“You know how he looks at you? With love and admiration,” said the daughter, pleased with herself.
William stepped out of the shower, draped in nothing but a towel. Droplets of water glistened on his toned chest. Not just a man—a fantasy. Valerie felt a sweet ache in her heart.
He perched on the edge of the bed and leaned in to kiss her. She turned her face away.
“Don’t. If you do, I’ll never leave. I have to go. Emma’s probably home already.” Valerie nuzzled her cheek against William’s shoulder.
He sighed.
“Val, how much longer? When are you going to tell your daughter about us?”
“Three months ago, you didn’t even know I existed, and you were perfectly fine,” Valerie said, standing up and reaching for her clothes.
“I don’t think I was ever fine. I was just waiting for you. I can’t spend a single day without—”
“Don’t break my heart. Don’t walk me out,” she interrupted, slipping from the room before he could protest.
She hurried down the street, avoiding the stares of passersby. She swore they all knew where she’d been. Men looked with curiosity; women with judgment.
No surprise—she had everything: poise, grace, a face with striking eyes and full lips. Her dark hair had escaped its clip, strands tumbling loose. For once, she wished she could disappear.
***
She’d married young, at twenty, swept up in passion. Almost immediately, she was pregnant. Her husband begged her to reconsider—too soon, too much responsibility, plenty of time later. But Valerie refused, and their healthy daughter was born, though her husband never warmed to fatherhood. Many men were indifferent to children, after all.
Then came the phone call from a stranger—a woman with an address, a place her husband frequented. Valerie didn’t rush to confront him. She waited, asked him outright. Denials first, then excuses, then fury:
“Some madwoman says a thing, and you believe her? You’re no better. I’m leaving, and you’ll regret it!”
The door slammed. Valerie didn’t want to live, but her daughter needed her, so she endured. Two weeks later, she went to the address, lurked behind a tree, and waited. Soon enough, he strolled past with a younger woman on his arm. They vanished inside.
The next day, she filed for divorce. She knew herself—she could never forgive. Emma went to nursery; Valerie returned to work.
Men came and went, but none stirred her enough to risk her heart again. Until William. Handsome, tall, her match in every way. Their affair burned bright, but when Emma asked where she went so dressed up, Valerie quipped,
“A date.”
Emma gave a knowing hum and never asked again.
She had her mother’s figure but not her striking face. People wondered how two beautiful parents had a plain daughter. Valerie didn’t mind. Beauty brought nothing but trouble.
She’d never had close girlfriends. Not because she was unkind—envy poisoned their bonds. Maybe that was why she married so young, hoping for companionship in a husband.
“He’s a bit plain for you, even if handsome,” her mother had mused.
***
“Emma, I’m home,” Valerie called as she stepped inside.
“Finished my homework,” came the reply from her daughter’s room.
Valerie changed and moved to the kitchen. Soon, Emma joined her, tearing off a piece of bread.
“Don’t ruin your appetite. Dinner’s almost ready.” Valerie set plates on the table, then hesitated. “I need to talk to you.”
“You’re talking,” Emma said between bites.
“My birthday’s coming up.”
“I remember, Mum.”
“I want to invite… a friend.” The words stuck in her throat.
“The one you’re sleeping with?” Emma’s gaze was unflinching.
“We’re dating. Show some respect.”
“What’s the difference? At your age, dating and sleeping are the same.”
“So, can I invite him? You don’t mind?”
“Don’t care. Is Gran coming?” Emma asked breezily.
Valerie exhaled. Fifteen was a tricky age—but Emma seemed unfazed.
“Gran’s coming Sunday. I just want you two to get along.”
“Fine, Mum. Invite him.”
Saturday morning, Valerie cooked feverishly, determined to impress William. He arrived with roses, a ring in hand. She was stunned—his intensity overwhelmed her.
He tried too hard with Emma—loud, joking, storytelling. Emma remained quiet, watchful. Once he left, Valerie cleared the table and found her daughter.
“You don’t like him?”
“No.”
“Why?” Valerie couldn’t hide her disappointment.
“Just don’t.” Emma hesitated. “Mum, I get it—you’re young, you want love. But he’s using you. Can’t you see?”
“Did Gran put you up to this?”
“Gran’s got nothing to do with it. I’ve got eyes.” Emma’s desperation was palpable.
Valerie stood, moved to the door.
“Mum… do you love him?”
Valerie nodded without turning.
“Then see him. Just don’t move him in.”
“Why not?”
“He’s not right for us. That’s all.”
No further explanation came.
Strangely, Valerie felt relief. Things with William had moved too fast—the ring, the talk of a future. Yet he revealed little about himself, only his plans with her. And Emma? A footnote in his grand design.
The next day, he called, missing her already. He didn’t ask if Emma liked him—didn’t care or assumed his charm was undeniable?
Valerie said her mother was visiting.
“Tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow.”
With Gran, Emma was lively again. No mention of William, to Valerie’s relief. Maybe her daughter saw what love blinded her to.
Nothing changed. They still met at his place. One evening, he pushed again—living together, marriage. When Valerie asked for patience, he snapped:
“Emma’s selfish, robbing you of happiness. In a few years, she’ll leave you alone!”
“You’d really break up over this?”
“No! It just slipped out.”
Their first cold parting.
Two nights later, Emma came home late.
“Where were you? What about homework?”
“Done already, Mum. Listen—I found something out about William.”
Emma’s excitement was unnerving.
“What?”
“He doesn’t live where he says. He’s got a wife—or a woman—and a little boy. Four, maybe.”
“Don’t be absurd. A sister, ex-wife—”
“No, Mum. We followed them. He didn’t leave. We saw him smoking by the window, shirtless—”
Valerie fled to the bathroom, muffling a scream. Tears came in torrents.
Later, she found Emma in her room. She didn’t follow. Instead, she stood on the balcony, staring at city lights, remembering William’s barren flat—no mess, no photos. The fridge, empty save for takeaway boxes. A stage set for deception.
*How long would he have lied?*
She gripped the railing, swaying forward—
“Mum!” Emma yanked her back.
“I’m fine,” Valerie lied.
The next day, she confronted William.
“You rent this place just for me? You’ve got a family.”
He paled, then lashed out.
“I thought you weren’t like other women—no paranoia, no spying—”
“Just say I’m mad. Are you married?”
Silence.
She left the ring on his table and walked for hours, numb.
When gangrene sets in, you amputate. The faster, the better.
Three weeks later, term ended. Emma was off to Edinburgh with her class. Before leaving, she asked:
“Mum… what about Thomas? The man downstairs?”
“Who?”
“You know. The quiet one with the beard.”
Valerie recalled the unassuming neighbor—always helping, never accepting money.
“He loves you,” Emma said. “You know how he looks at you?”
“How?”
“Like you’re the only person in the world.”
Valerie laughed. “He’s kind, but that’s not enough.”
“Think about it.”
She did.
She remembered how he’d appeared whenever she struggled with the pram years ago—always “just passing by.” How after the divorce, he changed her locks without being asked.
“Why?” she’d asked.
“Just in case. You’re alone now.”
Only later did a neighbor confess: her ex had tried to loot the flat while she was out. Thomas stopped him, threatening police.
Always there. Never seen.
The day after Emma left, Valerie knocked on his door. He opened instantly, as if waiting.
“My lock’s stuck. Could you look?”
“Give me a minute.”
Fifteen minutes later, a clean-shaven Thomas stood at her door—smartly dressed, younger than she’d ever imagined.She smiled, stepped aside to let him in, and knew—without a doubt—that love had been waiting for her all along.
