,” Tom mumbled in the car, “I thought someone’d been in the flat. Stuff in the wardrobe was moved.”
Oliver parked grimly. “You two go up. I’ve got an errand.”
“Oliver, don’t—”
“Won’t be long.”
Margaret opened the door, eyebrows raised.
“Could’ve called,” she sniffed. “Since that… woman came along, you’ve barely visited.” She flounced to the sofa.
“Mum, did you take money from our flat last week? Tom ran off because of it.”
“Oh? So now your own mother’s a thief? Bet she didn’t lose things before I came along.”
“Her name’s Grace. Get used to it. Did you take it?”
Margaret smirked. “Ran off, did he? Probably spent it. He’ll slink back.”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “New sofa?”Oliver pulled the spare key from his pocket, handed it to Grace, and whispered, ‘Home’s where we keep each other safe now.'”
