I pulled him into the kitchen.
“What is this?” I hissed. “You’re my age. You’re 20 years older than my daughter. And you’re my ex.”
He raised his hands. “Lena, I swear, I didn’t know she was your daughter at first.”
“At first,” I repeated. “So you figured it out.”
He swallowed. “Yeah. But I love her.”
Before I could go off on him, Emily walked in, arms crossed.
“Are you interrogating my boyfriend?”
“Emily,” I said, “this is Mark from high school. We dated for over a year.”
Her expression went blank. “You never told me that.”
“I didn’t know he was this Mark,” I snapped. “You never told me his last name. Or that he’s my age.”
Mark cleared his throat. “I know it’s strange,” he said. “But I care about her. I’m not going anywhere.”
Emily stepped closer to him, protective.
“You’re making this weird, Mom,” she said. “You don’t get to drag your teenage breakup into my relationship.”
Dinner was tense and shallow. After that, his name turned every conversation into a fight.
“I’m worried,” I’d say.
“You’re controlling,” she’d say.
“The age gap plus the history—”
“Is your issue,” she’d cut in. “Not mine.”
About a year later, she showed up at my house, eyes bright, hand trembling.
She held it out. A big diamond.
“Mom, I love Mark,” she said. “He proposed. We’re getting married in three months. Accept it, or we cut all ties.”
My chest went cold.
“You’d cut me out?” I asked.
“I don’t want to,” she said, tearing up. “But I’m not letting you sabotage this. I pick him.”
I had already lost my husband. I couldn’t lose her too.
So I swallowed everything and said, “Okay. I’ll be there.”
