“You’ve Already Decided for Me?!” — A Tale of a Wedding That Never Was
Emily sat at a small table in a cosy restaurant in the heart of Manchester, waiting for her fiancé, Thomas. He seemed unusually tense, checking his phone every few minutes with restless glances.
“Thomas, you’re acting odd today. What’s going on?” she asked, masking her unease.
“Just wait a moment—I’ll explain. We’re only waiting for my parents…” he dismissed her with a wave.
“Your parents?”
“Yes. And a couple of others with them. We’re not just here for dinner—there’s something to discuss.”
Emily stiffened. She’d known Thomas for half a year now and could recognise his tone when something serious was coming. And it never ended well.
Ten minutes later, Thomas’s parents—William and Margaret—arrived, followed by two strangers.
“Meet Edward and Clara,” Thomas said brightly. “They’re interested in letting your flat. They want a long-term lease.”
“My… flat?” Emily’s grip on her fork tightened.
“Of course. They’re serious—offering £800 a month. After the wedding, we’ll move in with my parents. Their house in the countryside has plenty of space. Why let the flat sit empty? It’ll bring in extra income!”
Emily’s fingers went cold. Oblivious, Thomas pulled papers from a folder.
“Here, I’ve already sorted it with the bank. We’ll transfer your mortgage into both our names—better interest rate, easier payments.”
“You… decided all this?” Emily’s voice trembled. “Without even asking me?”
“Oh, don’t be so childish!” Margaret cut in. “Thomas is thinking of your future. You’re practically family now!”
Edward and Clara exchanged glances.
“Excuse me, but is the flat in your name?” Clara asked Thomas.
“Not yet, but—”
“Then we’re sorry, but this arrangement doesn’t suit us,” Edward said curtly. “We weren’t aware the owner wasn’t even consulted. Good day.”
They left, leaving an awkward silence at the table.
“Well done,” Margaret huffed. “You’ve scared off perfectly decent people with this little scene, Emily!”
“Scene?” Emily rose slowly. “This isn’t a scene. It’s my right to decide what happens to my home.”
“Are you serious?!” Thomas paled. “We’ve planned everything!”
“You planned everything. For the both of us. Without me. And I won’t build a future with someone who thinks that’s acceptable.”
“Emily, let’s just—”
“No. There won’t be a wedding.”
She walked out without looking back—and never replied to his messages again.
At home, perched on the windowsill with a steaming cup of tea, she thought to herself:
*Better alone—but with self-respect—than with someone who doesn’t understand it.*
