Early November brought a sudden chill. A fine, stinging drizzle fell from the sky, the wind snatching hats and flapping open coat flaps. Emma was glad her coat had a zip, but the wind cut right through her—never mind her legs in thin tights and ankle boots. She hunched her shoulders at the bus stop, looking like a ruffled sparrow. And still, no bus in sight.
A car pulled up by the kerb, and the driver honked. The waiting crowd exchanged glances, and somehow, all eyes turned to Emma. She walked over. The window rolled down, revealing a man from work.
“Hop in, before you freeze. The bus is miles off,” he said with a smile.
Without hesitation, Emma slid into the passenger seat. The warmth inside was a relief, muting the howling wind outside.
“Thank you,” she said, settling in.
“Don’t mention it. Drive this way every day—never seen you before.”
“I usually leave earlier, just running late today,” Emma replied.
James had noticed the quiet young woman for a while now. Whenever he popped into accounts, she’d greet him politely before burying her head in paperwork again. No gossiping, no flirting—unlike some. Spotting her at the bus stop had been a stroke of luck—fifteen whole minutes with her in the car.
Once, Sarah had been just as modest and reserved. But after the wedding, she’d changed. Became fussy, irritable over the smallest things. At first, James thought it was the pregnancy. Then their daughter was born, and it got worse. Sarah was never happy, griping about his salary, comparing him to other husbands, complaining that her friend Louise had a new fur coat while she had nothing…
“Once the mortgage is paid off, we’ll be fine,” James would reassure her.
“Wait till we’re pensioners?” she’d snap, and the cycle would start again.
One evening, James walked home in the dark, the dim glow from windows barely lighting the street. A car stopped outside their building, and a woman flitted out, laughing as she waved the driver off.
That laugh—he knew it was Sarah. A sickening weight settled in his chest. Of course she’d been picking at him—she’d found someone better off. As he stepped inside, the quick click of her heels still echoed on the stairs, the scent of expensive perfume lingering.
No shouting match. He just packed his things.
“Go, and don’t come back!” Sarah yelled from the bedroom.
Their daughter, Lucy, clung to him. “Daddy, don’t leave!”
“I’m not leaving you, sweetheart. I’ll always be your dad.”
And he meant it—he adored her.
Sarah appeared in the hallway, arms crossed. “You’re not getting the flat. Don’t even think about it.”
James turned sharply. “I’ve paid that mortgage for years. I need somewhere to live.”
“Real men leave everything to their wives and kids when they walk out,” she sneered.
“Well, I’m not a ‘real man,’ then.” He left.
In court, James burned with shame as Sarah accused him of neglecting them, of leaving her to struggle while he did nothing. The magistrate cut her off, pointing out her designer dress and Italian boots. And no, she didn’t have a fur coat. The divorce was quick.
Splitting the flat took longer. Sarah rejected every estate agent’s suggestion. Eventually, she settled on a place with a big kitchen in the same area, while James got a dingy one-bed flat on the outskirts. After work, he threw himself into renovations, distracting himself from the gloom.
One day, he couldn’t take it anymore. He waited outside Lucy’s school. She ran to him, crying, hugging him tight. His heart ached. He called Sarah, asking if Lucy could spend a weekend with him. Expecting a fight, he was stunned when she agreed—it gave her free time for herself and her new life.
Weekends with Lucy became their routine—movies if the weather was nice.
James glanced at Emma now. She gazed ahead, lost in thought. At the office, she thanked him politely—no simpering, no games.
After work, he waited at the bus stop and drove her home.
“What time do you leave in the mornings?” he asked as she unbuckled her seatbelt.
“You’ll spoil me. It’s easy to get used to nice things,” she smiled before stepping out.
The next day, he waited again. Soon, he was driving her daily, then asked her to the cinema…
“He’s decent. What are you waiting for? Someone younger’ll snatch him up,” Emma’s friend warned. “Or is it just car rides with him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. My son’s a handful—teenage years,” Emma brushed her off.
“All the more reason to introduce them. A man around the house,” her friend pressed.
Emma thought. She liked James—no pressure, no overstepping. But she worried about her son’s reaction. One weekend, she invited James over, baking pies all morning.
“Mum, are we having guests?” Jack asked, wandering into the kitchen.
“Yes, for lunch. You’re not going out?”
“Do I have to?” he muttered.
“Of course not. Wash your hands first.” She swatted his wrist as he reached for sausage from the salad.
She dressed up, curled her hair, added a hint of makeup. Jack watched, puzzled but quiet. When James arrived with roses and chocolates, Jack tensed. At the table, he gave monosyllabic answers, then vanished to his room.
“He doesn’t like me,” James sighed, gathering his coat.
“It’s not that. It’s just us two—he’s jealous. He needs time,” Emma soothed.
Later, she found Jack at his computer, headphones on.
“Jack, he was just visiting. One day, you’ll marry, and I’ll be alone. Would you like it if your girlfriend didn’t like me, and I made it obvious?”
Jack kept his eyes on the screen. She waited, unsure if he heard.
“You’re the most important man in my life. If you don’t want him here, he won’t come again.”
On Monday, James waited at the bus stop.
“How’s Jack? Still against me?”
“He needs time. He’s a good lad—just not ready to share me. Maybe I rushed things. I’m sorry, James. His opinion matters.”
Emma left work early to avoid him. Days passed with no contact—too many colleagues around.
So James went to Jack’s school. Emma had mentioned where he studied. He took time off, parked outside, and waited. The bell rang, students spilling out like scattered peas.
Finally, Jack appeared with his mates. James called him over.
“What?” Jack trudged to the car.
“Got a minute? Hop in.”
Jack hesitated, then told his friends to go on without him.
“Seatbelt,” James said, turning the key.
“Car’s ancient. Couldn’t afford better?” Jack scoffed.
“Fair point. Had a wife and daughter, Lucy. Mortgage ate most of my salary. Wife hated it—wanted holidays, diamonds. Found someone richer.”
“So you’re after my mum ’cause you’re homeless?”
“I’ve got a flat—small, out of town. But your mum… I’ve liked her a while. Took me ages to move on. Then I gave her a lift, and… well. I respect her—and your say. But think—will you be happy making her unhappy? She does everything for you. Why shouldn’t she have choices too?”
They sat in silence, parked on the roadside.
“You wanna marry her?” Jack finally asked.
“Yes. But your mum needs your blessing.”
“Don’t give her roses. She thinks cutting them is cruel. Loves gerberas. And skip flashy rings—get something simple if you want her to wear it.”
“Thanks!” James called as Jack got out.
That Saturday at eleven, well past breakfast time, the doorbell rang.
“You?” Emma blinked at James on her doorstep, holding a bouquet of gerberas.
“You’ve been avoiding me. I can’t take it.” He handed her the flowers.
Jack appeared. Emma hid her smile in the blooms.
“Jack,” James said. “I’ve come to ask for your mum’s hand.” He pulled out a velvet box. Inside lay a delicate ring, its tiny stone catching the light. Emma’s eyes darted between them—fear and hope mingling.
“I’m fine with it. You, Mum?” Jack grinned. Relief washed over them.
Later, over tea, Emma kept glancing at her ring, amazed it fit. James and Jack shared a look. They’d wait till May for a garden wedding.
Some say kids shouldn’t decide for adults. But if parents meddle in their children’s lives, they should listen too.
All happy families are alike, yet parent-child bonds vary.
Maybe if Emma had acted differently, James wouldn’t have spoken to Jack, or said the wrong things. Maybe Jack’s teenage stubbornness would’ve won.The following May, under a sky washed with spring sunshine, Emma, James, and Jack stood hand in hand, their laughter blending with the birdsong, finally a family.
