**The Only One**
Young Diane came to work as a secretary at a construction firm fresh out of school. She hadn’t gone on to university—her father was very ill, and her mother had passed away giving birth to her. He’d raised her alone. At school, she’d loved French, taking extra classes and mastering it, hoping it might be useful someday.
**Unrequited and Secret Love**
The first time Diane saw her boss, Anthony Whitmore, he walked into the reception area one morning, greeted her politely, lingered a moment on the new girl, then disappeared into his office. She froze.
*Goodness*, she thought, flustered. *What a handsome man.* Then she caught herself—*Wait, what am I thinking? Mr. Whitmore’s my boss, older, and married.*
He was forty, striking, with a velvet voice, blue eyes, and a charming smile. Later, he called her into his office, giving instructions while she drowned in his gaze, savouring his voice before nodding and snapping back to reality.
Once outside, she collapsed into her chair, heart racing.
*No, this won’t do. I’m here to work. He’s married—everyone says he adores his wife, Veronica.*
And it was true. Anthony Whitmore saw no one but his Vronnie. They had no children, but their love was mutual. The office women whispered:
*What does our boss see in that plain Jane? She dresses so drably. She hasn’t even given him children. And him—so handsome.*
In some ways, they weren’t wrong. Veronica was ordinary, dressed simply, and beside her husband, she paled. But to him, no other woman existed. That much was clear after countless failed attempts to tempt him. He remained stone-faced, indifferent.
Diane listened, quietly nursing her love for him, dreaming he’d notice her someday.
*We’ll be together. I’ll have his child. I’d never break up his marriage—but maybe just a baby. God, how I love him!*
Anthony became her impossible dream. He noticed nothing, treating her only as an efficient employee. Once, he gave her flowers—but it was her birthday. Still, it made her heart soar.
**A Chance Encounter**
Twenty years passed. Then, one day, Diane bumped into him on the street and barely recognised him. Grey, shuffling, a shadow of the man he’d been. She wanted nothing more than for him to recognise *her*. Her heart pounded, mouth dry, legs numb—but he walked right past.
She almost chased after him, wanting to confess she still loved him, but couldn’t move. Staring after him, she murmured aloud:
*“God, what’s happened to him? He didn’t deserve this.”*
*“He’s been lost since Veronica died—just two years ago. Poor soul,”* an elderly woman nearby said. *“He’s my neighbour. I try to help, but he drinks his pension away. Only sixty-two, too.”*
Diane’s distress must’ve shown.
*“You know him, love?”*
*“No one,”* she sighed, walking off.
The encounter haunted her. That night, memories flashed like film reels. Her life flipped in an instant. Her one true love had returned.
**A Business Trip to Paris**
Diane had worked as Anthony’s secretary for nearly three years, never betraying her feelings. Then one day, he announced:
*“Diane, we’re off to Paris. You speak perfect French—I’ll be useless in negotiations. Get ready.”*
He had no idea how thrilled she was, how her heart leapt at the thought of being alone with him.
The talks went smoothly, and before flying home, Anthony suggested celebrating at a restaurant.
*“You were brilliant,”* he said, raising a glass.
He rarely drank but got tipsy that night. Diane helped him to his hotel room, tucking him into bed. Suddenly, he grabbed her hands, pulling her close.
*“Thank you, darling,”* he whispered, kissing her hungrily.
She melted, unable—unwilling—to resist. She knew it was wrong but surrendered, lost in him. Later, she winced when he called her *“Vronnie.”*
*He thinks I’m her.*
Heart aching, she stayed until dawn, then slipped away.
The next morning, Anthony knocked, shamefaced.
*“Diane… I’m sorry. Last night—it shouldn’t have happened. You must understand…”*
Her heart burned, but she kept calm.
*“Don’t worry, Mr. Whitmore. It’s fine. I’m as much to blame. No one will ever know.”*
*“Thank you. You’ve saved me. I’m so ashamed…”*
**Waiting for a Miracle—and Resigning**
Back home, Diane couldn’t forget that night. Even though he’d said another woman’s name, her love never wavered. She still adored his voice, his presence.
Then she realised—she was pregnant.
*“My God, I’m carrying his child,”* she thought, elated. *“A piece of him lives inside me. I’m so happy!”*
That evening, clarity struck:
*No one can know—especially Anthony. He loves his wife. I won’t wreck their marriage. I’ll resign.*
Anthony was stunned when she handed in her notice.
*“Why? You’re brilliant at your job. Is it the pay? Or… is this about Paris?”*
*“No. I’m getting married. Moving away.”*
*“Married? Well, congratulations! I’ll arrange a bonus—you’ve earned it.”*
Part of her wished he’d fought to keep her. But she was glad—she might’ve blurted out the truth.
Her father, though ill, supported her, overjoyed at the news.
In time, Diane gave birth to a son, Christopher. He grew up bright, bringing her joy. When he turned eight, her father passed, leaving just the two of them. Diane found work elsewhere, avoiding Anthony and her old colleagues.
**He Doesn’t Even Know About His Son**
Seventeen years later, Christopher was finishing school, set for university. Then Diane saw Anthony again—aged, broken. Memories flooded back. Guilt gnawed at her—Christopher had asked about his father, and Anthony still didn’t know he existed.
The next day, she made a decision.
*No man should die alone. Anthony isn’t alone—he has a son. And he has me.*
**He Shouldn’t Live Like This**
Numb, she approached his flat, stepping into a dim, foul-smelling hallway. When he opened the door, a dishevelled old man stared back.
*“Yes?”*
*“Anthony… it’s me. Diane. Your old secretary. May I come in?”*
Inside was a mess—drawn curtains, bottles everywhere, a half-empty whisky glass beside cold potatoes.
*“Forgive the state of things. Vronnie’s gone. We wanted children… never happened. Now there’s no one.”*
Pity swelled in her. She took his glass, pouring it away before facing him firmly.
*“Stop this. Drinking solves nothing. You’re healthy—snap out of it. You’re *not* alone. You have a son. And me.”*
He stared, bewildered. *“A son? What are you saying?”*
Calmly, she confessed everything—her lifelong love, leaving because of the pregnancy, raising Christopher alone.
*“We won’t let you rot here. Veronica’s gone, but don’t you want to meet your boy?”*
Anthony trembled, struggling to process it. *“A son? Christopher? You’re serious? My God… all these years…”*
They embraced. She helped clean, then promised: *“We’ll come tomorrow.”*
**Meeting His Son**
But Christopher understood at once when she explained, even thrilled to finally know his father.
The next evening, they arrived with a cake. Anthony had smartened up—haircut, fresh shirt, even a tie. He looked years younger.
Joy overflowed. Shy at first, Anthony wept as Christopher hugged him.
*“Hello, Dad.”*
Diane watched, tearful, as Anthony dropped to his knees before her.
*“Thank you,”* he sobbed. *“For loving me… for our son.”*
*“I forgave you long ago,”* she whispered, lifting him up.
Now they live together. Christopher studies medicine, Anthony’s found purpose again, and he often says:
*“Life’s about the present. You taught me that, my love. Thank you.”*
