**A Mother’s Stroke—And How It Changed My Life Forever… Now, I’m the Happiest Man Alive!**
I began living on my own early—practically right after the school leavers’ ball. My father left us when I was a child, and Mum often said she didn’t need a man. From a young age, I dreamed of being my own master. Studies, work, my own flat—I liked the rhythm of it. Loneliness never weighed on me. In fact, I relished the freedom. Everything was steady… until one chance encounter turned my world upside down.
Fifteen years had passed. I’d trained as a cameraman, just as I’d always wanted. I worked for a major telly channel, earned decently, travelled often, and met fascinating people. Women noticed me too—young, decent-looking, with money to spare. Not that I changed them like socks—that wasn’t my style. Still, I never chased commitment: I had flings, stayed faithful, but always ended things first. A mate once described himself as a “serial monogamist.” That was me. Between relationships, I savoured solitude—no explanations, no obligations. Life flowed smoothly… until the day the phone rang.
**A Bolt from the Blue**
It was the hospital. Mum had taken poorly—a stroke. I was stunned. She’d always been so lively, a strong woman who’d only just retired. She lived in her parents’ cottage outside Gloucester, tending the garden, walking the dog, meeting her friends. I visited often—just an hour’s drive—and somehow, I assumed she’d live forever. That’s how full of life she was.
Seeing her in that hospital bed, she seemed to age fifty years overnight. The doctors said she’d pull through, but recovery wasn’t guaranteed. Then came the agonising wait: forty-eight hours stretched into eternity, then weeks, months… She was moved from intensive care, then discharged. And that’s when the real struggle began.
**Coming Home**
Mum was bedridden. The physio I hired didn’t sugarcoat it—she’d lost the will to fight. She’d given up, sinking into apathy. I moved back in, let out my flat, hired a daytime carer, and took over evenings: feeding, changing her, talking. I learned to cook from her notes—now it’s a passion. I bought her favourite sweets, tended the garden, trying to rekindle her spark.
But she refused to rise. It felt like she’d decided her job—raising me—was done. And 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… at the Grocery**
Just 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, smashing, juice everywhere. I shoved a few quid into her palm and rushed off, too ashamed to even help clean up.
Outside, I saw her again—and couldn’t walk away. I apologised properly, then, on impulse, offered her a lift home. Hesitant but calm, she agreed. That’s how I met Emily.
I walked her to her door, wished her goodnight, and thought that was that. Yet the next day, I found myself outside her house again—waiting, unsure why. When she emerged, I asked her to dinner. A gentle refusal—her son was home alone. But she agreed to coffee someday. The next morning, I turned up at her doorstep. And so our story began.
**Every Cloud…**
We were both busy—work, responsibilities. We met for morning coffees; her to her son, me to Mum. Weekends were longer. Then we dared a short break—two days skiing. Romantic, right? Until I took a tumble and broke my leg.
That’s when the miracle happened. Hearing of my injury, Mum snapped awake. Said she couldn’t have us both bedridden. Demanded her physio back—and began exercises. She stood. Just… stood. We both wept.
And Emily? She moved in temporarily—to help while my leg healed. But her son loved the garden and the dog. Mum adored the idea of a “daughter-in-law” and grandson. And I realised I didn’t want to let her go. Three months later, we married.
On the wedding day, Mum said, “I’d given up hope you’d ever settle. You were such a lone wolf.” I hadn’t believed it either… But now? We’ve two kids, a bustling home, a warm hearth. And if not for that dreadful hospital call—I might’ve stayed alone forever.
Now, I’m the happiest man alive.