Youre far too old for my son, declared his mother, as I turned forty.
Good heavens! Pippa slammed her palm onto the table, sending the teacups wobbling. I ordered a honeyspiced cake! They brought a chocolate one!
Pippa, whats the fuss? David shrugged, scrolling on his phone. A cake is a cake.
The difference is huge! she snapped. Your mother is allergic to chocolate; she cant eat it!
Mom doesnt need to eat it. Shes on a diet anyway.
David, its my birthday! I wanted everything perfect!
Forty isnt a monumental milestone to lose your nerve over a cake, he finally looked up, eyes still glazed. Relax. Guests will arrive, everyone will have a good time.
Pippa turned to the window. Relaxeasy for you to say, she muttered. She was forty, four decades, half a life behind her, and David could not grasp how much the day meant. She stared at her reflection in the glass: tired eyes, fine lines, the first silver threads at her temples. Fortyan unsettling number.
That evening the house filled with twenty guestsfriends, colleagues, relatives. David and his mother arrived last. Evelyn entered with a sour expression, handing Pippa a bouquet.
Happy birthday.
Thank you, Evelyn.
Forty already, eh? Time flies.
It does, Pippa replied, her smile stretched thin.
Evelyn drifted into the dining room, surveyed the spread.
Chocolate cake? I dont eat chocolate.
We know. Sorry, the bakery mixed it up. Weve got a Napoleon for you, bought especially.
Napoleon, fine.
She settled on the sofa, watching the room. Pippa could see Evelyns nose wrinkling as she glanced at her friend Claire in a flamboyant dress, her lips tightening when a coworker laughed loudly.
The party rolled ontoast after toast, congratulations, dancing. Pippa forced smiles, tried to enjoy, but an emptiness gnawed inside. Forty. What had she achieved? A midlevel accountant at a small firm, married late at thirtyfive, no children.
When the guests filtered out, Pippa cleared the table. David helped in silence, stacking dishes. Evelyn perched on the sofa, glued to the television.
David, could you drive my mother home? Pippa asked.
Just a minute, Im finishing up.
Dont rush, Evelyn interjected. I wanted to speak with you two.
Pippa and David exchanged glances.
What about? David asked.
Your life. Sit down.
They obeyed. Evelyn turned off the TV, faced them.
Pippa, youre forty today.
Yes, Pippa said warily.
Thats a lot.
Its middle age, she replied.
For a woman, its a lotespecially married to a younger man.
A pressure tightened around Pippas chest. David frowned.
Mother, where are you heading with this?
To the point that youre too old for my son.
Silence fell. Pippa stared at Evelyn, disbelief flashing.
What? she managed.
Youre too old for my son, Evelyn repeated calmly. Youre forty, hes thirtysix. Four years difference. Youre older. Its wrong.
Enough! David leapt up.
It wont stop. Ive been silent for five years, but today I must speak. Pippa, youre a good woman, just not right for David.
Why? Pippa whispered, her voice cracking.
Because youre old. You cant bear children. David wants kids.
We could adopt
Adopt? I want blood grandchildren from my son! You cant give them!
Mother, stop this at once! David shouted, moving toward his mother. You have no right to speak like that!
I do! Im your mother, and I want the best for you!
Pippa is the best you have!
Maybe now, maybe later. But in five years, when shes fortyfive and youre fortyone, youll be in your prime and shell be fading.
Pippas legs gave way. She staggered to the kitchen, clinging to the tables edge, breath shallow.
Mother, leave! Davids voice rang. Right now!
Im speaking for your own good!
Go!
The door slammed; silence settled like a heavy blanket. Pippa stared out the window, the November sky darkening, rain slick on the panes.
David entered the kitchen, wrapped his arms around her from behind.
Sorry. Mother has lost her mind.
Shes right, Pippa murmured softly.
What? David protested.
Shes right. Im old. You need a young wife who can have children.
Now you love me, but what about when Im fifty?
Ill love you at fifty, at sixty!
Pippa turned, met his eyes. Davids sincerity shone, yet Evelyns seed of doubt had taken root.
She remembered how they first met at a corporate party. A friend from an advertising agency had invited her. She was thirtyfour, fresh from a divorce, trying to rebuild herself. David approached, tall and athletic, smiling openly, asking her to dance. She hesitated, then accepted. They laughed, talked, and when she learned he was thirtyone she balkedthree years older.
Age is just a number, he shrugged. What matters is whats inside.
Six months later, Davids attentivenessflowers, café visits, complimentsmade Pippa feel youthful again. When he proposed, she accepted without a second thought, even though a quiet voice inside whispered, Youre older, this is wrong.
Evelyn greeted the new bride coldly, scanning her from head to toe.
Not exactly young, she told David, with Pippa beside him. You should have a girl of about twentyfive.
Mom, I dont want a girl. I want Pippa.
Your choice. Just dont complain later.
The wedding was modest. Evelyn sat stonefaced, never smiling. Afterward they met only sporadically; Pippa never forced meetings, and David respected that. They rented a flat, saved for a house, both worked. Children never came; doctors warned the odds were slim because of her age. Pippa wept in the clinic, David soothing her, offering adoption. If you want, well adopt. I wanted my own kids, but if it doesnt happen, well make do.
She believed himuntil Evelyns words resurfaced, shaking her confidence.
In the days that followed, Pippa drifted like a foggy morning: work, home, work again. David tried to cheer her, but she stayed silent, replaying the motherinlaws verdict.
One evening her friend Claire called.
Pippa, how are you? We havent spoken since your birthday.
Fine.
You sound down.
Just tired.
Or is your motherinlaw getting to you? I saw how she looked at youlike you were the enemy.
Pippa sighed.
She said Im too old for David.
What? Seriously?
Yes. After the guests left she told me Im forty, useless, cant have children, Ill soon wither.
Old hag! Claire laughed. How old is she, sixtyfive? Seventy?
Sixtyeight.
Exactly! Shes ancient, and youre in your prime!
Forty is prime?
Of course! Look aroundwomen over forty are thriving, building careers, having kids, marrying.
But Im older than David
Four years isnt anything! Plenty of couples have the woman older.
But his mothers right I really cant have kids
That doesnt make you any less. Youre smart, beautiful, independent. David loves you. How does age matter?
Pippa stayed quiet. Claires words were solid, yet Evelyns accusation lingered like a splinter.
Tell me, how do you feel? Old? Withered?
Im tired, yes, but not old. I work out, I look no older than thirtyfive.
I dont feel old. So why let a motherinlaw dictate?
After the call, Pippa felt lighter, though doubts still whispered. Later, she ran into an old schoolmate in a shop.
Pippa! Its been ages. How are you?
Fine, you?
Great! Ive got two grandkids now.
Im glad for you.
Any kids?
No.
Its a bit late for us, isnt it? Were forty.
True.
She left the shop heavyhearted, watching her former classmates grandchildren play outside.
At home she faced the mirror: deeper crows feet, a slight sag on her neck, veins threading her hands. Age was creeping in unnoticed.
What are you thinking about? David asked, entering the bedroom.
Age.
Again? he snapped. Enough, Pippa!
I cant stop. Your mothers right.
Shes not right!
Look at me! Im forty, Im aging, and youre still young!
Im thirtysix! Im not a boy either!
But youre a man! Age suits you. Women were judged differently.
Pippa, stop! David seized her shoulders. Listen. I married you not because of age, but because of your mind, your humor, your kindness. Those things matter more than any number.
What about children?
Ive made peace with not having them. I dont need them. I need you.
Tears fell. David held her, stroking her hair, offering a warmth she clung to. Yet the night held restless thoughtswhat if someday David wanted a younger wife who could bear children?
The next morning she arranged a meeting with Evelyn. Evelyn lived in a cramped flat on the outskirts, scented with mothballs and old medicines. She opened the door, surprised.
Pippa? What brings you here?
Just wanted to talk.
Come in.
The apartment was furnished with faded sofas, wallpaper peeling. Evelyn ushered Pippa onto a couch opposite her.
Im listening.
Evelyn, do you really think Im too old for David?
Yes.
Why?
Because its true. Youre forty, hes thirtysix. Youre on your twilight, hes in his prime.
But we love each other
Love fades. What remains are chores, children, care. You wont have children.
We could adopt.
Adopteds arent blood. I want grandchildren of my own blood.
Are you hoping well divorce?
Evelyn paused.
Yes. Not because youre a bad person, but because youre not what David needsa youthful, fertile wife.
How many years do you think I have left? Twenty? Thirty?
I dont know.
Thats the point. David will have fifty more years. Hell be a widower at fifty, and thats wrong.
Pippa stood.
Understood. Thank you for your honesty.
Think about what I said.
She left, walking down the rainslick street, Evelyns words ringing: twenty years? thirty? The sky drummed above. She collapsed onto a sofa at home, covering her face, wanting to cry but finding only a hollow void.
David returned later, sitting beside her.
Where were you?
At your mothers.
Why?
To understand why she hates me.
What did she say?
That Im too old, that you need a young wife, that Ill soon die and youll be left alone.
David turned ashen.
She said that, word for word?
Yes.
He clenched his jaw, then whispered, Ignore her. Shes jealous of our happiness. She spent her whole life alone after her divorce, cant rejoice in anyone elses joy.
Maybe shes right?
No! Pippa, enough! I love you! Age is irrelevant!
Age matters. Your mother opened my eyes. Im truly old, and soon Ill be older. Will you still want me then?
I wont want a younger woman.
Youll want one. All men do.
Youre not all men! Youre mixing me up with someone else!
They argued, David stormed out, slamming the door. Pippa remained alone.
Days passed with minimal conversation. David left early for work, returned late, eating in silence while scrolling on his phone. Pippa prepared dinner, but he ate without a word.
One evening she gathered courage.
David, we need to talk.
What about? he didnt look up.
Our relationship. Ive been thinking maybe your mother is right. Maybe we should part.
David dropped his phone.
What?!
Im serious. You deserve a younger wife, children, a full family. I cant give that.
Youve gone mad!
I havent. Your mother opened the truth. Im holding you back.
Youre not holding me back! Im your life!
Now, maybe. In ten years?
And in ten, twenty years?
Pippa shook her head.
Im not sure.
David rose, took her hands.
When I first met you, I was thirtyone. Id dated many younger, pretty girls, but none felt real. With you, I felt wholenot because of looks or age, but because of who you are inside.
But children
Im honest: I dont need children. If I did, Id consider adoption, but I have enough of you.
Pippa saw his eyes, genuine.
And your mother?
Forget her. This is our life, not hers.
She clung to him, desperate not to let go.
Months slipped by. Evelyn stopped bringing up age. David confronted his mother, insisting she respect his wife. Pippa gradually steadied, realizing that numbers are just symbols; what truly matters lies within.
One afternoon she saw an elderly couple in the park, both well past seventy, strolling arminarm, laughing. The man adjusted his wife’s scarf; she giggled, leaning into him. Pippa thought, Thats real loveage irrelevant.
Back home she hugged David.
Thank you.
For what?
For loving me as I am.
Ill love you at forty, at fifty, at eighty.
Promise?
I promise.
She believed him, finally. Evelyns words no longer haunted her. She chose to see herself not as a number but as a person with heart, mind, spirit.
Age is merely a figure in a passport. One can feel ancient at thirty or vibrant at sixty. Pippa chose the latter. She signed up for dance classes, began learning French, changed her hairstyle, blossomed anew.
David watched, admiration in his gaze.
Youre radiant.
Thank you. I think so too.
And that truth settled deep. She finally loved herself, irrespective of the digits on her ID, the lines around her eyes, the inability to bear children. She was valuable simply for being herself, not as a wife or a future mother.
People will always try to diminish uscall us too old, too heavy, too foolish. Their words only hold power if we let them. Pippa stopped listening. She became free.
A year later, she turned fortyone. They celebrated simply, just the two of them. David gave her a silver bracelet.
For being you. My beloved, no matter the years.
She slipped it on, looked at himher partner, her love.
Im happy.
And I yours.
The truth was pure. Age is just a number; happiness is what we feel inside. Pippa felt it, and that was enough.
