«No! I said no! Can you hear me? Were not changing a thing. Dad built that porch with his own handsevery single nail, he hammered in himself.»
«Christopher, please, its practically rotting,» Emily sighed, pressing the phone so hard against her ear it hurt. «The floorboards are giving way, the roof leaks. Its dangerous! Victor says we could carefully take it apart and»
«Victor! That Victor of yours again!» His voice turned sharp as sandpaper. «Whats it to him? Hed tear everything down and start fresheasy when its not his memories. Mum, that porch isnt just woodits Dad.»
«Chris, how can it be a memory if its about to collapse?» Her voice trembled. «Were doing this for youso you and Laura can visit, so when the grandkids come»
«There wont *be* grandkids on your new porch,» he snapped. «If you touch so much as a plank, Im never setting foot in that house again. Ive got to go.»
The dial tone felt like a slap. Emily lowered the phone onto the kitchen table, the hollow ache in her chest tightening like a vice. Outside, the yellowing leaves of the oak tree matched the grey weight in her heart.
Victor appeared in the doorwaytall, silver-haired, reading glasses perched on his nose, an open book in hand. One look at her face told him everything.
«Again?» he asked softly, setting the book aside.
She nodded, words stuck in her throat. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and the warmth of himthe familiar scent of aftershave and something uniquely *him*finally let the tears fall. Quiet, silent drops soaking into his checked shirt.
«Oh, Em, love» He smoothed her hair. «You shouldnt have called. You know how it ends.»
«But the cottage» she hiccuped. «Hell never forgive us if we change it. But we *have* toits falling apart.»
«Blast the cottage,» he muttered, guiding her to the sofa. «Well sort it. But *you* matter. Look what this is doing to you.»
Theyd met two years ago at a school reunion. Emily had gone reluctantly, dragged by her friend Olivia. Ten years had passed since losing James, her first husband, and in that time, shed lived only for Christopher. School, university, his first jobshe hadnt noticed the wrinkles or the way her awkward boy had become a man.
Then he moved out. Found a flat with his girlfriend Laura, and the house went silent. Yoga, sewing, rereading every book on the shelfnothing filled the void.
That night, Victor had approached her. Her quiet, forgotten classmate, now a maths professor. A widower, too. Theyd talked for hourssame favourite films, autumn walks, both starved for warmth.
Their romance was slow, careful. Theatre dates, long chats in cafés. Shed felt herself thaw, learning to live again.
Shed told Christopher when things grew serious. His reaction had been shockingly calm.
«Mum, youre an adult,» hed said, stirring sugar into his tea. «If he makes you happy, Im glad.»
A year later, they married quietlyjust Olivia, Victors sister, and, of course, Christopher and Laura.
Thats when it started. Christopher spent the reception glowering, ignoring Victor. During the toast, he raised his glass and stared at the wall.
«To Dad. A real man. The best father. No one replaces him. *Ever.*»
The room froze. Laura tugged his sleeve, whispering urgently, but he shook her off. Emilys face burned. Victor squeezed her hand under the table, the only thing keeping her from crumbling.
After the wedding, Christopher stopped calling. Her attempts were met with clipped replies: *Fine. Nothing. Dunno, busy.* Then, nothing at all. On her birthday, a courier delivered chrysanthemumsno note, just a generic card.
That night, she broke down with Victor.
«I dont understand,» she whispered. «He *said* he was happy for me.»
«Hes jealous,» Victor said gently. «Of your new life. Of me. He thinks Im erasing his father.»
«But thats absurd! James was my husbandhis *father*! But hes been gone ten years. Dont I deserve happiness?»
«You do,» Victor said firmly. «He just doesnt see it yet.»
Time didnt help. The silence grew thicker. The porch argument was another blowthat cottage was their sanctuary. James had built it himself. To Christopher, Victors repairs were sacrilege.
«Should I go to him?» Emily asked.
«Not now,» Victor said. «Hes too raw.»
Days later, Olivia called. «Your boys being a selfish git. Ten years alone, and he begrudges you joy? Victors a saint putting up with this.»
Emily tried Laura next.
«AnnaI mean, *Emily*,» Laura corrected, voice strained. «Hes stuck. He thinks youve replaced his dad. Weve rowed about it. He wont listen.»
Christophers birthday came. Emily baked his favourite honey cake, bought the jumper hed once mentioned.
«Are you sure?» Victor asked as she packed the cake.
«Yes.»
He wasnt home. Or so she thoughtuntil she heard his phone buzz inside the flat. He was there. Ignoring her.
She sobbed on the doorstep, forehead against the wood. «Chris please. I just want to wish you happy birthday.»
Silence.
Winter passed. Then, a call from Lauratheyd split up. «Hes unbearable. Angry, shut down. Its not youits *him*. Hes drowning in the past.»
Victor was adamant. «Go. Now. He needs his mother.»
The next day, she stood outside his flat with a pot of chicken soup. The door opened a crackone bloodshot eye.
«Mum?»
«Let me in.»
The flat smelled of stale air and loneliness. She set the soup down.
«Laura called,» she said.
He flinched. «So youre here to gloat?»
«Im here because I love you.»
The dam broke. He yelled about betrayal, about James. She yelled backten years of grief, of *living*. Then, the truth spilled out:
«I thought after Dad, it was just us,» he choked. «Then you left me too.»
Her heart shattered. He wasnt angryhe was *terrified*.
She pulled him close. «You daft boy. No one could ever replace you.»
He crumbled, sobbing into her shoulder. They talked for hoursher loneliness, her fear of telling him about Victor. He listened.
As she left, he whispered, «Im sorry.»
«Me too.»
She knew it wasnt over. Accepting Victor would take time. But the wall had cracked. Her son was back.
