The Most Important Man
In early November, the cold snapped sharply. A biting sprinkle of sleet fell from the sky, the wind snatching hats and flinging open coat flaps. Evelyn was glad her coat had a zip, but the wind cut right through her, not to mention her legs in thin tights and ankle boots. Hunched at the bus stop, she looked like a ruffled sparrow. Still, the bus didn’t come.
A foreign car pulled up by the kerb, and the driver tooted the horn. The waiting crowd exchanged glances, and somehow, all eyes turned to Evelyn. She approached the car, and as the window rolled down, she recognised a man from work.
“Get in quick, before you freeze. The bus is miles off,” he said, smiling.
Without hesitation, Evelyn slid into the passenger seat. The warmth inside muffled the howling wind.
“Thanks,” she said, settling in.
“Don’t mention it. Drive this way every day and never seen you before.”
“I’m usually earlier, just running late today,” Evelyn replied.
Edward had noticed the quiet young woman before. Whenever he visited the accounts department, she’d greet him politely before bending back over her work. No gossip, no flirting, unlike some of the others. Spotting her at the bus stop had delighted him—fifteen whole minutes with her beside him.
Once, Nadine had been just as modest and gentle. Marriage had changed her. She turned fussy, snapping at every little thing. At first, Edward thought pregnancy was to blame. Then their daughter was born, and it got worse. Never satisfied, she complained he didn’t earn enough, how other husbands were proper providers, how her friend Linda had a new fur coat, and Marie had holidayed in the Canaries…
“We’ll pay off the mortgage, then we’ll have everything,” Edward reassured her.
“Wait till we’re pensioners?” she’d shriek, and the cycle would start again.
One evening, walking home in the dark, Edward saw a car pull up outside their building. A woman fluttered out, waved at the driver, and laughed—a laugh he knew too well.
It made him sick to his stomach. He understood then why she’d nagged him—she’d found someone richer. Inside, the click of her heels still echoed on the stairs, the lingering scent of expensive perfume in the air.
He didn’t make a scene. Just packed his things.
“Go, and don’t come back!” his wife shouted from the bedroom.
His daughter clung to him. “Daddy, don’t go!”
“I’m not leaving you, Lucy. I’ll always be your dad.”
He adored her, truly.
His wife appeared in the hallway, arms crossed. “You won’t get the flat, don’t even think it.”
Edward turned sharply. “I’ve paid the mortgage all these years. I need somewhere to live too.”
“Proper men leave everything to their wives and kids.”
“Well, I’m not proper.” He walked out.
In court, he listened in shame as his wife accused him of never providing, forcing her to wear rags, leaving her to struggle alone. The judge silenced her—pointing out her designer dress and Italian boots. No fur coat, though. The divorce was quick.
Splitting the flat took longer. She rejected every estate agent’s suggestion. Eventually, she chose a place with a big kitchen in the same area, while Edward got a tiny, neglected one-bed on the outskirts. After work, he fixed it up, keeping dark thoughts at bay.
One day, he cracked. Waited for Lucy outside school. She hugged him, burst into tears. His heart shattered. He called his ex, asked if Lucy could visit, just for a few hours. Expected a fight, but to his surprise, she agreed—gave her more time for herself and her love life.
So, he took Lucy out on weekends, to the cinema if the weather was nice.
Edward glanced at Evelyn. She gazed ahead, lost in thought. At the office, she thanked him politely, no flirting, no fuss.
That evening, he waited at her stop, drove her home.
“What time do you leave in the mornings?” he asked as she got out.
“You’ll spoil me. Hard to give up good things,” she smiled, stepping out.
Next day, he waited again. Soon, he was driving her daily, then asked her to the cinema…
“Decent bloke, isn’t he? Why drag your feet? Some young thing’ll scoop him up,” her friend nagged. “Just car rides, or…?”
“Don’t be daft. My son’s at that difficult age—worries enough,” Evelyn waved her off.
“All the more reason they should meet. Good to have a man around.”
Evelyn considered it. She liked Edward. No handsiness, no pressure, just steady respect. But she feared her son’s reaction. One weekend, she invited Edward over, cooked all morning.
“Having guests, Mum?” Ben asked, wandering into the kitchen.
“Lunchtime. You’ll be here?”
“Do I have to?” he bristled.
“Don’t be cheeky. Wash up first.” She swatted his hand as he reached for the salad.
She dressed up, curled her hair, dabbed on makeup. Ben watched, silent.
When Edward arrived with roses and chocolates, Ben stiffened, answered in grunts, then vanished to his room.
“He doesn’t like me,” Edward said, ready to leave.
“It’s not that. Just us two for so long—he’s jealous. Needs time,” Evelyn soothed.
Later, she knocked on Ben’s door. He was glued to his computer, headphones on.
“Ben, he’s just visiting. You’ll marry someday, leave me alone. What if your girl dislikes me? What if I made that obvious?”
Ben stared at the screen. She wasn’t sure he heard.
“You’re the most important man in my life. If you say no, he won’t come back.”
On Monday, Edward waited at the stop.
“How’s Ben? Still against me?”
“He needs time. He’s sweet, just not ready to share me. Maybe I rushed things. If he says no… that’s it.”
She left work early, avoided Edward. Too busy at the office to talk.
So Edward went to Ben’s school, waited. Kids spilled out like peas from a pod. Finally, Ben appeared with friends.
“What?” Ben scowled at the car window.
“Got a minute?” Edward nodded to the seat.
After an eternity, Ben got in.
“Seatbelt,” Edward said, turning the key.
“Can’t afford a newer car?” Ben sneered.
“You’re right. Had a wife, a daughter, Lucy. Mortgage ate my pay. She wanted furs, diamonds, holidays. Found someone richer.”
“So you’re after my mum ’cause you’re homeless?”
“I’ve got a flat—small, on the outskirts. Your mum… I’ve liked her a while. After the divorce, I was scared. Then I gave her a lift and couldn’t sleep. I respect her—and you. If you say no, fine. But ask yourself—will you be happy, making her unhappy? She does everything for you. Why take her choice away?”
They sat in silence, unnoticed on the roadside.
“You want to marry her?” Ben finally asked.
“Yes. But she needs your blessing.”
“Don’t get roses. Mum thinks cutting them’s cruel. She likes gerberas. And no jewellery—if you want her to wear a ring, keep it small.” Ben opened the door.
“Cheers!” Edward called after him.
Two days later, at eleven on a Saturday, the doorbell rang.
“You?” Evelyn gasped, seeing Edward with a riot of gerberas.
“You’ve been avoiding me. I can’t take it.” He handed her the flowers.
Ben appeared. Evelyn hid her smile in the bouquet.
“Hello, Ben. I’ve come to ask for your mum’s hand.” Edward pulled out a blue velvet box. Inside was a slender ring, its tiny stone catching the light. Evelyn looked from the ring to Edward, then fearfully at Ben.
“I’m fine with it. You, Mum?” Ben grinned. They both exhaled.
Over tea, Evelyn kept glancing at her ring, amazed it fit. Edward and Ben exchanged looks. They’d marry in May, outdoors.
Some say kids shouldn’t decide for adults. But if adults interfere in their lives, they must listen too.
Happy families are alike, but parent-child bonds vary.
Had Evelyn acted differently, Edward might never have spoken to Ben. Had Ben been stubborn, it might’ve fallen apart.
But love and tact won out.
