“Luv, I’m bringing my girlfriend round today. Wanted you to meet her. Been meaning to for ages, but timing never worked out. Her little one’s at her nan’s today, so it’s perfect,” Egor dropped this on his mum, Helen, in their spacious home in Manchester.
Helen froze, her chest tightening. Egor was only twenty-one, and here he was talking about some girlfriend with a kid? She’d been completely in the dark about his love life, and this hit her like a bolt from the blue.
Helen had lost her husband six years ago. Victor—fit as a fiddle at forty-three—had gone just like that, a blood clot stopping his heart mid-beat. They’d been inseparable since they were kids—same class, same dreams, always laughing. In primary, he’d pull her pigtails; by secondary, he carried her books; sixth form, they confessed their love. Married at eighteen, they couldn’t imagine life apart.
Their marriage was happy—they built a home, supported each other through thick and thin. When Egor turned thirteen, they dreamed of another baby. But fate had other plans. Victor’s death shattered everything. Fifteen-year-old Egor clammed up, and Helen, biting back tears, put on a brave face. She worked, raised him, and thought she’d done alright—he grew up, got into uni. She’d breathed easy—too soon, though.
“Mum, meet Lucy. My girlfriend,” Egor said, swinging the door open.
Beside him stood a tall woman with long blonde hair, polished in a smart dress and heels. She smiled, but Helen couldn’t return it. Lucy was nearly her own age—a good fifteen years older than Egor. Helen’s stomach knotted, but she forced a polite hello and invited her in.
Over dinner, Lucy shared her story—thirty-nine, renting a flat in Manchester, moved from another city. Her daughter, Ellie, was five and in nursery.
“Course, you’re probably gobsmacked,” Lucy said, eyeing Helen. “I’m way older than Egor. But age is just a number, yeah? When it’s love, that doesn’t matter. We found each other. You understand, being a woman yourself?” She flashed a coy smile, but there was a challenge in her eyes.
Helen nodded, but doubt gnawed at her. After Lucy left, Egor sat her down.
“Mum, you’re my world. Please try to get it. Yeah, Lucy’s older, but we’re proper in love. And Ellie—she’s sweet as anything. Could they stay here? Lucy’s got no place of her own, and we’ve got the room. If you’re not up for it, I’ll respect that. No hard feelings.”
Helen’s heart split in two. She wanted to warn him, protect him—but the hope in his eyes broke her.
“Alright, stay,” she sighed. “Just—be happy, son.”
“Cheers, Mum! Knew you were the best!” He hugged her tight, then dashed off to call Lucy.
Alone, Helen rang her mate Julie, who listened without interrupting before saying,
“Hel, this smells iffy. Love’s messy, sure—but think. This woman’s got a kid, no home, and your lad’s a young bloke with a big house. Convenient, innit? Twenty years between them—she could be angling. Watch your step, or you’ll push Egor away for good.”
Helen chewed on that. She’d tread carefully, suss Lucy out.
Next day, Lucy and Ellie moved in. The girl was lovely—shy at first, then showing Helen her dolls, making her smile despite the worry. That evening, after putting Ellie to bed, the adults had tea. Watching Egor cuddle Lucy, Helen felt a stab of jealousy. Lucy’s eyes seemed to gloat—*He’s mine now.* Helen shoved the thought aside, but it crept back like shadows.
Alone later, she wondered—what if Lucy really loved him? Maybe it’d work? But doubt ate at her. That night, she dreamt of Victor—young again, smiling, handing her daisies (her favourite). She reached for him—he vanished. She woke in tears at 3 a.m., arms still outstretched, whispering his name.
Then it hit her. She couldn’t interfere. Egor was grown—his choices were his own. If he messed up, he’d fix it. Helen wiped her tears and lay back, murmuring, “It’ll be alright.” But deep down, she feared this would wreck everything.
