“You know each other?”
Emily stood there smiling, holding hands with a man behind her.
He stepped forward, and my brain stalled.
Same brown eyes. Same jaw. Older—but absolutely him.
“Mark?” I whispered.
His eyes went wide. “Lena?”
Emily blinked between us. “Wait. You know each other?”
“You could say that,” I said tightly. “Emily, take his coat. Mark, kitchen. Now.”
“What is this?” I hissed. “You’re my age. You’re 20 years older than my daughter. And you’re my ex.”
He lifted his hands. “Lena, I swear, I didn’t know she was your daughter at first.”
“At first,” I repeated. “So you figured it out.”
“Yeah. But I love her.”
Before I could unload, Emily walked in.
“Are you interrogating my boyfriend?”
“Emily,” I said, “this is Mark from high school. We dated for over a year.”
Her face went flat. “You never told me that.”
“I didn’t know he was this Mark. You never told me his last name. Or that he’s my age.”
Mark cleared his throat. “I know it’s strange. But I care about her. I’m not going anywhere.”
Emily moved closer to him.
“You’re making this weird, Mom. You don’t get to drag your teenage breakup into my relationship.”
Dinner was tense. After that, his name turned every conversation into a fight.
“I’m worried,” I’d say.
“You’re controlling,” she’d reply.
“The age gap plus the history—”
“Is your issue. Not mine.”
About a year later, she showed up at my house, eyes bright, hand shaking.
She held out her hand. A big diamond.
“Mom, I love Mark. He proposed. We’re getting married in three months. Accept it, or we cut all ties.”
My chest went cold.
“You’d cut me out?”
