Mum had a stroke—and everything in my life changed… Today, I’m the happiest man alive!
I moved out early, almost right after prom. Dad left us when I was a kid, and Mum often said she didn’t need a man, while I’d dreamed of being my own boss since I was young. Studies, work, my own flat—I was content with that rhythm. Loneliness never weighed on me; in fact, I relished the freedom. Life carried on smoothly until one chance encounter turned everything upside down.
Over fifteen years had passed. I’d trained as a camera operator, just as I’d always wanted. Worked for a major TV channel, earned well, travelled often, met fascinating people. Women noticed me too—young, decent-looking, with money to spare. Not that I swapped them like socks—that wasn’t my style. But I never chased anything serious either: I’d have flings, stay faithful, yet always be the first to walk away. A mate once joked, “I’m a serial monogamist.” That was me, too. Between relationships, I savoured solitude—no one to answer to, doing as I pleased. Life trundled on until one day, a startling phone call shattered the calm.
Like a bolt from the blue
It was the hospital. Mum had taken ill—she’d had a stroke. I was stunned. She’d seemed so lively, so strong, only just retired. She lived in her parents’ old cottage near Oxford, tended the garden, walked the dog, met friends. I visited often; the drive took less than an hour, and I’d honestly believed she’d live forever—that’s how full of life she was.
Seeing her in that hospital bed, I swear she’d aged fifty years overnight. The doctors said she’d pull through, but recovery wasn’t guaranteed. Then came the agonising wait—the first forty-eight hours felt endless, then a week, a month… She was moved from ICU, sent home. And that’s when the real test began.
Coming home
Mum was bedridden. The physio I hired didn’t mince words: she’d lost the will to fight. Gone was her spark, replaced by numb resignation. I moved back in, rented out my flat, hired a carer for the days, and took over evenings—feeding her, changing her clothes, talking. I learned to cook from her instructions, and now it’s a hobby. Bought her favourite sweets, kept the garden tidy, tried to rekindle her joy in living.
But she refused to get up. It was as if raising me had been her life’s work, and now she was done. I couldn’t accept that. I wanted back the woman who’d given me freedom, love, and self-respect.
Fate in the form of a woman… from the shop
An ordinary evening. I was grabbing groceries, lost in thought, when I turned sharply and collided with a woman behind me. A glass bottle slipped from her hands—juice spilled, glass shattered. I shoved a couple of quid into her palm and rushed to the till. Didn’t even stay to help or apologise properly. Felt ashamed, but I left.
Outside, I spotted her again—and couldn’t walk past. Approached, apologised properly, then, for reasons I still don’t understand, offered her a lift home. She hesitated but agreed. That’s how I met Alice.
I walked her to her door, wished her goodnight, and assumed that was that. Yet the next day, I found myself outside her place again. Waited, unsure why. When she stepped out, I asked her to dinner. She politely declined—her son was home alone. Agreed to coffee sometime. The next morning, I was back. And so our story began.
Every cloud…
We were both busy—work, homes, responsibilities. Met for morning coffee before she headed to her son, me to Mum. Weekends gave us more time. Then we dared a short break—two days skiing. Should’ve been romantic, but I took a tumble on the slopes and broke my leg.
And that’s when the miracle happened. Mum, hearing of my injury, seemed to wake up. Said she couldn’t have us both laid up. Demanded the physio return, and she started working. She stood. Just like that. We both wept.
As for Alice… She moved in—supposedly just to help till the cast came off. But her boy loved the house with its garden and dog, Mum fancied the idea of a “daughter-in-law” and a grandson, and I realised I didn’t want to let her go. Three months later, we married.
On the wedding day, Mum told me, “I’d given up on you ever settling down. You lived like a lone wolf.” I hadn’t believed it either… But now, everything’s different. Two kids, a noisy home, a warm hearth. And if not for that awful call from the hospital—I might’ve stayed alone forever.
Now, I’m the happiest man alive.
