Kate met Oliver when she was twenty-eight. She had everything—a slim figure, a pretty face—yet serious relationships never seemed to stick, even though she’d never lacked male attention.
At university, she hadn’t rushed into marriage like her friends, believing there was plenty of time. But once she started working, she noticed the men around her were either married or taken. So, she poured herself into her career.
*Life’s passing you by. A career is one thing, but you shouldn’t forget about your personal life,* her mum would say.
*Mum, should I just marry the first man I meet, so I can hurry up, have a baby, and divorce? At least then no one would ask when I’m getting married, right?* Kate retorted.
*You’ll end up living at work at this rate. Look around—aren’t there plenty of men?*
*Enough, Mum. Or I really will marry the first one I see,* Kate snapped.
Her mother pressed her lips together but quietly asked friends and colleagues if they knew any decent, single blokes.
One morning, the bus was packed as usual. A man gave up his seat for her. She smiled gratefully. Two days later, they crossed paths again—recognizing each other, they exchanged smiles like old acquaintances. But they didn’t speak; he got off two stops before her.
On her way home, staring idly out the window, she spotted him standing at a bus stop, scanning the passing vehicles. Instinctively, she knew he was looking for her. She got off.
That’s how they met. Oliver was easygoing. If Kate had been asked whether she loved him, she wouldn’t have said yes. At first, she dated him just to get her mother off her back. But soon, she grew attached. If she didn’t see him for a few days, she’d fidget restlessly.
He never showed up with grand bouquets—just simple, charming bunches of flowers. Two months in, he proposed.
Kate hesitated. It was too fast—she barely knew him. But if she said no, she’d be alone again. And she’d have to marry *someone* eventually. Why not Oliver?
She brought him home to meet her mother, who, unexpectedly, wasn’t thrilled.
*What’s wrong now?* Kate snapped after he left.
*He lives with his mum, no flat, no car. Where are you two going to live?*
*We’ll rent. You wanted me married—now you’re picky? Men with flats and cars are divorced or taken. We’ll get everything—flat, car, kids. Sorry he’s not your dream son-in-law.*
Her mother sighed. *Fair enough.*
They filed for a marriage license and planned a small, cozy wedding. Kate and her mother hunted for dresses, scouring boutiques until Kate found the one—perfectly fitted, breathtaking, expensive. She bought it without hesitation.
Oliver, meanwhile, searched for flats. He showed her two—both tiny, far from the centre, but dirt cheap.
*Are you serious? We won’t even fit, let alone if guests come over. And commuting will be a nightmare.*
*Fine, you choose then,* he sulked.
So she did—a central, well-renovated flat, walking distance from work.
*Taking it?* the landlady asked.
*No, too expensive,* Oliver said.
*Suit yourselves. It’ll go fast,* she shrugged.
Outside, they argued. Oliver saw only the price—they could rent a two-bed further out for the same. Kate insisted they earned enough for comfort, not wasting hours in packed buses.
Tempers flared—their first real fight. Kate stormed off, refusing his escort. At home, she cried.
*You’re just stressed. Maybe he’s frugal from upbringing. Ask him before assuming.*
*I’ve *been* to his mum’s place. She wears a mink coat, leather boots. He’s only cheap with *us*. And look at this ring.* She held out her hand.
*You liked it before!*
*Not anymore. If he’s this stingy from the start, what’s next?*
She questioned her decision. Should she back out? But the venue deposit was paid, the dress bought.
The next day, Oliver arrived with flowers, apologizing—he’d rented the flat she wanted.
She forgave him instantly, throwing her arms around him. The wedding was lovely, guests generous with cash gifts.
The morning after, his mother visited, marveling at how *affordable* the flat was. Kate shot Oliver a look; he subtly shook his head—*don’t say anything.*
*Why lie?* Kate asked after she left.
*No need to worry her. She thinks reckless spending leads to ruin.*
A year later, Kate was pregnant. She waited eagerly to tell Oliver.
*Are you sure?* was all he said.
*Aren’t you happy?*
*I thought we’d wait a few years. I wanted a car loan. Now with the flat and a baby…*
*I’m not aborting so you can buy a car!*
*No—I didn’t mean—* He backpedaled, hugging her.
They debated names, crib placements. Kate gushed over prams online. Oliver humoured her.
One day, she bought a tiny white outfit, lace bonnet included.
*Couldn’t resist. Look how small!* She beamed.
*Isn’t it bad luck? And probably cost a fortune.*
*For *our* baby!*
At her scan, she called him excitedly—*It’s a boy! You can see his hands, feet—*
*Can’t talk now,* he cut her off.
Later, showing him the blurry image, he scowled. *What am I even looking at?*
She pointed out features, oblivious to his disinterest.
Near her due date, contractions struck at dawn. Oliver called an ambulance. She begged him to buy the blue outfit she’d picked. Hours later, she called—*You’re a dad!*
At discharge, both mothers and Oliver met her. The midwife handed him the baby—wrapped in blue, but wearing a different hat. Kate stayed silent.
*Where are the mums? Whose car is this?*
*They took a taxi—better for the baby. This is *ours*. A colleague sold it cheap. Great, right?*
At home, she laid their son down. The crib wasn’t the one she’d chosen.
*Ollie, this isn’t it. It’s old.*
*It’s fine. A mate’s kids used it.*
The pram, too, was secondhand. Opening the wardrobe, she found stacks of worn baby clothes.
*Your mum’s idea?*
*What’s the difference? He won’t know.*
*But *I* will.*
When the mothers fussed over the baby, Kate announced his name—*Sergei.*
Oliver blinked. *We picked *Liam.*
The baby wailed. Changing him, Kate saw red marks from cheap nappies.
*Go buy the ones I told you.*
*Now?*
*Or stay here, and I’ll go.*
They fought—silent the rest of the night.
Next morning, she confided in her mother.
*You won’t leave over this?*
*It’s not *just* this. He’ll skimp on everything—school, toys. What kind of man will Sergei become?*
She stayed—for two more years. Then, when he refused money for a work dress post-pregnancy (*just lose weight*), she left.
A year later, she met someone new—roses, gifts for Sergei.
*You’ll spoil him,* she warned.
*You can’t spoil someone with love.*
One day in the park, she saw Oliver with a new woman—holding the same modest bouquet he’d once given her.
She smiled. No regrets.
A stingy man never changes. He’ll always cheap out—on flowers, on love.
Maybe he’d found a kindred spirit who’d settle for daisies.
