Stanley Andrew, or simply Stan, recently landed a role as department head at a large firm in Manchester. The promotion didn’t come easily—years of quiet, honest work without flashy ambition or shortcuts. He wasn’t the loudest leader, but he was dependable, and his colleagues valued that. At work, congratulations were polite, but at home—it was a proper celebration.
His mother, Margaret, was the most thrilled. Once, she’d raised him single-handedly—ferrying him to doctors, paying for tutors, skimping on herself just so Stan could get into university. And now? A department head. Her pride. She insisted he treat his colleagues to homemade pies and salads. Not shop-bought—hers.
On the day of the celebration, Stan stopped by his mum’s for the food. She’d just left for a doctor’s appointment but had everything ready—neatly packed containers waiting in the fridge. Knowing he’d struggle alone, he asked Emily, a new colleague, to come along. She agreed happily.
Emily was the kind of woman who turned heads. Blonde, brown-eyed, long-legged—men noticed her, and Stan was no exception. Colleagues whispered: *She’s not just being friendly, is she? Always finding excuses to chat or slip something personal into work talk.*
When they stepped into his mum’s flat, Emily immediately remarked,
*“Your mum’s place is lovely. So cosy.”*
Then a tiny black dog darted out of the room, barking.
*“And who’s this?!”* Emily tucked her legs up, as if fearing for her tights.
*“That’s Bumble,”* Stan said calmly, scooping the pup up. *“Don’t worry, she’s sweet.”*
*“Bumble? Cute, I suppose. Just keep her away—she might scratch.”*
Stan frowned but didn’t reply before a plump black cat strutted into the kitchen, rubbing against his legs with a soft meow.
*“And this is Sir Pounce,”* Stan said warmly, fetching boiled fish from the fridge. *“Hold on, mate, I’ll sort you.”*
He carefully placed pieces in the cat’s bowl and crouched to watch him eat.
*“Quite the menagerie,”* Emily muttered. *“Your mum’s not allergic, I hope? Keeping this many pets in a one-bed flat—bit much.”*
*“Are you?”* Stan asked flatly.
*“Dunno. We never had pets. Filthy things, hair everywhere… gross. Unhygienic.”*
Silently, Stan packed the containers into his bag. His expression hardened, his gaze cold. Unnoticing, Emily lingered by the door, eyeing the animals warily.
*“I’ll pop by tonight to walk them,”* Stan said, smiling—not at her, but at Bumble and Sir Pounce. *“Mum’ll moan that I overfed them again, but what can you do?”*
*“And you put up with all this hassle? Walks, feeding, grooming…”*
*“Like kids, really. But they’re loyal. Love you for no reason.”*
Emily wasn’t listening. She was already at the door, urging,
*“Come on. Lunch break’s nearly over. I’ll get the door.”*
On the way back, she chirped about the new café menu, someone’s new outfit, office gossip. Stan nodded but barely heard. One thought echoed: *What did I ever see in her?*
At the office, his team waited—they’d gifted him a stainless-steel thermos, practical for work or trips. They congratulated him, hugged him, praised him. Later, over drinks and his mum’s food, laughter filled the room.
Emily stayed close, but Stan felt nothing now—no warmth, no spark. Just emptiness.
*“Can you drop me home?”* she asked at the end of the evening.
*“Sorry. I’ve got to get back. Important meeting.”*
That *meeting* was his mum.
*“Well? How’d it go?”* she greeted him warmly.
*“Brilliant. Everyone adored your pies and salads. Nearly forgot about me,”* he chuckled, kissing her cheek.
*“And that girl you brought? You like her?”*
*“Emily? Nah. I lied before, said I was seeing someone—just to put your mind at ease. Sorry.”*
*“Ah. Well, when you do meet someone… what’s she got to be like?”*
Stan thought.
*“Respects you. Loves our pets. They’re family.”*
His mum hugged him.
*“Most importantly, she’s got to love you. Then she’ll take me, Bumble, and Sir Pounce without a second thought.”*
He nodded, clipped on the lead, and opened the door. Dog and cat bounded ahead as he set off for an evening walk.
From the window, Margaret watched her grown son running across the courtyard, tossing a stick for Bumble, chatting to Sir Pounce like an old friend. Into the dark, she whispered,
*“Please, let him find the right one. Someone to love him—so we’re all hers.”*
