“You’ve decided to have a child without a husband? Aren’t you ashamed, Mum?” Lisa asked accusingly.
Right after her prom, Lisa submitted her university applications. She had no doubts about getting in—her A-level results were strong, more than enough compared to last year’s entry requirements.
That summer was blisteringly hot. A friend suggested they visit her aunt in Brighton. The idea of spending two or three weeks by the sea, free from parental supervision, diving headfirst into the excitement of adulthood, was tempting. But the night before leaving, Lisa grew uneasy. Not because she’d be traveling without her mum for the first time, but because she wouldn’t see Ian for a while.
Emma, Lisa’s mum, had just turned thirty-seven. She’d split with her husband when Lisa was three. Lisa had no real memories of her dad—not that there was much to remember. Her parents had married young, barely knowing each other, and couldn’t weather the first real challenges: sleepless nights, a crying baby, constant demands, financial strain, and the blame traded between them.
As Lisa grew older, Emma had tried to rebuild her love life. But either her suitors weren’t keen on raising another man’s child, or Lisa disapproved of whoever stepped into the father role.
Then Ian appeared two years ago. He visited often, though he never stayed the night—at least, Lisa never noticed. He was fun, bringing gifts, and on her last birthday, he’d given her a huge bouquet of crimson roses.
And Lisa fell for him. Ian was two years younger than Emma—a trivial gap, but Lisa thought otherwise. She believed she suited him better than her mum did. Every glance from him felt like interest directed at her. And why not? She was half her mother’s age, just eighteen. If choosing between them, surely he’d pick her. That’s how she reasoned. And she burned with jealousy whenever he was near Emma.
While she sunbathed and swam in Brighton, anything could happen. He might propose to Emma. And then Ian would be lost to her forever.
The night before her trip, Emma bustled in the kitchen, while Lisa agonised over confessing her feelings to Ian.
“Liz, pop to the shop. I forgot the cheese, and we’re low on mayo,” Emma called from the doorway.
“Mum, I haven’t finished packing,” Lisa replied.
Emma sighed and went herself.
Minutes later, the doorbell rang. Ian! Lisa’s heart jumped. Here was her chance to talk to him alone.
She played the gracious host, settling him on the sofa, filling the air with small talk before turning on the telly and sitting close. He glanced at her but didn’t move away.
Their shoulders touched. Overcome, Lisa suddenly gripped his arm, pressing closer. His cheek was just inches from her lips—closer than she’d ever been, close enough to breathe in the warmth of his cologne. It intoxicated her, made her bold. She kissed his cheek.
Ian didn’t recoil, only tilted his head away and stood. In his eyes, she saw confusion—and shame crashed over her. She’d imagined it all. To him, she wasn’t a woman, just Emma’s daughter. Lisa flushed, dropping her gaze.
The key turned in the lock. Any chance for Ian to explain vanished as Emma hurried in, breathless.
“Ian! You’re early! Completely forgot the cheese—and the mayo at checkout. My head’s all over the place with Liz leaving. I’ll finish the salad, and we’ll eat,” she said, smiling.
The way they looked at each other—soft, loving—tore at Lisa’s heart. Ian never looked at her like that. She bolted to her room.
“What’s wrong with her?” Emma asked, bewildered. “Did something happen?”
“What’s for dinner?” Ian deflected.
“Hungry, are you? Won’t be long.” Emma headed to the kitchen but paused at the door. “I’ve got news. After dinner.” And she vanished.
“Wonder what it is?” Ian murmured, still processing Lisa’s kiss.
Meanwhile, Lisa pressed her ear to her door, praying something would make Ian leave. Facing him was unbearable now.
But when Emma called her to eat, she went, sitting opposite Ian, staring at her plate. He chatted, Emma laughed, and eventually, Lisa forced herself to join in, pretending nothing had happened.
Still, that fleeting closeness lingered, unsettling her.
“So, what’s your news?” Ian asked as Emma cleared the plates for tea.
“Patience. After dinner,” she teased, fluttering her lashes.
Lisa hated when Emma acted childish.
“Liz is off to Brighton tomorrow. All grown up—I can’t get used to it,” Emma mused.
“I’m not alone. And we’ll be with adults,” Lisa snapped.
“She’s sensible. Nothing will happen,” Ian said, smiling at Lisa. Her heart skipped.
“Three whole weeks for you two to have the flat to yourselves,” Lisa shot back.
“Lisa! What’s got into you?” Emma frowned.
“Nothing.” Lisa shoved her chair back, the screech on the tiles deliberate—she knew it grated on Emma—and fled to her room.
Later, Emma knocked. “Talk to me. This isn’t like you.”
Lisa lay curled away. Emma sat on the edge of the bed. “Packed everything?”
*Obviously. Can’t you see the suitcase?* Lisa fumed silently.
“Why are you angry?” Emma tried again.
“You act ridiculous around him. Giggling, batting your eyes. It’s embarrassing.”
“I’m not pretending. Love makes you silly. You’ll understand someday.” Emma touched her shoulder. Lisa jerked away.
“Is that what you came to say?”
“Turn around. I can’t talk to your back.”
Lisa rolled over, glaring at the ceiling.
“I want you to hear it first. I love you more than anything,” Emma began. “I’m pregnant.”
It took a moment to sink in.
“A baby? Ian’s? So you’re getting married?” Lisa’s voice flattened.
“No. He’s married. But it doesn’t matter.”
“*Married?* Mum, listen to yourself! You’re having a child alone—aren’t you ashamed?”
“Why should I be? I’m a grown woman—”
“Would you say that if *I* told you this? Why won’t he leave his wife?” Lisa demanded.
“It’s complicated. Maybe later, after the baby—”
“You haven’t told him?” Lisa sat up sharply. Their eyes locked before Emma looked away.
“I was going to, but… I didn’t want to pressure him.”
“Mum, you’ll be on maternity leave, I’ll be at uni—how will we live? When your kid finishes school, you’ll be retiring! Raising another child alone? Have an abortion.”
“Never. You’ll marry, leave me alone—”
“You’ll have grandchildren!” Lisa’s voice cracked. “Do it. He’ll never know. He’s not leaving his wife—you know it. It’s humiliating. At your age—”
“I never thought you’d—” Emma faltered.
“What, cheer? You just said I’d have kids—your grandchild and baby would be the same age! That’s not normal. It’s *wrong.*”
“Alright. I’ve heard you.” Emma stood slowly and left.
Lisa knew she was unfair. People had babies at forty. But this was *her* mum, *Ian.* The idea of them together—she couldn’t bear it.
The next morning, silence hung between them. A friend’s dad drove Lisa to the station. At the door, she almost begged Emma to reconsider—but stayed quiet.
“Bye,” she said, stepping out.
“Call me!” Emma called after her.
The train ride was miserable. Her friends’ carefree laughter grated—their mums weren’t pregnant. Eventually, Lisa laughed too, pocketing her phone. She’d message later.
Why could parents dictate their daughters’ choices, yet children couldn’t interfere? If *she* were pregnant, Emma would react the same—no encouragement. So Lisa didn’t write.
She swam, sunbathed, but by the second week, the sea lost its charm. Oddly, she missed Emma. She barely thought of Ian.
Returning tanned and glowing in early August, Lisa found Emma on the sofa, blank-faced, in a black long-sleeved dress—on a workday.
“Mum? I’m back.”
No hug, no greeting. Lisa approached cautiously. Emma’s eyes were dry, hollow.
“Ian’s dead. Buried yesterday. I couldn’t even say goodbye.” Her voice was lifeless.
Lisa froze.
“Car crash. He’s gone. Everything’s gone. *I’m* gone.”
“You have me, Mum.”
Emma nodded.
“Where’s he buried?”
“His parents’ plot, maybe.”
“Let’s go tomorrow.”
Emma’s eyes flickered. “Yes. I need to tell him… He didnThe following morning, as they stood by Ian’s grave under a grey sky, Lisa held her mother’s trembling hand, knowing that despite everything, they would face the future together—with little Theo, the last gift he had left them.
