“I don’t think your mum likes me. Why? I’ve never done anything to upset her,” asked Emily.
“Oliver, where are you rushing off to? Eat properly,” scolded Veronica sharply.
“Mum, I’m running late.” Oliver gulped down half his toast, washed it back with coffee, and dashed from the kitchen.
“You’ll get stomach trouble at this rate,” Veronica muttered, shuffling after him on her short legs. “In such a hurry for your Emily, are you? What do you even see in her? Charlotte is pretty, elegant, and mad about you. She’d suit you much better. You’d make such a handsome pair.”
Oliver silently tied his trainers, chewing the last of his toast.
“Like a child,” his mother sighed, shaking her head. “If Emily really cared, she’d wait five minutes. Not like it’d kill her.”
“Mum, enough,” Oliver straightened up, adjusting his t-shirt. “It’s my life. I’ll decide who’s right for me.”
“Decide, then. Mark my words, you’ll regret it. A girl like Charlotte won’t stay single forever—” The door clicked shut before she could finish.
Veronica pursed her lips sulkily and hobbled back to the kitchen. She nibbled the leftover toast, staring blankly at the wall before scrubbing the stove with furious energy. Cleaning was her way of venting frustration.
When the doorbell rang, she assumed Oliver had forgotten something. But instead of her son, Emily stood on the doorstep, slender and smiling, her wide grey eyes gleaming like a child’s—hopeful, trusting.
“Hello, Veronica. Is Oliver—?”
“He left five minutes ago. Did you miss each other?” Veronica forced a smile, unable to hide her satisfaction at Emily’s crestfallen expression.
“Oh… Could you tell him I stopped by? My mum and I are visiting my nan—she’s been hospitalised.”
“Of course, dear. Why not ring him yourself?”
“I tried. His phone’s off.”
Veronica always insisted he switch it off at home, claiming calls gave her migraines.
Twenty minutes later, Oliver trudged back, shoulders slumped.
“Back so soon?” Veronica smirked.
“She didn’t show. Her house was empty. Mum, did Emily come by?”
“Why, was she supposed to?” Veronica feigned innocence. “Honestly, anything could’ve happened. She’ll turn up.”
Later, Oliver left for training, and Veronica—after polishing the stove to a shine—headed to the shops. There, she bumped into Charlotte, Oliver’s old classmate.
Veronica believed beauty mattered, and Charlotte was stunning—unlike that waifish Emily. But Charlotte’s father working in city government? Now that was worth something. With connections like that, Oliver’s future would be set—no more scraping by as a sportsman. She wasn’t mercenary, but she wouldn’t let her only son throw his life away.
“Charlotte, darling! It’s been too long,” Veronica cooed.
“Hello. I’d visit more, but Oliver’s always with Emily now.” Charlotte pouted.
“Nonsense! Be bold—ask him out properly.”
“I’ve tried! He’s always busy.”
“Busy with what?” Veronica waved a hand. “Between you and me, Emily’s gone away for a week. Drop by tonight. We’ll have tea.”
Charlotte did. Veronica “went to put the kettle on,” nodding meaningfully toward Oliver’s room. Charlotte knocked and entered. Oliver lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Hi! Ran into your mum earlier. She invited me over. You look glum—fancy catching a film? It’s lovely out.”
“Charlotte, I’m knackered from training. Rain check?” Oliver sat up reluctantly.
“Fine, but I’m holding you to it.” She perched beside him, chatting about training, matches—anything but Emily. Later, over tea, Veronica hinted Oliver should walk Charlotte home—”A pretty girl shouldn’t walk alone at night.”
***
Emily adored her nan. She’d studied medicine because of her—Nan hated hospitals.
“I’ll grow up and treat you myself,” she’d promised as a child. Now, she was in her fourth year.
The doctor said it was just high blood pressure—a week’s observation, then discharge. Relieved, Emily packed to leave.
“Where are you off to? It’s term break. Oliver can wait,” her mother grumbled.
“Nan’s better. Stay with her while I go home. When Oliver’s at his tournament, I’ll come back and swap.”
“Fine, go.” Her mother sighed. “Oliver’s a good lad. But don’t lose your head over him.” She remembered her own youthful passion—how it had ended when Emily was eight. “Maybe my girl’ll have better luck.”
Emily rushed to Oliver’s straight from the station.
Veronica answered, her glare like a brick wall.
“Not her again,” she thought, but smiled thinly. “Oliver’s out. No idea when he’ll be back.”
“I’ll tell him you called,” she said, shutting the door. “Persistent little thing.”
Emily dialled Oliver again. No answer. She’d meant to surprise him. She lingered on the stairwell, watching the courtyard. An old man eyed her disapprovingly.
Just as she gave up, Oliver appeared—but so did Charlotte. Emily watched as Charlotte pulled him into an embrace, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. Oliver didn’t push her away.
Heart sinking, Emily fled downstairs—only to freeze when she heard the front door. Charlotte’s laughter, Veronica’s chirpy greeting: “Dinner’s ready!”
The click of the lock echoed like a verdict.
“She’s never welcomed me like that,” Emily thought, tears hot. “Three days apart, and he’s already with Charlotte… Mum was right. Words mean nothing.”
At home, she sobbed—regretting leaving Nan, regretting everything. By morning, she resolved to return to them.
Two weeks later, Oliver called repeatedly, but Emily ignored him. Let him explain. She’d seen the truth.
Their paths crossed after his tournament. He reached for her; she stepped back.
“Emily, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. But you—I saw you with Charlotte. Kissing.”
“When?” He frowned.
“I came back early. Didn’t Veronica tell you?” His blank stare confirmed it. “I was on the stairs. She hates me. Why? I’ve never hurt her.”
“Charlotte was congratulating me for making the team. It was just a peck—we’ve known each other forever! I love you. But Mum…” He moved to hug her.
“Don’t. Go. Your mum won’t let us be happy.”
At home, Veronica and Charlotte giggled over tea.
“Oliver, join us! Charlotte baked biscuits,” Veronica trilled.
“Was this a setup?” Oliver glared at Charlotte. “You kissed me knowing she’d see?” He turned to Veronica. “You planned this?”
“Oliver, what nonsense!” Veronica huffed.
“It was just friendly,” Charlotte simpered. “She’s jealous already—imagine later!”
Emily avoided him. Between tournaments, exams, and Nan’s health, they drifted—misunderstandings piling like unread letters.
***
Fifteen years later
Oliver coached at a youth sports club, his own career cut short by injury. One scrawny thirteen-year-old, Daniel, joined for “male influence”—his father, a so-called “explorer,” was absent.
Months passed. Before summer break, Oliver held a parents’ meeting. Late, a woman rushed in—Tanya Nichols, Daniel’s mum.
Oliver recognised her instantly.
The meeting ended. Others lingered with questions; Tanya avoided his gaze. When they were alone, he approached.
“Hello. Long time.”
“Daniel talks about you nonstop,” she said evenly. “I never imagined it’d be you.”
“He’s a good lad. Independent.”
A proud flush warmed her cheeks. “I spoil him. This sport was my idea.”
“He mentioned his dad—the explorer.”
“What else could I say?” Her voice softened. “A bad marriage, a swift divorce. I raised him alone.”
“Charlotte said she was pregnant,” Oliver admitted. “Mum pushed me to marry her. Turned out she was lying—we divorced in months.”
“Your mum always preferred her.”
“Still angry?”
“No. Once I became a mum, I understood—she wanted what was best for you. Charlotte seemed safer.” She stood. “I should go.”
“Tanya, I’m sorry. Things just… unravelled.”
“No use dwelling. I’m glad you’re teaching Daniel.”
“Let me drive you home.” To his surprise, she agreed.
At her door, he asked to meet again.
“We’ll see,” she said—but her eyes softened.
Oliver floated home. Seeing her, he knew—Charlotte was never his. Tanya always had been.
They took it slow. Tanya hesitated to meet Veronica, but the older woman surprised her—apologYears later, as they sat together watching Daniel win his first tournament, Oliver squeezed Tanya’s hand and whispered, “Funny how life brings you back to where you truly belong.”
