**June 12th**
In a quiet little town by the Thames, where the breeze carried the fresh scent of the river, Emily and Edward had been together for six long years. But Edward hadn’t once mentioned marriage. He lived comfortably with his parents in a cosy home, while Emily rented a small flat in town. It suited him just fine—meetings on his schedule, evenings in her warm company, then back to the familiar ease of his own home.
Emily, though, dreamed of a wedding and a place of their own. She knew buying a house would fall to her, so she worked tirelessly, saving every pound for the deposit. But doubt gnawed at her: why, despite every hint, did Edward never speak of the future? She believed he loved her, yet his silence squeezed her heart tighter each day. Finally, she steeled herself—it was time to demand answers.
*”I’m not ready for marriage. I need time to think,”* Edward muttered, avoiding her gaze as he hurriedly gathered his things.
The ground seemed to crumble beneath her. Shame burned her cheeks; her heart split in two. How had she been so blind? It was obvious now—he’d never meant to stay. But hope, that cunning trickster, had made her believe until the very last moment.
A week passed in heavy silence. Edward vanished—no calls, no replies. Emily weathered the storm of anger and grief before deciding enough was enough. She poured herself into her dream: a flat of her own. By then, she’d saved enough for the deposit, and that goal became her lifeline, pulling her away from thoughts of betrayal.
Three months later, Emily held the keys to a cosy little flat on the outskirts of town. The hunt for a place, the paperwork, the mortgage—all of it pushed Edward from her mind. For the first time, she felt free.
On her first evening there, she popped into the local shop for groceries. A scrawny little kitten, all wide eyes and ribs, darted up to her on the narrow street. It stared right into her soul—hungry, frightened, achingly familiar. Emily froze. She’d never planned on pets, but this tiny, trembling thing was a mirror of her own loneliness.
*”Take him, love, or the strays ‘round here’ll tear him apart,”* an older woman passing by called out.
The words struck deep. Without another thought, Emily scooped the kitten up. She was the mistress of her own life now, free to choose. And so, Whiskers came home—a small, warm bundle who gazed at her with boundless trust.
Six months slipped by. Life settled into a gentle rhythm—until Edward reappeared like a bolt from the blue, flowers in hand, full of promises to start anew. Though the memory of his betrayal ached, Emily gave him a chance. He spoke more of a future together, and against her better judgment, hope flickered in her chest once more.
Then came the day she’d waited for. Edward knelt, ring in hand, and proposed. Tears of joy blurred her vision—until his next words shattered everything.
*”Just get rid of Whiskers. I’ve got allergies, and frankly, I can’t stand cats.”*
The world tilted. After all the pain, all the waiting—*this* was his condition?
*”If you don’t want to toss him out, we could rehome him. Or… well, put him down,”* Edward added, mistaking her silence for hesitation.
*”Are you mad?”* Her voice trembled with fury. *”He’s alive! He’s family!”*
*”Family?”* Edward scoffed. *”He’s just a cat, Em. Choose: him or me.”*
Tears spilled freely. Edward dabbed at them, but her eyes stayed fixed on Whiskers, curled in the corner, watching her with quiet trust. With a sharp breath, she stepped back.
*”I choose Whiskers,”* she said firmly, voice shaking but clear. *”He’s never betrayed me. Never made me beg for love. Get out. We’re done.”*
The door slammed behind Edward. Emily sank to the floor—and in an instant, Whiskers was in her lap, purring loud as thunder. The tears stopped. For the first time, certainty settled in her chest: she’d made the only choice that mattered.
Some loves demand sacrifices. Real love doesn’t.
