The Most Important Man
In early November, a sharp chill settled over the city. A fine, biting sleet fell from the sky, and the wind tugged at hats and flung open coat flaps. Evelyn was glad hers fastened with a zip, but the cold still seeped through, especially down to her legs in short boots and thin tights. Hunching her shoulders at the bus stop, she looked like a ruffled sparrow. The bus was nowhere in sight.
A car pulled up beside the kerb, and the driver tapped the horn. The people at the stop exchanged glances, then all turned to Evelyn as if she were the one being summoned. She approached the car. The window rolled down, and she recognised the man from work.
“Hop in quick, before you freeze. The bus won’t be here for ages,” he said with a smile.
Without hesitation, Evelyn slid into the passenger seat. The warmth inside was a relief, muffling the howl of the wind.
“Thank you,” she murmured, settling in.
“Don’t mention it. I drive this route every day, but I’ve never seen you before.”
“I usually leave earlier—just got held up today,” Evelyn replied.
William had noticed the quiet young woman for some time. Whenever he visited the accounts office, she greeted him politely before burying her head in paperwork again. Unlike the others, she didn’t gossip or flirt. Seeing her at the stop had cheered him—fifteen whole minutes with her beside him in the car.
Once, Nadine had been just as modest and gentle. But after they married, she changed. Petulant, quick to snap. At first, William thought it was the pregnancy. Then their daughter was born, and it grew worse. Nothing pleased her—he didn’t earn enough, other husbands were better, her friend Linda had a new fur coat, while Margaret had jetted off to Mallorca…
“We’ll pay off the mortgage, and things will get better,” he assured her.
“Wait till I’m old, you mean?” she’d shriek, and the cycle would begin anew.
One evening, walking home in the dark, William saw a car stop outside their building. A woman stepped out, waved to the driver, and laughed—a bright, careless sound. He knew that laugh. A wave of nausea hit him. Her constant complaints made sense now—she’d found someone wealthier. As he entered the hall, the sharp click of her heels still echoed, mingling with the scent of expensive perfume.
He didn’t argue. Just packed his things.
“Go, then, and don’t come back!” she shouted from the bedroom.
Their daughter, Lily, clung to him, weeping. “Daddy, don’t go!”
“Sweetheart, I’m not leaving you. I’ll always be your dad.” He loved her fiercely.
His wife appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. “You won’t get the flat. Don’t even think about it.”
William turned sharply. “I’ve paid the mortgage all these years. I need a roof too.”
“Proper men leave everything to their wives and kids when they go,” she sneered.
“Then I’m not proper.” He walked out.
In court, he listened in silent shame as she accused him of neglecting them, leaving her in rags, never lifting a finger. The judge cut in, noting her designer dress and Italian boots. The divorce was swift.
Splitting the flat took longer. His wife rejected every option the estate agent proposed. Eventually, she settled on a place with a large kitchen in the same neighbourhood, while William got a cramped, rundown one-bed on the outskirts. He threw himself into repairs, drowning his sorrows in work.
One day, he couldn’t bear it anymore. He met Lily after school. She hugged him, crying. His heart ached. He phoned his ex, asking if Lily could visit on weekends. He expected a fight, but she agreed sweetly—it freed her for her own pursuits.
So, he took Lily out—cinema on fine days, his place when the weather turned.
William glanced at Evelyn. She gazed ahead, lost in thought. At the office, she thanked him quietly and left, no simpering, no games.
The next day, he waited at her stop.
“What time do you leave in the mornings?” he asked when she made to get out.
“You’ll spoil me. It’s easy to grow used to kindness,” she smiled, vanishing into the crowd.
Soon, he was driving her daily, then asked her to the cinema…
“A decent bloke like that? What are you waiting for? Some younger lass will snatch him up,” her friend Rebecca warned. “Or is it just car rides?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. My son’s a handful as it is,” Evelyn deflected.
“All the more reason to introduce them. A man about the house would help.”
Evelyn considered it. William was kind—no pressure, no wandering hands. But she feared her son’s reaction. One Sunday, she invited him over, baking pies all morning.
“Mum, are we having guests?” James asked, eyeing the spread.
“Lunch. You’ll stay?”
“Do I have to?” he muttered.
“Just wash up first.” She swatted his hand as he reached for the salad.
She dressed carefully, curling her hair, dabbing on lipstick. James watched, silent. When William arrived with roses and chocolates, James stiffened, answering in monosyllables before retreating to his room.
“He doesn’t like me,” William said, rising to leave.
“It’s not you. We’ve been just us two for years. He’s jealous—in that boyish way. Give him time…”
Later, she found James at his computer, headphones on.
“James, he’s just a guest. You’ll grow up, marry—what if your girl dislikes me? Should I make it obvious?”
He didn’t look up.
“You’re the most important man in my life. If you say no, he won’t come again.”
On Monday, William waited at the stop.
“How’s James? Still against me?”
“He needs time. He’s a good lad—just not ready to share me.” She sighed. “I rushed it. His feelings matter. If he objects, that’s that.”
She left work early to avoid him. Days passed without speaking.
So, William went to James’s school. When the bell rang, students poured out. Spotting James with friends, he called him over.
“What?” James scowled, approaching the car.
“Got a minute? Hop in.”
After a pause, James did.
“Why’s your car so old? Can’t afford better?”
“You’re right. I had a wife, a daughter. The mortgage ate my wages. She wanted furs, diamonds, holidays. Found someone richer.”
“So you’re after my mum for a roof?”
“I’ve my own flat—small, out of town. We split ours fairly. But I’ve liked your mum for ages. After the divorce, I was scared to try again. Then I gave her a lift…” He sighed. “I respect her—and you. But answer me: would you be happy, making her unhappy? She does everything for you. Why deny her a choice?”
They sat in silence.
“You want to marry her?” James finally asked.
“More than anything. But she won’t if you refuse.”
“Don’t get roses. She thinks they’re too pretty to cut. Likes gerberas. And no flashy jewellery—get something small if you propose.” He opened the door.
“Thank you!” William called after him.
Two days later, at eleven on a Saturday, the doorbell rang.
“You?” Evelyn gasped at William’s gerberas.
“You’ve been avoiding me. I can’t take it.”
James appeared. Evelyn hid her smile in the flowers.
“James,” William said, producing a velvet box, “I’d like to ask for your mum’s hand.”
Inside was a delicate ring, its tiny stone catching the light. Evelyn looked between them, fearful, hopeful.
“I’m fine with it. You, Mum?” James grinned.
They exhaled together.
Over tea, Evelyn admired her ring, wondering how he’d guessed the size. William exchanged a glance with James. They’d wait till May to marry—outdoors, among the blossoms.
Some might say children shouldn’t decide their parents’ fate. But if parents involve themselves in their children’s lives, they must learn to listen.
All happy families are alike, yet each bonds differently.
Had Evelyn acted otherwise, William might never have spoken to James. Had James been stubborn, none of this would’ve happened.
But they had just enough love—and sense—to understand.
