I had Emily at 20. Her father and I had a quick courthouse wedding and stayed married for 21 years. Two years ago, cancer took him. After that, it was just Emily and me again—bills, paperwork, and a house that felt too quiet.
She finished college, landed a job, and moved into her own place. I tried not to hover.
Then one evening she called, excited.
“Mom, I met someone.”
“Okay,” I said. “Tell me.”
“He’s older. Don’t start.”
“How much older?”
“Just meet him first,” she said. “I don’t want you stuck on a number.”
Over the next few weeks, I kept hearing “emotionally intelligent,” “he makes me feel safe,” and little else. Every time I asked for specifics, she dodged. She promised I’d meet him “soon,” then kept postponing.
Finally: “Dinner Friday. Please be nice.”
