“You’re a bad mum. I’m going to live with Dad.”
Every day, two strangers pass each other without a second glance—no spark, no chemistry, nothing. Then, one day, their eyes meet by chance, and suddenly, her heart skips, butterflies flutter in her stomach, and he feels it too. Just like that, life apart becomes unbearable. Fate takes the wheel, and off they go, hand in hand, into the sunset.
That’s how Lucy fell for Barry. One frosty Sunday, she went ice skating with her girlfriends. Lucy was terrible on skates—slow, wobbly, constantly stopping. Her friends, tired of crawling along like tortoises, zoomed ahead, leaving her stranded. She was a human obstacle, forcing confident skaters to swerve around her.
Exhausted, her legs aching, Lucy decided to shuffle sideways toward the barrier to wait. Two metres away, someone crashed into her.
She toppled onto the ice, yelping as her hip and knee took the brunt of the fall.
“Sorry! You alright? Can you get up? Here, let me help,” came a voice above her. Before she knew it, strong hands lifted her back onto her skates.
Her knee throbbed. She gasped, swayed—but quick reflexes saved her from another embarrassing tumble. The stranger steadied her, pulling her close. Their faces were inches apart, close enough for Lucy to see her own reflection in his eyes. For a moment, the world disappeared.
“Better?” he asked.
Lucy blinked. The rink noise rushed back—blades scraping, laughter, chatter. Yet there she was, gripping his jacket sleeves like a lifeline.
“Will you stay upright if I let go?” he teased.
“Dunno,” she whispered, still staring.
He released her. She didn’t fall.
“Good. Now, let’s get you to the barrier. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
With him, she actually glided instead of awkwardly stomping.
“Maybe we should call it a day? There’s a bench by the exit.”
Lucy nodded. Leaning on him, she flopped onto the bench with relief.
“Hurt much?” He sat beside her. “You here alone? Need a lift home?”
“I came with friends.”
“Ring them, let them know. Give me your ticket—I’ll grab your shoes.”
“No, it’s fine, I’ll wait.” She weakly protested.
“You’ll freeze.”
He was right. The cold was seeping through her coat. Lucy handed over her ticket and phone. While he fetched her boots, she called her mates.
They walked home, chatting. After the slippery ice, solid pavement felt like a luxury—though Lucy kept grabbing Barry’s arm. Whether from dizziness or giddiness, she couldn’t tell. Barry was four years older, already working. Lucy, a uni student living with her mum, felt an instant connection. When he asked her skating next weekend, she shook her head.
“Let’s try the cinema.”
“Deal. I’ll call.”
But Barry didn’t wait. He rang the next day, inviting her to a café. No point freezing outside, right? Some force—quite literally—had thrown them together, and they never parted after that.
Lucy was smitten. How had she ever lived without Barry? It felt like they’d known each other forever. Come spring, his parents started weekend trips to their holiday home, leaving the flat to them.
Summer flew by in a blur. Autumn brought rain and frost, and with his parents home more, the lovebirds had nowhere to meet.
“What now?” Lucy asked, snuggling against Barry.
“I’ll figure something out,” he promised.
One evening, her mum cornered Barry: “How long d’you plan to mess my daughter about?”
“I was going to propose at New Year’s. Haven’t even got the ring yet. But to put your mind at ease—Lucy, will you marry me?”
Lucy flushed with joy.
“Well, that’s different! Save the ring for New Year’s. Honestly, living together and me left guessing…” Her mum huffed, pleased.
They married in spring, as snow melted and birdsong grew louder. Barry had saved for a flat, and wedding gifts covered the mortgage deposit. Blissfully happy, they agreed to wait before starting a family.
Time passed. Lucy graduated, got a job, and baby talks became frequent.
“We’ve still got the mortgage. What’s the rush? Plenty of time. Think of the hassle—why make life harder now?” Barry reasoned.
Logically, yes—but pregnancy took nine months! By then, they’d have paid it off…
“Let’s not argue,” Barry cut in.
Arguing was pointless, but seeing friends with prams—some on baby number two—stung. Lucy, the first to marry, was last to have kids. One day, she brought it up again.
“Fine, have a baby if you’re that desperate,” Barry surrendered. “But don’t ask me to help. I’ll work; you handle nappies and night feeds. No complaints later. Agreed?”
Lucy nearly took offence—then guessed, “You’re scared I’ll love the baby more than you, aren’t you?”
“Drop it. Go ahead if you must.”
She stopped her pills. Two months later, a pregnancy test showed two lines.
Barry didn’t share her joy. Then came morning sickness. He avoided home, hanging with mates instead. A wall rose between them. He never touched her bump, barely acknowledged it. “He’ll change once the baby’s here,” Lucy told herself.
He didn’t. He recoiled from their crying daughter, scowled at nappy talk, just transferred money when asked.
“Spare me the details.”
Once, he criticised a stain on her dressing gown.
“You used to look so different,” he sighed.
Next day, Lucy swapped loungewear for jeans and mascara. Barry didn’t notice.
Their daughter grew—walking, talking, sprinting to hug him when he came home.
“Go to Mum. Let me breathe,” he’d push her away. Lucy’s heart broke.
“At least hug her. She’s yours,” she pleaded.
“I never asked for her. Don’t expect me to love her.”
Lucy bit her tongue, honouring his ‘no parenting’ rule. His only concern? Her taking birth control.
Friends envied her. Loyal husband, good income, owned home—so what if he ignored the kid? Few dads helped much anyway.
When their daughter started nursery, Lucy planned to work.
“Stay home. I earn enough,” Barry said. “I want dinner ready, house tidy.”
Arguing was useless. Plus, nursery bugs kept her busy.
Then, shopping one day, Lucy saw Barry with another woman. That evening, she confronted him.
No denials. “I provide for you both. Men have needs,” he shrugged.
Lucy snapped. “I won’t tolerate cheating. We’re leaving.”
“How? You’ve never worked. Think carefully.” He turned back to the news.
“I have.” Next day, she packed their things and moved to her mum’s.
“Want Daddy!” her daughter wailed in the unfamiliar flat.
Even her mum urged reconciliation. Barry sent money but refused visits.
“Why doesn’t he love her? Is she even his?” her mum probed.
“Don’t be daft! He never wanted kids. I had Veronica for me—while he played away,” Lucy sobbed.
Life settled. Veronica switched schools. But increasingly, she mimicked Barry’s stubbornness, snapping if refused anything and threatening to flee to Dad.
“You treat me like a baby! Dad never nagged me!”
Baffling, since he’d never rocked her to sleep or bought gifts.
“Why’s he so wonderful? If I’m so awful, go!” Lucy shouted once, instantly regretting it.
“I will!”
Pleading fell on deaf ears.
Next day, Veronica skipped school. A friend revealed: “Her dad picked her up.”
Lucy called Barry.
“She asked to come. What kind of mother drives her kid away?” he said coolly.
“I’m fetching her.”
“She won’t go. Yvonne’ll drive her to school.”
Their new life grated. Yvonne, Barry’s girlfriend, spoiled Veronica—new boots, no rules.
“She’s cool! Stop calling!” Veronica snapped once, hanging up.
Lucy was frantic but held back. Barging in would look unhinged. Barry hadn’t kidnapped her; she’d chosen this.
“Wait it out,” her mum advised. “She’s ten—she’ll see who truly cares.”
Three weeks later, Veronica returned in tears.
“Yvonne brought me back. They’re holidaying in Spain—without me. Said they’re having their own baby. No one wants me…”
“Silly girl! I’ve been half-mad without you!” Lucy held her tight, promising summer trips—maybe not Spain, but somewhere sunny.
“Daddy hardly spoke to me. Yvonne’s nice, but scared of him.”
After that, escape threats stopped.
They rebuilt their bond quietly, mother and daughter, while Barry’s absence taught them both that love isn’t measured in grand gestures but in the small, everyday moments they now treasured together.
