Broken Roses: A Love Drama of Anna and James
Margaret burst into her daughter’s flat at dawn, her footsteps echoing loudly in the silence. Seeing Emma in the kitchen, her face buried in her hands and shoulders shaking with sobs, her mother froze.
“Emma, what’s happened?” Margaret’s voice trembled with worry.
Emma stayed silent, only gulping back tears.
“Darling, is it the baby?” her mother pressed, her heart clenching with fear.
“No, Mum, the baby’s fine,” Emma whispered, wiping her damp cheeks.
“Then why are you crying like this?” Margaret stepped closer, peering into her daughter’s face.
Emma, unable to speak, suddenly thrust her phone at her mother.
Margaret grabbed it with shaking hands, scanned the message, and went still, as if struck by lightning.
Meanwhile, James, just back from a long work trip, quietly set his heavy bag down by the door of their home in the outskirts of York. In his hands, he clutched a bouquet of crimson roses—Emma’s favourite. He’d dreamed of surprising her, arriving unannounced. His heart pounded with anticipation: he imagined walking in, wrapping his arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair, and kissing her the way he hadn’t in months. Tiptoeing to avoid detection, he reached the porch—then froze when he heard Margaret’s voice from the kitchen.
“I’ve told you a hundred times, Emma, you deserve better! It’s time to cut ties, draw the line! No more silence, no more suffering! You have to act now!” Margaret’s tone was sharp, unwavering. “He’s drained you, and still you pity him! This can’t wait, love. Trust me, it’ll be for the best.”
James felt the floor vanish beneath him. Her words burned like hot iron. Emma stayed silent, offering no defence—and that silence shattered his heart. Did she truly think so little of him? Had she been miserable all this time? The roses trembled in his grip. He didn’t step inside. Quietly, he slipped his shoes back on, grabbed his bag, and left without a sound, shutting the door on the home he’d once called his own.
His chest felt hollow, as though a winter gust had swept through him. He couldn’t believe Margaret—someone he’d trusted—despised him so deeply. And Emma… If she’d already made her choice, he wouldn’t let her dump him first. He loved her madly, but if she was unhappy, he’d let her go—for her sake.
James stayed with a mate that night, replaying Margaret’s words in his head until dawn. With a heavy heart, he texted Emma the next morning: “I’ve met someone else. Don’t wait for me. Be happy. Goodbye.” Sending it felt like something inside him snapped. He boarded the first train to London, determined to erase the past.
There, he changed his number, deleted all traces of Emma, and buried himself in work as a bus driver. Late each night, he’d collapse into bed, desperate for sleep. Days, weeks, months blurred together.
Emma, waking to the message in the dead of night, couldn’t believe her eyes. She read it again and again, tears streaming. She’d counted the days until his return—only for him to betray her. When Margaret found her sobbing the next morning, she rushed over, alarmed.
“Emma, what’s wrong? Is it the baby?”
“No, Mum,” Emma choked out, handing her the phone.
Margaret read the message aloud:
“’I’ve met someone else. Don’t wait for me. Be happy. Goodbye.’”
She gasped, clutching her chest.
“Mum, why would he do this?” Emma wept. “He found someone else while he was away! And I’m… alone. How do I live with this? Our baby—he wanted this child, and now he’s left us!”
“Don’t say that,” Margaret said firmly, pulling her close. “You have your baby to live for. That’s your joy now. We’ll manage—I’ll help. But he… he isn’t worth these tears.”
Her words calmed Emma, though she still loved James. She buried her feelings deep, hoping he’d return one day. Soon, she gave birth to a healthy boy, naming him Oliver—his father’s mirror image: the same eyes, the same fair curls. Emma often whispered to him, “Oliver James, my little one, are you hungry?”
Oliver grew bright and cheerful, filling her days with laughter. When he turned three, Emma visited London to see her friend Charlotte, who’d long invited them. Days later, they boarded a bus to the zoo—and there, at the wheel, she saw him.
Emma froze, her pulse racing. “James!” slipped out before she could stop it.
He turned, their eyes locking. For a second, he forgot everything. “Hello, Emma,” he managed quietly.
He didn’t notice Oliver at first. A bitter ache twisted his chest: Had she had a child with someone else? They’d dreamed of this… Then Oliver looked up. “Mummy, who’s that?”
“That’s your dad,” Emma said loud enough for James to hear—then stepped off the bus.
James stood stunned. Your dad. The words echoed in his skull. He couldn’t believe it. Apologising to passengers, he stopped the bus and sprinted after her, catching her arm. “Is it true? He’s mine?”
Emma nodded, eyes glistening. “I never lied to you. Go—your bus is waiting.”
James knew this wasn’t the time, but he couldn’t let go. “Meet me here at nine tonight. Please.”
At the zoo, Emma couldn’t focus. His reaction stunned her—did he really think she’d betray him? Logic said walk away, but her heart pulled her back. That evening, leaving Oliver with Charlotte, she went to meet him.
James stood under drizzling rain, clutching an umbrella. Spotting her, he hurried over, shielding her. “Let’s go there,” he said, nodding to a nearby café.
They sat in silence until he spoke. “That boy… Is he really mine?”
“Yes,” Emma whispered. “I was pregnant when you left. I waited for you—wanted to tell you—but you… You never even let me explain.”
“I was home that day,” James said hoarsely. “I heard everything.”
“Heard what?”
“I came back early with roses. I heard your mum telling you to leave me. Saying I’d worn you down, that you deserved better. You didn’t argue. I thought you’d made up your mind—thought you didn’t want me. So I sent that text. But there was no one else. Only you.”
Emma listened in disbelief, tears falling. “You got it all wrong!” she cried. “We weren’t talking about you—it was my boss, Henry Williams! He made me work triple shifts, humiliated me. Mum begged me to quit before the pregnancy showed. I loved you—I still do! But you left before I could say a word!”
James stared at her, shocked. How had he misunderstood so badly? Emma stood to leave—but he grabbed her hand, pulled her close, and kissed her.
From that day, they never parted. Together, they raised Oliver, showering him with love. That awful moment became their lesson: never make a choice before hearing the whole truth.
