“I’m taking back the keys to my flat. You won’t get another penny from me, Mum…”
Emily met James on the street. She was rushing to the gym, but the traffic light refused to turn green. Glancing around, she spotted a gap between cars and decided to dash across. Just as she did, a car sped around the corner—its driver in just as much of a hurry. The light turned amber, and the driver hit the gas. It seemed inevitable: the car and the woman running into its path were about to collide. But the driver slammed the brakes and swerved. Miraculously, no one was hurt. The light turned red, freezing the traffic in place.
Deafening screeches of tires made Emily freeze mid-step, eyes squeezed shut, bracing for impact. Instead, she heard a furious shout from the man who’d leapt out of the car.
“Have you lost your mind? If you don’t care about yourself, think of others! What kind of madness makes you dart in front of cars? Couldn’t you wait one bloody second?”
Emily opened her eyes to see a man in his forties, face twisted with anger.
“God, I’m so sorry,” she stammered, clasping her hands. “My son’s competition—he’d be heartbroken if I missed it. I’m already late. My boss wouldn’t let me leave early, and every second counts—” She stopped abruptly.
The man listened, his rage fading. Without the shouting, he was strikingly handsome. Emily flushed.
The light changed, and cars began moving. He grabbed her arm and tugged her onto the pavement.
“Rushing to the gym?” he asked, calmer now.
“Yes. How did you—?”
“You said it was a competition. Get in, I’ll drive you.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”
“Get. In.”
She scurried into the car. Three minutes later, they pulled up outside the gym. The man stepped out too.
“Really, I can manage—” Emily babbled.
“Dad!” A teenage girl with a backpack sprinted toward him.
They hugged, then got back into the car. Emily stared, spellbound, before snapping out of it and bolting inside.
That was how she and James met. Sometimes love blossoms from a near-miss and a chance encounter.
Emily made it just as her son, Oliver, and his partner were announced for their turn. He took third place.
“Coffee? Celebrate your win?” she asked when he emerged from the changing room.
“Hardly a win. Just third,” he muttered.
“‘Just third’?” she echoed. “Out of how many boys? Only three podium spots, and you got one. I’m proud of you. Next time, you’ll take first.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Nervous?”
“A bit. Let’s just go home. Thought you weren’t coming.”
Three days later, James was outside the gym again.
“Picking up your daughter?”
“Name’s James. No, her session ended hours ago. I was waiting for you.” He hesitated. “How’d your son do?”
“Third, thanks to you.”
“Brilliant! So risking your life wasn’t for nothing.” They laughed. A boy approached. “Your son?”
“Oliver. This is James—”
“No titles needed. Just James.” He offered his hand. Oliver shook it firmly.
Later, outside Emily’s flat, James invited them to a professional match that weekend.
“Seriously? Mum, let’s go!” Oliver beamed.
“So it’s settled?” James looked hopeful.
“I’m not big on wrestling,” Emily 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.
“Saved. Thanks,” he said, declining the call.
“Who was that?” Oliver asked as they climbed the stairs.
“Remember when I nearly missed your competition? He’s the one who drove me—after almost running me over.”
“You never said that!”
“Well, he didn’t hit me. And I made it to see you win!”
They started dating. Emily often stayed late after work, and on training days, she and James waited for Oliver together.
“Mum, is he in love with you?” Oliver asked once.
“What, can’t someone fall for me? Am I old or ugly?”
“No. You’re really pretty.”
“Good answer. I’m thirty-two—your mum, but still young to others. Do you mind?”
“No. Do you like him?”
“Well… yes,” she admitted, pink-cheeked.
“Would his daughter be my sister now?”
“Too soon to say. But would you want a sister?”
“Dunno,” Oliver said honestly.
He didn’t remember his father, who’d left when he was two. Other boys bragged about gifts from their dads—phones, tablets—and Oliver envied not the gadgets but the fatherhood behind them. Money was tight with just Mum.
When James gifted Oliver a top-tier phone for his birthday, the boy’s wariness melted. They became friends.
Three months later, James proposed and asked them to move in.
“Enough hiding. We’re adults.”
“Isn’t this too fast? Oliver understands dating, but living together? And your ex-wife might return,” Emily fretted.
“We’ve talked. Would you forgive your husband if he came back? Neither can I. She left me for a rich bloke, took our daughter, and regretted it when he dumped her. Now she’s manipulating our girl to claw her way back. Let’s not dwell. My mother’s drama is enough—regularly. I love you.”
Emily agreed, eventually. Oliver switched schools to avoid cross-city commutes.
“What about my friends?” he grumbled.
“See them weekends.”
“Fine,” he sighed.
Emily, long without vacations, planned a Mediterranean summer trip. James covered most costs but paid hefty alimony, funded his mother’s medicines and spa treatments, and spoiled her and Oliver. Emily saved her bonus for the holiday.
Pre-Christmas, she opened her jewellery box—and gasped. The money was gone. Who could’ve taken it? Rarely did outsiders visit. Only Oliver or James. But why would James steal?
By the time Oliver returned, Emily had spiralled: Was he threatened? Involved with drugs?
“Where’s the money?” she demanded.
“What money? No one’s threatening me!”
“My holiday savings. Gone.”
“I didn’t take it! Why assume it’s me? Maybe James did! Or you hid it and forgot?” His voice broke. “I’d lie about grades or torn jeans, never steal. If you think so little of me—” He bolted.
“Oliver!” She chased him, but he shoved into trainers and fled. The front door slammed.
“What have I done?” She grabbed her coat—just as James walked in.
“Where are you going?”
“Oliver ran off! I accused him—”
“What happened?”
“Later! I need to find him!”
“I’m coming.”
They scoured parks and bus stops.
“Where is he? What if he does something stupid?” Emily panicked.
“Old school friends? Call them,” James urged.
“I accused him of theft. I didn’t mean— Who else could’ve taken it? You?”
“I’d have asked.” James tensed. “Wait—my mother has our keys.”
“What?”
“Look! There he is!” James braked, sprinting after Oliver.
“Ollie! Stop! We know it wasn’t you!”
Oliver halted.
“Come home,” James panted.
“Who took it, then?”
“Doesn’t matter. Don’t blame your mum.”
“Forgive me,” Emily whispered, hugging him.
“Last week,” Oliver mumbled in the car, “I thought someone had been in the flat. My T-shirts in the wardrobe were rearranged.”
James parked. “You two go up. I’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Don’t,” Emily pleaded.
“Won’t take long.”
Margaret opened her door, surprised.
“You could’ve called,” she sniffed. “Ever since that woman, you’ve barely visited.” She retreated to the sofa.
“Were you in our flat last week? Money’s missing.”
“So now your mother’s a thief? Before her, nothing went missing.”
“Her name’s Emily. Ollie ran off tonight because of this.”
“Ran off? Guilty conscience, then. He’ll be back once he’s spent it.” She smirked.
“He didn’t take it. We found him. He said—”
“And I did?”
“Funny—since when could you afford this new sofa? Or that coat?”
“Karen gave them!”
“Karen? She only buys short jackets to preserve fur in cars.”
Margaret clutched her chest. “I feel faint—”
“Spare the theatrics. Admit it. I won’t demand repayment—just honesty.”
“How dare you? I raised you—”
“Doesn’t excuse theft*”Margaret turned away, her pride crumbling, as James quietly shut the door behind him, knowing some wounds take more than an apology to heal.”*
