Stanley Andrews, or simply Stan, had recently been promoted to department manager at a major firm in Manchester. The promotion didn’t come easily—years of quiet, honest work without flashy ambition or sudden leaps up the ladder. He wasn’t the loudest leader, but he was reliable, and his colleagues respected him. The office celebration was modest, but at home, it was a proper festivity.
No one was prouder than his mum, Margaret. Years ago, she’d raised him alone, shuttling him to doctor’s appointments, paying for tutors, skimping on herself just so Stan could get into university. And now—department manager. Her pride. She insisted he treat his colleagues to homemade pies and salads, not shop-bought, but made by her own hands.
On the day of the celebration, Stan stopped by his mum’s to collect the food. She’d left for a doctor’s appointment but had everything neatly packed in containers in the fridge. Knowing he’d struggle on his own, he asked Alice—a new colleague—to come along. She agreed eagerly.
Alice was the sort of woman who turned heads. Blonde, hazel-eyed, long-legged—men noticed her, and Stan was no exception. Coworkers whispered that she wasn’t just being friendly, always finding ways to chat or slip something personal into work conversations.
When they stepped into his mum’s flat, Alice’s first remark was:
“Your mum’s place is so cosy. Neat, homely.”
Then a small black dog came darting out, barking.
“And who’s this?” Alice recoiled, as if worried about her tights.
“That’s Bumble,” Stan said evenly, scooping the pup up. “Don’t worry, she’s gentle.”
“Bumble? Cute. Just keep her away—she might scratch.”
Stan frowned but didn’t reply before a plump black cat sauntered in, rubbing against his legs with a quiet meow.
“And this is Sir Whiskers,” Stan said warmly, pulling boiled fish from the fridge. “Hold on, mate, I’ll get you sorted.”
He carefully placed the fish in the bowl and watched as the cat ate.
“Quite the menagerie,” Alice muttered. “Your mum’s not allergic, I hope? Because keeping this many pets in a one-bed flat isn’t normal.”
“Are you allergic?” Stan asked flatly.
“Don’t know. We never had pets. They’re dirty, fur everywhere… yuck. Unhygienic.”
Stan silently packed the containers into his bag. His expression hardened, his gaze turning cold. Unnoticed, Alice lingered by the door, eyeing the animals warily.
“I’ll drop by tonight to walk them,” Stan said, smiling now—not at her, but at Bumble and Sir Whiskers. “Mum will scold me for overfeeding them again, but what can you do?”
“And you put up with all that? So much hassle! Walks, feeding, grooming…”
“Like having kids. But they’re loyal. They love you without conditions.”
Alice wasn’t listening. She was already at the door, urging him:
“Come on. Lunch is nearly over. I’ll unlock it.”
On the way back to the office, she chattered about the new canteen menu, Vera’s new outfit, some office gossip. Stan nodded but barely heard. Only one thought echoed in his mind: *What did I ever see in her?*
At work, his colleagues surprised him with a stainless-steel flask—practical for the office and business trips. They congratulated him, clapped him on the back. After hours, they shared sparkling wine and his mum’s food.
Alice lingered close, but Stan felt nothing. No warmth, no connection. Just emptiness.
“Could you drop me home?” she asked at the end of the evening.
“Sorry, no. I’ve got an important meeting.”
That “meeting” was with his mum.
“How’d it go?” she asked brightly when he arrived.
“Brilliant. They loved your food. Nearly forgot about me,” he chuckled, kissing her cheek.
“And that girl you brought? Do you like her?”
“Alice? No. I lied when I said I was seeing someone—just wanted to reassure you. Sorry.”
“Ah. Well, if someone does come along… what should she be like?”
Stan thought for a moment.
“Main thing—she has to respect you. And love our pets. They’re family.”
His mum hugged him.
“The most important thing is that she loves *you*. Then she’ll accept me, Bumble, and Sir Whiskers without a second thought.”
He nodded, grabbed the lead, and opened the door. Dog and cat bounded ahead, and he walked them through the quiet evening streets.
Margaret watched from the window as her grown son tossed a stick for Bumble and talked to Sir Whiskers like an old friend. She whispered into the dark:
“Lord, let him find the right one. Someone who’ll love him—and all of us—just as we are.”