**Mirage**
Dinner was tense. Every so often, the father shot disapproving glances at his son. Edward had a sinking feeling—his mother must have told him about his plan to study at a university in London after finishing school.
With a sharp scrape of his chair, the father pushed his empty plate away and fixed Edward with a hard stare. *Here it comes*, Edward thought. He wished the floor would swallow him whole. Under that glare, each bite of spaghetti stuck in his throat, impossible to swallow or spit out.
His mother intervened, distracting his father by sliding a steaming mug of tea toward him, nudging the biscuit tin closer.
*”Thanks, Mum, but I’m full. I’ll have tea later.”* Edward stood, desperate to escape.
*”Sit down!”* his father barked. Arguing was pointless, so Edward obeyed.
*”I’ve got homework—”* he started.
*”It can wait. Your mum says you’re set on London. What’s wrong with here? We raised you, thought you’d stay, help us as we get older. And now you’re running off.”*
*”I’m not running—”* Edward muttered.
*”Don’t spin me tales. What’s so special about London, eh?”*
*”There are more opportunities there. I want to be an architect—they don’t offer that course here.”* Edward’s voice rose defensively.
*”Alex, let him go. His teachers say he’s bright,”* his mother soothed, resting a hand on her husband’s shoulder.
*”We don’t have the money for London! Everything there costs a fortune. Here, he could study for free. Feel the difference?”* his father fumed.
*”I’ll get a scholarship,”* Edward insisted. *”I’m going either way.”*
*”Alex, calm down. It’s not tomorrow. He still has exams.”* His mother flicked her eyes toward the door, signalling an escape. Edward didn’t need telling twice.
*”Stop coddling him! We raised him for nothing. When we’re old, there’ll be no one to care.”* Edward froze by his bedroom door, gripping the handle, listening.
*”You’re overreacting. London’s just two hours on the train—he’ll visit.”* His father grumbled something indistinct. *”Drink your tea before it’s cold. Sugar?”*
*”I’m not a child,”* he snapped.
The storm had passed. Edward shut himself in his room, heart pounding. It was late March—just two more months until exams, then freedom. None of it mattered. He’d make it to London. A life full of possibilities awaited. He *would* succeed.
After graduation, Edward and his mother travelled to the capital to submit his university application. His mother’s cousin—a sharp-tongued, lonely woman—greeted them with barely concealed irritation, complaining about *”countryfolk flooding the city.”*
*”Fine, he can stay. More noise for me. But no late nights, no guests. I’ll do breakfast, share supper—lunch is on you.”*
His mother nodded meekly. *”How much for rent?”* she ventured, hoping family ties might soften the blow.
*”This is London, love. Not some village.”* Her lips twisted. *”Life’s expensive here.”* She named a sum that made his mother gasp.
*”Mum, I could stay in dorms—”*
*”Don’t be daft. You’ll never study properly there.”* She squeezed his hand. *”We’ll manage. Just don’t tell your father.”*
Back on the train, she sighed. *”Lord, the airs she puts on. You’d think she was born in Mayfair.”*
Edward got in. Days before term started, he arrived in London to settle in. The commute from the outskirts would be long, but it was *London*. He spent dawn till dusk exploring, awestruck by the skyline from Primrose Hill. A tour group paused nearby, their guide—a striking young woman—captivating them with stories.
Edward edged closer, listening. She noticed but didn’t shoo him away. When the group left, she lingered, checking her phone.
*”You’re a great storyteller,”* he said.
She smiled. *”Where are you from?”*
*”That obvious?”*
*”Newcomers always look lost and dazzled.”*
He admitted he was here to study, though the outskirts barely felt like *real* London. Talking, they drifted away from the hill.
*”I live nearby,”* she said suddenly. *”Fancy a cuppa? I’ve time before collecting my daughter.”* She laughed at his stunned face.
Her name was Diana. Twice his age. She fed him soup, poured tea. Edward, warm and drowsy, didn’t want to leave.
*”Can I… visit again?”*
She studied him—not mocking, not pitying. Just *seeing* him. *”Come by,”* she said simply.
He lasted one day. On the third, he loitered outside her building, hesitating. Then he spotted her with little Rose. He stammered excuses—just passing by—but Diana saw right through him. That evening, he played with Rose while Diana cooked. Dinner together, Rose clinging, begging for a bedtime story.
And then… it was too late to go back.
*”Stay,”* Diana said.
He did. He lied to his parents—renting with a classmate, covered by his father. No need for extra money (though his mother still secretly sent some).
Visits home felt stifling. His old town seemed tiny, dull. Weekends with Diana and Rose became routine—parks, cinemas, stolen hours of normalcy. Guilt gnawed at him. After first year, he switched to part-time studies, found work. What began as one night stretched into years.
By third year, he met Emily—bright, bold, *young*. Evenings grew longer, excuses flimsier. Diana would nod sadly and reheat his dinner. He’d turn away in bed, restless, dreaming of Emily’s golden hair.
*”There’s someone else, isn’t there?”* Diana asked one night. *”You’re free.”*
Relieved, he confessed. He packed his things, waiting for the door to slam behind him. It never did. Diana stood watching until his footsteps faded.
Outside, he gasped for air, hating his own cowardice. The Tube ride was a blur of self-justification: *She’s too old. I never promised. Emily’s everything I want…*
With Emily, he could love openly. He did. A storage room at work became his home; her flat, his refuge for showers and stolen intimacy. When her parents found out—after the pregnancy—they quietly arranged a wedding. Edward didn’t tell his family.
Her parents’ flat felt alien. Polite critiques, veiled disdain—he was tolerated for Emily’s sake. His father-in-law gave him a job, something meaningless. Emily, raised in comfort, expected the same.
Architecture dreams crumbled. Resentment festered. The passion died—they were strangers. Only the baby kept him there.
Then a scooter accident took it. Emily shut down, blamed him silently.
He wandered after work, avoiding home. One evening, his feet led him back to Diana’s. A neighbour held the door. He sprinted upstairs.
Diana answered. She didn’t seem surprised.
*”Lost, or here on purpose?”* she teased, but her eyes shone.
He hugged her. *”You’re exactly the same.”*
Later, in bed, he poured out his regrets—how empty it all was, how wrong.
*”That bad?”* she murmured.
*”We’re nothing alike. Love came like a wave and left with the tide. I’m a stranger there. Here… here I belong.”*
While Emily convalesced abroad, he stayed with Diana. He lied again—*”renting with a mate.”* Emily returned renewed. Her parents told her everything. Edward left for good this time.
At Christmas, he saw Emily in a shopping centre—chatting brightly with a man, a rounded belly obvious under her coat. She didn’t see him.
Diana forgave him. They rebuilt. Edward graduated, designed buildings, loved Rose like his own. Life was sweet.
Until another wave of passion hit.
One evening, a suitcase waited by the door. Diana stood with her back to him.
*”If you leave now, don’t come back.”*
*”I won’t,”* he promised.
New wife, new car, glamorous job—but no children. Valerie dreamed of fame, feared pregnancy would ruin her figure. She was never home—shoots, parties, *”work trips.”* Suspicion ate at him. Their fights grew vicious.
He thought of Diana.
Years passed. He bought a flat, moved out. Valerie barely noticed.
Then, on the Tube, he saw Rose—grown, the mirror of Diana.He should have known happiness was never in the chasing, but in the quiet moments he’d left behind.
