You Can’t Be Serious, Kiera! You’re Thirty, Yet Living Like a Granny,” She Said, Plonking Herself Beside Her Daughter.

31October

Its a cold night and Im sitting by the kitchen window, watching the faint glow of street lamps flicker over the cobbles of Norwich. The scent of potatoes and onions still lingers from supper Mum was still humming as she set the plate down for me.

Blythe, youre thirty and you live like a dowager, she said, pulling up a chair beside me. Eat, love, at least warm something before it gets cold.

I shrugged off my coat, slipped my boots off and shuffled to the hallway. Little Oliver was on the carpet, stacking his blocks into a tower while humming a tune to himself. The moment he saw me, he squealed, Mum, look! My castle!

I kissed the top of his head. Would you like me to be a princess in there?

He gave me a serious nod. No, youll be the commander.

His earnest grin softened my heart for a moment. Tiny joys like that have kept the emptiness that settled in my chest for nearly six years at bay.

Since Andrew walked out, I swore Id never let weakness creep back in. Work, the flat, and Oliver became my world. Sometimes, when he finally drifted off to sleep, Id stand by the window and watch the occasional car glide past, feeling as if life were slipping by unnoticed.

Mum, Eleanor, has watched all of this. She often tells me, Youre thirty, Blythe, and youre living as if youre already old.

Id answer, Im fine, Mum. Shed retort, Fine from the office to the flat, back to the office. And then?

Then Oliver will grow, finish school

And then hell leave, shed say calmly. And who will you be left with? Im not forever.

Id sigh silently. Eleanors words werent harsh; they were simply the truth shed learned from watching life rush past.

Later that evening, over tea, she nudged the conversation again.

I saw a flyer for a local singles club at the community centre. They have coffee, movies maybe you should give it a go?

Seriously, Mum?

Women need a bit of male attention now and then. Its natural.

I dont want to, I snapped.

Dont want or scared?

I set my mug in the sink, feeling the familiar tightness in my throat. Ive been burned before. Im not looking for a second round.

Mum sighed, You never tried the second round, so youll never know if theres someone out there for you.

Silence settled. Inside, a part of me remembered the girl who once laughed easily, who loved without reservation. Now I felt more like a shadow, moving on a timetable.

The weekend came and Oliver begged to go outside. The snow crunched under our boots, children swooshed down the hill. Eleanor waved to Mrs. Harper, who was organising a childrens fête at the town hall.

Come on, Blythe, dont just sit at home, Mum urged. Let the boy have fun, and youll get a breather.

Reluctantly, I agreed.

The hall was bustling. Kids ran everywhere, adults gathered in small clusters. Oliver darted to the toy table while I stood near the edge, watching. A tall man in a khaki jacket approached, looking a little lost.

Excuse me, could you point me to the changing rooms for the little ones? he asked politely.

I think theyre down the hall, on the right, I replied.

He smiled warmly. Thanks. My daughter always gets confused with the corridors.

He turned to me. Youre local, arent you?

Yes, I blushed. Just around the corner.

He laughed. Lucky me, I keep worrying Ill get lost.

He extended his hand. Alex.

Blythe.

We exchanged a few pleasantries, then he helped a lady with a box of gifts to her car.

You must find it hard handling a kid on your own, he said gently.

Used to it, I replied shortly.

He didnt press further, simply wished me good luck and walked off.

When I got home, Mum asked, How was it? Cute man, wasnt he?

I rolled my eyes. How would you know?

She smiled, Your eyes say otherwise. You actually smiled for once without a reason.

I brushed it off, but something lingereda faint warmth, a spark behind the wall of solitude Id built.

Later, as Oliver slept, his soft breathing drifted into the night, and I whispered his name, Alex, as if tasting the syllable.

A week passed, and life fell back into its old rhythm: work, the flat, Olivers homework. Alex faded into a distant memory, like a passerby. Yet whenever snow fell, I sometimes recalled his calm smile, a reminder that perhaps life still held unexpected kindness.

Then the office got chaotic. A new senior manager took over the accounts department, and I was glued to my desk till midnight. Mums voice would echo from the kitchen, Blythe, you look exhausted, your face is pale.

Just the end of the month, Mum, Id reply.

One evening on the bus home, my phone buzzed. An unknown number.

Hello?

Its Alex. We met at the hall. I saw you get off near the Rainbow Shop. I wanted to say hello, thought Id call.

My heart jumped. Sure, why not.

He suggested meeting the next day at a café. He arrived in a fireenginered coat, clutching a battered folder, but managed to buy us two coffees.

Itll warm you up, he said, pushing the cup toward me.

We sat on the park bench, talking as if wed known each other for years. He spoke of his divorce, his eightyearold daughter, Hannah.

Raising a kid alone? I asked, surprised.

Yes. It was tough at first, but it gave me a reason to keep going.

His words felt simple, free of selfpity, and I found myself relaxing in his presence.

Back home, Eleanor was already at the kitchen table.

Whats the story, love? she asked as I slipped off my coat.

Nothing, I muttered.

She teased, Dont tell me it was that bloke from the club.

It wasnt a club, I said, halflaughing.

She raised an eyebrow, Well, youll have to prove hes a decent sort before I give my blessing.

Days turned into weeks. Alex called to check on Oliver, occasionally stopped by with a toolbox, a sack of apples for Hannah, or a fresh loaf of bread. Eleanor watched it all, sometimes rolling her eyes, sometimes smiling.

One evening Alex asked Oliver to join him and Hannah for ice skating. I hesitated but finally agreed.

The rink was quiet, a soft melody drifting over the crackling ice. Alex held Hannahs hand, helping Oliver find his balance, then offered his hand to me.

Dont be nervous, he said. Its been ages since Ive skated.

I took his hand, and a warm current ran through me, nearly bringing tears to my eyes.

When we left, he lingered at the doorway. Blythe, Im not in a rush. I enjoy being here, with you and Oliver.

I could only nod, looking into his earnest eyes.

Later that night, Eleanor slipped into the living room, a gentle smile on her lips.

Feeling any warmer, love? she asked.

I dont know, I whispered. I just want to believe that things can be better.

She wrapped me in a hug. If you can smile for no reason, theres still a future ahead.

Spring arrived early, rain drizzling over the garden as new shoots pushed through the soil. Alex became a regular visitor, bringing over pastries, fixing the leaky tap, even helping Oliver with his school project. Eleanors tone softened; she stopped teasing and began offering tea when Alex arrived.

Dont plan everything, she told me one afternoon, pouring tea. Life will bring what it will. Just dont chase it away.

I found comfort in Alexs steady presence. He never demanded, never pressed, simply existed beside me. I started looking forward to his calls, my heart ticking a little faster each time my phone buzzed.

One Saturday he suggested a countryside picnic. Lets take the kids out of the screens and into the fresh air, he laughed.

We spent the day under a big oak, grilling sausages, laughing as Oliver chased Hannah around. Eleanor sat in the back of the car, humming a tune. I stood beside Alex, watching the amber light flicker through the leaves.

He turned to me, voice low. I think Im getting used to you all.

To us? I asked.

Yes. Its a bit frightening, actually.

His words made my chest feel lighter, as if something heavy had finally shifted.

A week later, the front door burst open. Oliver shouted, Mum, Uncles here! He says hes dad!

In the hallway stood Andrew, my exhusband, looking thinner, his cologne a faint reminder of past evenings.

Hey, Blythe, he said, eyes downcast. We need to talk.

The hallway seemed to collapse, the smell of cheap aftershave filling the air.

What do you want? I asked, voice steady despite the tremor inside.

I Ive been a fool, he began. I married again, it fell apart. I just want to see my son.

Eleanor, hearing the exchange, stepped forward, arms flailing. Oh, look whos back! The man who vanished when his own child was born!

Andrews shoulders slumped. Ill fix this, I swear.

I closed my eyes, the weight of years of betrayal, the stale cigarette smell from his coat, the bitter words echoing in my mind.

My phone buzzed; a message from Alex: How was your day? Thought Id stop by, but I figured you were resting.

I stared at the screen, then typed back, All good. Just a bit hectic.

Alex didnt push further, but the next morning he appeared with a new gift: a set of building blocks for Oliver, a cake for Eleanor, and a bouquet of three roses for me.

Whats on your mind? he asked gently.

Just the past is knocking, I admitted.

He nodded. If you decide to go back, Ill understand. Sometimes the past knocks because its cold, not because its missed.

His words cut deep, and I could barely form a reply.

Later that evening Andrew returned, bearing a toy for Oliver, trying to make conversation. I kept my cool, watching my son retreat to his room.

Why are you here? I asked.

I want my family back.

Its too late, I said, the words feeling both harsh and inevitable.

Outside, the night deepened, the streetlights glinting on the wet pavement. Alex stood by the gate, a cigarette between his fingers, as if keeping watch.

Andrew, go, I whispered. Dont tear what weve started to mend.

He left without a word.

When Alex finally entered, he asked, All right?

Its fine, I managed. He placed a hand on my shoulder. Youre not alone, Blythe. Im here.

For the first time in months, I believed that maybe life truly could hand me a second chance.

Summer turned oppressively hot, the air heavy with dust, yet our home felt brightnot from sunlight, but from the calm that had settled over us. Since Andrew finally disappeared, the pieces of our life fell into place. Oliver smiled more, Eleanor still muttered complaints but no longer seemed on edge, and I lived without the constant dread that everything would collapse tomorrow.

Alex became part of our routine without fanfare: bringing potatoes from his garden, mending the broken iron, shuttling Oliver to school.

Dad, can Uncle Leo take me fishing tomorrow? Oliver asked, excitement bright in his voice.

Yes, but remember your hat, I replied, laughing.

Sometimes I still felt as if I were dreaming, fearing the cold, bitter marriage I once knew would return. But then Id see Alex in his dustcovered shirt fixing Olivers bike, or Eleanor pouring tea for him, and I knew this was genuine, quiet happiness.

One evening we all gathered on the balcony. Eleanor knitted, the children played inside, and Alex was adjusting a stubborn wall clock.

How do you manage it all? I asked.

He grinned, I never rush. After the army I learned hurry is the enemy of happiness.

I looked at him, then asked, Arent you scared to let someone new in?

He chuckled, It was scary, but being alone is scarier.

I hesitated before answering, Im not afraid of repetition, Im afraid I wont believe it if its different.

He placed his hand over mine, Then try believing, little by little.

A weight Id carried for years seemed to lift from my chest.

Weeks later Alex suggested a weekend at his mothers cottage in the Cotswolds. Big house, blooming garden, kids can run free. Well just unwind.

The drive was long but light. Oliver and Hannah laughed in the back seat, Eleanor dozed softly, and I stared at the rolling fields, marveling at how a single chance meeting could redirect a life you thought was set.

That night, by a crackling fire, Alex said, I came here thinking Id help. Now I realise I need you.

I stayed silent, then whispered, I never expected to hear anything about love, not passion, just calm. Thats the only real happiness.

He embraced me, and we listened to the pop of the logs and the distant giggles of children.

Autumn saw us moving into a modest cottage on the outskirts of town. Eleanor insisted we stay while she could, Take a breath, enjoy the air.

The move was smooth. Alex helped load the van, Oliver adopted a stray kitten from the road, and Hannah arranged a vase of wildflowers on the kitchen table.

Late at night, I stepped onto the porch. The moon hung low, the scent of grass in the cool air. Alex joined me, hands on my shoulders.

What are you thinking about?

Perhaps everything finally feels right, I replied. No strain, no fear. Just life as it should be.

Does that mean you wont look back?

I shook my head. Theres nothing of mine left there.

He pulled me close; in that quiet hold were tenderness, gratitude, and the certainty that the past had finally been let go.