You know how he looks at you? With love and admiration, said Emily, looking pleased with herself.
William stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Droplets of water glistened on his toned chest. Not just a man—a dream. A sweet ache tightened in Charlotte’s heart.
He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in for a kiss. She turned her head away.
“Don’t, or I’ll never leave. I’ve got to go. Emma’s probably home already.” Charlotte nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder.
He sighed. “Charlie, 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 doing just fine,” Charlotte said, standing and reaching for her clothes.
“I don’t think I was living at all—just waiting for you. I can’t go a day without—”
“Don’t break my heart. Don’t walk me out,” she murmured, slipping from the room before he could argue.
Outside, she kept her gaze fixed ahead, ignoring the glances of passersby. It felt like they all knew where she’d come from. The men looked curious; the women… judgmental.
Of course they stared. She had it all—figure, poise, a face with striking eyes and full lips. Her dark hair had slipped loose from its clip at the back of her neck. Right now, she just wanted to disappear.
***
She’d married young, at twenty, swept up in passionate love. Almost immediately, she got pregnant. Her husband begged her to have an abortion—too soon, he said, they needed to get settled first. But Charlotte refused, and their healthy little girl was born. She’d hoped he’d soften over time. Instead, he barely noticed their daughter. Well, some men just weren’t cut out for fatherhood.
Then one evening, a woman called with an address—a flat where Charlotte’s husband spent his nights. She didn’t rush to check. She waited, confronted him, and he exploded.
“Some crazy woman tells you a story, and you believe her? You’re no better than she is. I’m leaving, and you’ll regret this—”
He slammed the door behind him. For a while, Charlotte didn’t want to live, but her daughter needed her. So she survived. Two weeks later, she finally went to that address, stood behind a tree, and waited. Soon enough, he walked past, arm in arm with a younger woman. They disappeared inside.
The next day, she filed for divorce. She wasn’t the forgiving type. She put Emma in nursery and went back to work.
Men came and went over the years, but none ever felt worth the risk. Not until William—tall, handsome, just like her. A whirlwind romance. One day, Emma asked where she was going all dressed up.
“A date,” Charlotte answered, half-joking.
Emma just hummed knowingly and never asked again.
She’d taken after her mother’s figure but not her striking face. People often wondered how such a stunning couple had such an ordinary-looking child. Charlotte was secretly glad. Beauty brought more trouble than joy.
She’d never had close girlfriends—not because of her, but their envy. No one wanted to stand next to her. Maybe that’s why she’d married so young, hoping to find friendship in a husband.
“He’s a bit plain for you, love, even if he is handsome,” her mum had said.
***
“Emma, I’m home,” Charlotte called as she stepped inside.
“Homework,” came the muffled reply from behind a door.
Charlotte changed and headed to the kitchen. Soon, Emma joined her, breaking off a piece of bread.
“Don’t ruin your appetite—dinner’s almost ready,” Charlotte said, setting plates on the table. She hesitated. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“So talk,” Emma said, already digging in.
“My birthday’s coming up.”
“I remember, Mum.”
“I wanted to invite… a friend.”
“The one you’re sleeping with?” Emma chewed without looking up.
“We’re dating. And watch your tone,” Charlotte scolded lightly.
“What’s the difference? At your age, dating and sleeping are the same thing.”
“So… can I invite him? You don’t mind?”
Emma shrugged. “Why would I? Is Gran coming too?”
Charlotte exhaled, relieved. Fifteen was a tricky age, but this seemed… fine.
“Gran’s visiting Sunday. I just want you two to get along.”
“Whatever, Mum. Invite him.”
All Saturday morning, Charlotte cooked, determined to impress William with her skills. He arrived with a massive bouquet of roses, a ring in hand. She was stunned. His boldness left her breathless.
Trying too hard to charm Emma, he was loud, cracking jokes, filling the silence. Emma, though, stayed quiet and serious. After he left, Charlotte cleared the table, then knocked on Emma’s door. She reached for a hug, but Emma stiffened.
“You didn’t like him?”
“No.”
“Why?” She couldn’t hide the hurt.
“Just didn’t.” Emma hesitated. “Mum, I get it—you’re young, you want love. But he’s using you. How can’t you see it?”
“Did Gran put you up to this?”
“What’s Gran got to do with it? I’ve got eyes.” Her voice cracked.
Charlotte stood.
“Mum… do you love him?” Emma asked softly.
Without turning, Charlotte nodded.
“Fine. Date him. Just… don’t move him in here.”
“Why?”
“He’s just… not for us.”
That was all she’d say.
Strangely, Charlotte felt relief. Things with William had moved too fast. That ring… He’d barely shared anything about himself, just kept talking about their future. And Emma? She only mattered because she was part of Charlotte’s life.
The next day, William called, missing her already. He didn’t ask if Emma liked him—either he didn’t care or assumed she did.
“Gran’s visiting tonight,” Charlotte lied. “I won’t be free.”
“Tomorrow, then?” Hope threaded his voice.
“Tomorrow.”
With Gran, Emma was cheerful, chatty. No one mentioned William. Maybe her daughter saw what love had blinded her to.
Things settled back into routine—brief meetups at William’s. One day, he brought up living together again. When Charlotte said to be patient, he snapped.
“She’s selfish, keeping you from happiness. In a few years, she’ll fall in love, and you’ll be alone.”
“Are you breaking up with me?”
“No, I just—” Backpedaling fast.
They fought, parted coldly. Two nights later, Emma came home late.
“Where were you? Homework?”
“Done. Mum, listen—” Emma trailed her into the kitchen. “Wash up. Dinner’s ready.”
“You look pleased. What’s up?”
“I’m just… nervous you won’t like it.”
“School trip money again?”
Emma blurted, “Mum, me and Jake found out about your William.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t know the truth. He’s married. Or living with a woman and a little boy.”
Charlotte froze. “That’s ridiculous. Maybe it’s his sister—”
“No. We followed them. He didn’t leave. We saw him at the window, shirtless—” Emma stopped at Charlotte’s expression.
She fled to the bathroom, stifling sobs. When she emerged, Emma had eaten, cleared her plate, and vanished into her room. Charlotte didn’t follow. She stood on the balcony, staring at city lights, remembering William’s unnervingly empty flat—no photos, barely any food. A place for affairs, not a life.
Had she really been that blind?
“Mum!” Emma’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her back. “You scared me.”
“I’m fine. Just… no more spying, okay?”
The next day, she confronted William. His face paled, then twisted in anger.
“I thought you were different—not some paranoid—”
“Just tell me. Are you married?”
Silence. She left the ring on his table and walked out.
For hours, she wandered streets. Cutting love out was like amputating a rotting limb—necessary, brutal. She’d done it before. She’d survive.
Three weeks later, term ended. Emma left for a weekend trip to Edinburgh.
“Mum… what about Mr. Thompson?” Emma asked before leaving.
“Who?”
“From downstairs.”
Charlotte pictured the quiet, bearded man in their building.
“He loves you,” Emma said. “You know how he looks at you?”
“How?”
“Like you’re everything.”
Charlotte laughed. “He’s kind, but that’s not enough.”
“Just think about it.”
And she did. Remembered little things—how he’d appear whenever she struggled with the pram years ago, always “just passing by.” How he fixed things forShe looked at Mr. Thompson properly for the first time and realized love had been waiting right there all along.
