Morrison was thirty-three now—the prime of a man's life. And yet here he was, still chasing after his girlfriend, while other men were already basking in the bliss of love with their girlfriends or wives. Take Dave, for example; he didn't have to start from scratch.
Linda sighed again. Who could blame her? Her son had made his choice—turning away from a good girl and a good love. Otherwise, he could have been enjoying that kind of warmth and intimacy by now.
But sighing and regretting changes nothing. With a deep breath, she climbed the stairs and knocked on Morrison's bedroom door.
"Son," she said gently, "I support you. Lilian is a good girl. She's worth the effort to win her back."
As a mother, all she could do at this moment was offer her support.
It seemed that if she ever wanted to see grandchildren, she'd have to start with her younger son.
