I’ve been widowed for a long time, so dating websites didn’t faze me. I navigated them like a fish in water. But while my daughter was still at home, I felt shy about using the computer in front of her.
Alexandra, a gold medalist, got accepted to a university in the capital on a full scholarship. We were both looking forward to the freedom. Thinking back to my own youth and the stifling control of my domineering parents, I didn’t want to ruin the best years of my daughter’s life. So, I promised to send her money and waved goodbye as her plane took off.
Alexandra excelled in her studies, didn’t ask for much money, and earned some on the side by writing papers for wealthy students who struggled academically. She said it helped her gain knowledge and make new connections.
At some point, my daughter locked her social media profile. I could no longer see her photos, and I only learned about her life through video calls. During one call, Alex slipped that she was in a relationship but didn’t want to say with whom, worried I wouldn’t approve of her boyfriend. She wasn’t planning to get married anyway, she said. If she ever did, I’d be the first to know. We left it at that.
At the time, I was too caught up in my own whirlwind of passion to focus on her love life. I’d met a respectable man my age on the dating site. Michael was Russian but lived in Montenegro, in the city of Kotor. His mother, a Serbian woman who married a Russian during her studies in Moscow, had given him his name. She still lived in Moscow, but Michael, enchanted by his ancestral homeland after a visit, had moved to the stunning shores of Montenegro while retaining his Russian citizenship.
He ran a small tourism business there, specializing in personalized souvenirs. They’d photograph you at a historic site, an amusement park, or elsewhere, and within minutes, you’d have your picture on a magnet, plate, keychain, puzzle, mug, wall clock, or even a pillow. The options were endless. Michael knew how to please his customers, and his business was thriving, allowing him to pursue more than just online connections. Within a month, my virtual friend flew to our charming regional city to meet me in person.
Before him, I’d met a few others from the site, but things never went beyond a couple of dates. Either I didn’t like them in person, or they didn’t click with me—it’s just how it goes. I didn’t get upset. I never invited anyone to my home to avoid gossip and nosy neighbors’ questions. So, I didn’t give Michael my address, though I had listed my city honestly during registration. One sunny February morning, before anyone could foresee the chaos of border closures, I was woken by a phone call:
— Elena? I’m here. I’d love to take you to a restaurant.
Half-asleep, I was confused: Who’s this? Here where? What restaurant? Michael patiently explained who he was, where he was, and when we’d meet. I was horrified: in two hours? I wouldn’t have time to get ready! He laughed:
— Darling, no need for salons or stylists—just be yourself. I just want to look into your eyes. My return flight’s at noon. Work calls.
I didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused. Then I thought, how unusual and romantic—to fall in love online and fly thousands of miles for a breakfast date.
Michael chose the finest restaurant in town. A huge bouquet of pink roses and a thick envelope awaited me. He kissed my fingers and said:
— Elena, I’m crazy about you! You’re a hundred times better than in your photos or videos! Come to me, I’m inviting you for a week to relax in the most beautiful city in Montenegro! I’m not asking for anything more—just come, escape the gray routine, and let me admire you and thank the heavens for the moment I saw your profile! Don’t worry about money—here (he slid the envelope toward me), this will cover everything: a passport, a new suitcase, and seasonal outfits.
I looked at this embodiment of every woman’s dream and melted with delight. I’m just an ordinary teacher, yet this stunning man with the looks of a Greek god was calling me his darling and begging me to visit him!
I already had a passport, sorted out work matters in a couple of days, and flew to my friend—my love, rather—unannounced. Michael booked me a hotel room by the shore. During the day, we wandered the ancient streets of the old town, kissed under fortress walls, and admired the mountains and Kotor Bay. I was unconditionally happy. Afraid to scare away this rare bird of bliss that had landed in my hand, I told Michael I wasn’t thinking about a shared future. If we were happy together, we’d keep meeting without commitments. I rambled on about how he needed a younger woman to be the mother of his children, but while he was free, I wouldn’t refuse this gift from fate.
The week flew by quickly. We planned to meet again in a month to visit Italy. But in mid-March, the borders closed. For weeks, I was a wreck and completely forgot that my period hadn’t come. I only realized when intense morning sickness hit. I was 45, single, and pregnant! From a man I met online. I didn’t know what to do. Eventually, I decided I’d have the baby. Why not? Women older than me have children. My daughter was grown and would soon marry and have her own kids. Alex had already said she’d never return to our backwater town. So, I decided to have a child for myself. It’d be more fun together.
Michael wasn’t my match. Wealthy and charismatic, he saw me as a pleasant companion, a charming conversationalist, a woman for a night. Yes, he called me darling, but it meant nothing. I kept in touch with him online.
I also communicated with Alex online without leaving home. My pregnancy went smoothly. The morning sickness passed quickly, and my belly grew discreetly. Even during my first pregnancy, I barely showed when I went on maternity leave. Back then, colleagues thought I’d faked it to get more leave money. Over the years, I’d gained weight, wearing size 12-14 clothes, so a little extra fullness went unnoticed. By September, I had to inform my boss about my condition and go on maternity leave. At the end of the month, Alex called to say she was getting married. Her fiancé, Theodore, was from the capital, and the wedding was soon because Alex was pregnant and nearing maternity leave.
— Mom, I’m going to introduce you to Theo now, she said. I hope you’ll understand. I didn’t tell you about him earlier because he’s, well, old enough to be my dad. But you’ll see—he’s the best man in the world!
Alex tilted the screen, stood up awkwardly with her protruding belly, and called:
— Theo! Come here, Mom wants to meet you!
Michael walked out of the kitchen. I recoiled from the screen and covered my face. My hero, smiling, said:
— Good afternoon, I’m Theodore. I love your daughter and ask for her hand in marriage.
Without showing my face, I tilted the screen and said:
— Alex, I agree. Be happy. I can’t talk now, sorry! — and shut the laptop.
I cried all night. My hope for happiness was gone. In my dreams, I’d imagined casually telling my love we were having a son, and he’d rush to me, embrace me, and propose. He did rush—to embrace and marry my daughter. How could this happen?
At dawn, the doorbell rang. Alex and Theodore stood at my door. My daughter eyed my now-unmistakable belly:
— So that’s why you didn’t want to keep talking, Mom! Are you afraid I won’t invite you to the wedding? That I’d be embarrassed? My dear, I don’t care what you do or who you love. You’re my mom, my only, beloved, perfect mom. She hugged me: — How far along are you?
I muttered:
— Seven months.
The disdain in Michael’s eyes turned to shock:
— Seven?!
— Barely showing, I continued for him. It’s just how my body works. It’s rare, but it happens.
I led Alex to the living room and sat her on the couch:
— Why did you come here in your condition? You need to take care of yourself.
Alex laughed:
— Theo was worried you didn’t talk to him. His mother is strict and wants everything done properly—parent introductions, the wedding. If you’re not at the ceremony, she’ll think you’re against it.
I assured her I wasn’t against it. The couple left. But that evening, I had another visitor.
Michael came in, grim and silent. I brewed coffee. He began:
— I’m sorry. For years, I practically lived on that site, inviting women and girls to visit me. I could afford that whim. No one ever refused to come or take my money. I didn’t think highly of women until I met Alexandra. Yes, she came to me just a week after you, but she was different, like she was made for me! Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you or say you’re like the others, shallow or greedy…
I sighed:
— But that’s exactly what you said.
Michael shrugged:
— When Alex told me she was pregnant, I never doubted the child was mine. I went crazy when the borders closed. Don’t tell her anything! I didn’t know she was your daughter until she showed me your photo last night. I’ll help you. Are you expecting a boy or a girl?
I barely restrained myself from slapping him or clawing at his smug, beautiful gray eyes. I invited him into the room, opened my laptop, and logged into the dating site:
— Look, I have dozens of admirers. I’ve met many of them. I don’t even know who the father is. Maybe I’ll do a DNA test when the baby’s born. But it’s definitely not you. Let me put it simply: I married young, had a child young, and was widowed young. Where I’m from, they’d say I hadn’t had my fun yet. It’s not just men who have midlife crises. My hormones got the better of me. This pregnancy made me stop. You’re right about one thing: Alex doesn’t need to know about our fling. She can’t be stressed. Take care of her.
I quickly closed the laptop so my daughter’s fiancé wouldn’t see I hadn’t been on the site or responded to any messages since meeting him.
Michael said a curt goodbye and left. I don’t care what he thinks of me. I just hope my boy doesn’t look like him, or the questions will never end.
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