Life has its twists and turns.
«Matthew, I’m leaving you,» his wife declared one evening, her voice steady but cold. «I’ve met the man of my dreams. You never mistreated me, but I don’t love you. He’s from abroad, and I’m going with him. I’m leaving Oliver with you. You’ll manage—he’s ten, not a child anymore. My future husband offered to take me, but not my son.»
She kissed Oliver goodbye, murmuring, «Don’t miss me too much,» before vanishing into the night with her suitcase. Matthew was left alone with his ten-year-old boy, vowing then and there to devote his life to him. He knew Oliver would miss a mother’s warmth, and though he tried his best to fill that void, a father could only do so much.
Years passed. Oliver finished school and was at university when he came home one day with a girl in tow.
«Dad, this is Emily. She’s moving in with us,» he announced before leading her straight to his room.
Matthew was stunned. Now there’d be three of them in the flat. He sighed, resigned. «Well, if that’s how it is, then that’s how it is. Might as well set the table.» He turned toward the kitchen.
Emily stepped forward with a gentle smile. «Matthew, let me handle dinner tonight.»
«Don’t trouble yourself, love, I’m used to it.»
«But you won’t be anymore. The kitchen’s mine now. Though if you’d like, you can help,» she said, her voice so warm it caught him off guard. «Go on, watch telly or something. I’ll call you when it’s ready.»
As he sat there, the telly flickering unnoticed, his thoughts lingered on Emily. She wore simple clothes, no makeup, her blonde hair pulled back neatly. Pretty in an understated way—nothing like the flashy girls Oliver usually brought home. Strange, really, that his arrogant, fastidious son had chosen someone like her. There must be something special about her.
«Supper’s ready!» Emily called.
Matthew rose from the sofa just as Oliver emerged from his room, eyes still fixed on his phone. The meal was delicious—homely, comforting, unmistakably a woman’s touch.
«Thank you, Emily,» Matthew said warmly. Oliver gave a distracted nod before slipping back to his games. Emily washed up, humming softly.
With her there, the flat felt alive. Before, dinners had been silent affairs, a few mumbled words before everyone retired to their rooms. Now, they lingered at the table, talking long after the plates were cleared. Oliver was always the first to leave, glued to his screen. But Matthew and Emily would sit for hours, her stories surprising him—how could someone twenty years younger know so much?
Oliver, though, was consumed by his games. Emily often asked him to go out—cinema, a café, a walk in the park—but he’d snap, «Piss off!» and shove her away. It hurt her. Matthew saw it all, his heart heavy.
«God knows what to do with him,» he muttered once. «Nothing but games in his head. He’ll waste his whole life like this. And I can’t do a damn thing—he’s a grown man now.»
Emily had become family. Matthew defended her when Oliver was cruel, admiring her strength, her principles. She carried herself with quiet dignity.
Then, one evening, Matthew came home to shouting.
«Pack your things and get out!» Oliver’s voice was sharp. «I warned you from the start, and you didn’t listen. Now go—I never want to see you again!»
«What’s going on?» Matthew demanded, stepping into the chaos.
Emily was crying, shoving clothes into a suitcase. Oliver sat at his desk, back turned, the bedroom door wide open.
«None of your business!» Oliver snapped.
«Like hell it isn’t! Where’s she supposed to go at this hour?»
«It’s alright, Matthew,» Emily whispered. «I still have my dorm room. I’ll be fine.»
And just like that, she was gone. The flat fell silent again, life slipping back into its old rhythm. But every evening, coming home from work, Matthew half-expected to hear her voice from the kitchen:
«Dinner’s ready—come and eat!»
A month passed. Then another. Emily never returned, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask Oliver. Instead, he snuck to the university, remembering her mentioning a flatmate, Sophie. He found Sophie eventually—same course as Oliver.
The door opened to an older woman.
«I’m Oliver’s father. Do you know what happened between him and Emily? Where is she? I just… I want to know she’s alright.»
«Oh. She’s not here. Went back to her village.»
«Her village? Why? Did she drop out? What happened?»
Sophie hesitated. «Look, I don’t want to say too much. Here’s her address. She’ll tell you herself.»
That weekend, Matthew drove to Birchwood. The cottage door creaked open, and an older woman greeted him.
«Hello. Does Emily live here?»
«Come in, love.»
Emily appeared then, pale, her belly unmistakably round.
«Emily! You’re—?»
She placed a hand on her stomach. «This is what happened. Oliver refused the baby. Said if I kept it, he never wanted to see me again. So I made my choice.»
«Oh, Emily…» His voice cracked. «You did the right thing. This is a blessing! I’ll be a grandfather—not that old yet, mind you.» He chuckled, eyes wet. «This is my fault. I spoiled him, lived only for him. But I won’t abandon you or this child. Pack your things. A mate’s away on business—I’ve got keys to his place. You can stay there, transfer to distance learning. Come home.»
She didn’t hesitate. Little Anthony was born soon after. Matthew rushed to them every evening, bathing the baby, rocking him to sleep, his hands surprisingly sure. Emily watched in quiet amazement.
Oliver never knew she was back in the city. He brought girls home, but none stayed long. Father and son barely spoke.
One night, as Emily hung tiny clothes to dry, she heard Matthew singing lullabies. Peeking in, she found them both asleep, noses nearly touching. He stirred.
«Sorry, love. Must’ve dozed off. Not sure who put who to sleep.»
«Don’t worry,» she smiled. «You work all day, then spend evenings with us. We’re wearing you out.»
But he loved it—Emily and Anthony were his family now.
Eight months later, Oliver announced he was leaving.
«Off to see some girl?» Matthew asked as his son packed.
«No. Moving abroad—to Mum’s.»
«Your mother? What about uni?»
«Don’t need it. Her husband’s kicked the bucket. Left her rolling in it. She wants me there to help manage the money.» He grinned. «So, Dad… see you when I see you.»
Matthew understood then—his son was just like his mother. Money meant everything.
«Go on, then. Be happy.»
Oliver left without a backward glance.
That evening, as Matthew tucked Anthony in, Emily lingered in the doorway.
«Matthew… maybe stay tonight? If you want to, that is.» Her cheeks flushed. «Don’t get the wrong idea—»
«Wrong idea?» He laughed, pulling her close. «I’ve wanted this for ages. But I was scared—of ruining things, of you turning me away. I can’t imagine life without Anthony… or you.»
«How could I turn away the man I love?» She kissed his cheek.
They married soon after, moved into their own place. In time, a daughter joined little Anthony.
Life was good.
The twenty years between them didn’t matter at all.