While Im alive, that woman will never cross this doorstep, the father declared, eyes fixed on the kitchen doorway, as he saw his sons fiancée.
Dont raise your voice at me! Im your mother! the woman snapped.
Dont meddle in my life! Im thirty, mother! the son retorted.
Stephen stood in the middle of the kitchen, his face flushed with anger. Margaret sat at the table, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Michael, his father, stared silently out the window.
Im not meddling, Margaret sniffled, I just want to understand. Why wont you tell us anything? Were your parents!
Because youll oppose me no matter what, as always!
We only want whats best for you, son.
You want me to live the way you decided! Im tired of that!
Stephen grabbed his jacket and slammed the door. He descended the stairs, stepped out into the cold October wind that bit his cheeks, a welcome change after the stifling flat.
He walked briskly, head down, not turning aside. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out a message from Emma.
Hi, love.
Hey. Hows it going? Did you manage to?
Stephen sighed.
Not yet. Mum started nagging about my job again, saying I earn too little and should have gone to university. We ended up arguing.
Stephen, you promised youd tell them about us today.
I know, Ill tell them tomorrow. I promise.
Youve been saying that all week.
Emma, you have to understand. Theyre… critical. Mum will immediately start asking who you are, where youre from, what you do. My dad just watches, silent as ever.
Im not scared of their looks, Emmas voice trembled with hurt, Im scared youre ashamed of me.
What? Emma, how could you
What am I supposed to think? Weve been together half a year and you havent told your parents.
Ill tell them. Tomorrow, I swear.
They said goodbye. Stephen slipped the phone back into his pocket and kept walking. Emma was right; he was buying time, fearing his parents reactions, especially his fathers.
Michael was a retired soldier, strict and littletalked. From childhood Stephen remembered the hard stare that made him uneasy. Margaret could be reasoned with; you could argue with her. With his father you never argued he simply delivered his verdict.
That night Stephen returned home late. His parents were already asleep. He slipped into his room, stripped off his clothes, and lay down. Sleep eluded him; he tossed, turned, and thought.
In the morning he rose early, ate breakfast in silence while Michael read the newspaper and Margaret cooked on the stove.
Dad, Mum, I need to say something, Stephen began.
Michael looked up from the paper. Margaret turned.
Ive been seeing someone. Its serious. I want you to meet her.
Margaret clapped her hands excitedly.
Finally! Stephen, I thought youd never settle down!
Whats her name? Michael asked.
Emma. Shes twentyseven, works as a sales assistant in a clothing store. A good, kind person.
Wheres she from? Michael pressed.
From here, actually. She lives on Maple Street with her mother.
Her surname?
Margaret cut in, Do you really need the surname, Michael? Stephen says shes a lovely girl.
I asked for the surname, Michael repeated.
Stephen hesitated.
Whitmore. Emma Whitmore.
Michaels hand fell from the paper, his face turned ashen.
What? he breathed.
Whit Whitwhat? Stephen stammered, bewildered.
Whats her mothers name? Michael asked, his voice thin.
Helen Whitmore, Stephen replied. Why?
Michael walked to the window, turned his back on the family.
Michael, whats happening? Margaret asked, stepping toward him. Do you know this girl?
Not her, her mother, he whispered.
Silence hung heavy. Stephen stared at his father, not knowing what to do.
Bring her here, Michael said without turning. Sunday. By noon.
Stephen wanted to ask why, but his father left the kitchen, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
Mom, what was that? Stephen asked.
Margaret stood, pale and bewildered.
I dont know, love. I dont know.
Stephen called Emma, told her about his fathers strange reaction. She listened quietly.
Maybe he knew my mother? she suggested.
Seems likely. My mum says she knows nothing.
Lets sort it out on Sunday.
Sunday arrived quickly. Stephens nerves were as tight as before a exam. Emma arrived precisely at two oclock, wearing a blue dress, hair neatly pinned, calm and beautiful.
Dont worry, she said, gripping Stephens hand. Everything will be fine.
They walked up to the fourthfloor flat. Stephen unlocked the door. Margaret greeted them in the hallway, bustling with excitement.
Hello, love! Come in, come in!
Hello, Emma offered a bouquet. For you.
Oh, how lovely! Thank you, dear!
They entered the sitting room. Michael sat in his armchair, staring at a point on the wall. He looked up as they entered, his eyes fixing on Emma.
His face twisted.
While Im breathing, that woman will never set foot in this house, he said, rising slowly.
Margaret gasped. Stephen froze. Emmas face went pale.
Dad, what are you saying? Stephen stepped forward.
She wont be in this home. Never.
Michael! Margaret grabbed his arm. What are you talking about? Shes my sons fiancée!
Dont care! The Whitmores wont appear in my house!
Emma stood still, tears welling, but she held herself together.
Why? she whispered. What have I done?
Its not you. Its your mother.
Your mother? You know her?
Know her well, Michael snarled, clenching his fists. And Id rather not know her at all.
Explain! Stephen shouted. Whats happening?
Michael turned his gaze to his son.
Your mother broke up my brothers family. Because of her he fell into drink and died at forty. Do you understand? Hes dead because of her!
Emma swayed. Stephen helped her to a sofa.
Sit down, breathe, he said gently. Its all a blur.
I dont get it, she whispered. My mother never
Your mother kept many secrets, Michael roared. She stole a husband from a pregnant womanmy daughterinlaw! They divorced, Kevin started drinking, she left him after six months and found another man.
Thats not true, Emma protested, standing. My mother isnt like that!
Its true! I saw it with my own eyes! Kevin was my little brother; I raised him. She ruined him!
Enough! Stephen intervened, placing himself between his father and Emma. Even if its true, what does that have to do with Emma? Shes innocent.
My fathers words are like an apple falling near the tree, Michael muttered.
Youre judging a person by her parents? Stephen asked, incredulous. Thats absurd.
I know what Im saying.
No, you dont! Emma is wonderfulkind, honest, hardworking. I love her and I plan to marry her!
Michaels face grew even whiter.
If you marry her, youll never set foot in this house again.
Michael! Margaret burst into tears. What are you doing?
Ive made my decision. The Whitmores have no place here.
Emma gathered her bag.
Lets go, Stephen. We dont need this.
Emma
Please, lets leave.
They left the flat, descended the stairs in silence. Only when they reached the street did Emma break down, sobbing. Stephen held her, rubbing her back, at a loss for words.
Forgive him, he whispered. He doesnt understand what hes saying.
Its right, Emma sniffed. My mother did have affairs. She told me she was young and foolish, but I never imagined this far.
Dont dwell on the past, Stephen said, cupping her face. It isnt ours, not even yours. It belongs to them.
Maybe we shouldnt be together? Your father is so opposed
Emma, look at me, Stephen urged, his hand steady on her cheek. I love you. I dont care about our families histories. My father will calm down or he wont. Thats his problem.
They walked to Emmas house. Her mother answered the door, surprised.
Back so early! Did something happen?
Emma explained. Her mother listened, her face growing pale. When Emma finished, she sank onto a sofa, covering her face with her hands.
God, I never thought so many years have passed
Is it true, Mum? Emma asked, about the man.
Her mother nodded. I was twentytwo, working as a waitress. He came every day, handsome, attentive, said he loved me. I fell for him, then discovered he was married and his wife was pregnant.
You didnt leave? Emma asked softly.
No. I thought love justified everything. He left his wife for me, then I realized I was wrong. He started drinking, fighting. I was scared, left and went to my parents in the countryside, where I learned I was pregnant with his child.
What happened to him? Stephen asked.
He died, Stephen said. My father says his brother died from drinking.
Helen Whitmore closed her eyes.
Lord Kevin died
They sat in silence, the clock ticking.
What now? Emma asked.
Live on, her mother replied. I cant change the past, but youre not responsible for my mistakes.
Your father wont see it that way, Stephen said bitterly.
Ill speak to him myself, Helen said, standing. Its overdue.
The next day Stephen didnt go to his parents. He called his mother; she cried, begging him to come home. He refused. His father was stubborn; Stephen could be stubborn too.
Weeks passed. Margaret called daily.
Stephen, Dad cant sleep, he hardly eats. Come, talk.
Let him apologise to Emma.
You know him; he never apologises.
Then theres nothing to discuss.
One evening, while Stephen was with Emma, the front door rang. Helen opened it to find Michael standing on the doorstep.
They stared at each other in silence before Michael removed his hat.
Hello, Helen, he said.
Hello, Michael, she replied.
May I come in?
Helen stepped aside. Michael entered, saw Stephen and Emma on the sofa.
Dad? Stephen stood.
Sit down. Im here to talk, Michael said, moving to a chair. The room waited.
Thirty years ago, Michael began, my brother Kevin fell hopelessly in love with a girl named Helen. She worked in a café. I warned him: his wife was pregnant. He ignored me.
Helen lowered her head.
He left his wife. I never forgave him. We fell out, and Kevin turned to drink, more and more, until he died of liver cirrhosis at forty.
Michael paused, collecting his thoughts.
I blamed Helen. I thought she caused everything. I hated her. Now I realize Kevin made his own choices. He was an adult; he chose his path. It wasnt Helen who forced him to abandon his wife.
But I took her in, knowing she was married, Helen whispered. Im guilty too.
Im guilty of judging her, not of what she did to his wife, Michael admitted. I judged my daughterinlaw for nothing.
He turned to Emma.
Forgive me, girl. I was wrong. Youre good, I can see that. Stephen wouldnt be with someone bad.
Emma remained silent, tears streaming, but she did not wipe them away.
Im not asking for instant forgiveness, Michael continued, I know I hurt you. Please give me a chance, a fresh start.
I hold no ill will, Emma said, finally wiping her cheeks. Really.
Youre a wise girl, Michael smiled. Helen, forgive me as well. Ive held this grudge for years, when I should have let it go.
Helen approached, embracing him.
I forgive you, Michael. Ive long forgiven myself. I just havent been able to forgive me.
Forgive yourself too. Were all human, we all err.
They stood together, two older people with heavy pasts. Stephen watched his father and felt a surge of respect. Recognising ones faults and apologising is a brave act, not everyone can manage.
Lets go home, son, Michael said. Your mothers waiting, and you, Emma, come along. Lunch will be getting cold.
It isnt, Emma laughed. Your mum probably put it in the oven so it stays warm.
Michael chuckled. Smart girl. Stephens lucky.
They all returned to Stephens parents house. Margaret was so overjoyed she began to weep, hugging each of them in turn, laughing through tears. Over lunch they talked about everything and nothingStephens job, future plans, the upcoming wedding, Emmas shop. Michael spoke less, but when he did he addressed Emma with respect, asked her opinions, nodded.
When they left, Emma embraced Michael.
Thank you for giving me a chance.
Its you who gave me a chance to change, he replied. Youre not a fool. You simply loved.
On the street, Emma took Stephens hand.
Your father is a good man.
I know. Hes just a bit too proper, stuck in his ways.
But he can admit his mistakes. Thats priceless.
They walked through the evening town, hands intertwined, a wedding, a shared life, perhaps children ahead. The future lay bright, while the past stayed where it belongedbehind them.
Three months later they married in a small café, guests numbering about thirty. Both sets of parents, friends, colleagues attended. Michael gave a toast about forgiveness, about how life is too short for grudges, about loves strength.
Helen wept, Margaret wept, the women at the table all cried.
Stephen looked at Emma, his wife, and thought how grateful he was that he hadnt obeyed his fathers bitter warning. He realised that sometimes you must swim against the current to find true happiness.
And that happiness is worth any struggle.
The lesson is clear: holding on to old grievances only weighs you down; letting go and owning your choices opens the door to a fuller, freer life.
