**The Inevitable Choice**
Emily flinched at the sharp shout:
“Oi, you little pest!” Victor raised a heavy shopping bag over the puppy, then turned on her: “Have you lost your mind? Feeding strays with my food?”
One spring day, Emily had felt a sudden, aching longing for love.
She stood before the mirror, studying her reflection pensively. “How quickly time flies,” she sighed. “It feels like just yesterday I was young as a daisy, and now… well, more like a full-blown rose. Still lovely, but with autumn’s touch. Soon winter, and then… no, it’s time to take life into my own hands!”
Thirty-seven—the age when wisdom has settled in, but beauty hasn’t yet faded. The perfect time for bold moves! But where to find this elusive love? At work, it was all women; random street encounters weren’t her style, and online dating only bred distrust.
Still, they say fortune favors the bold.
And then, luck smiled: a new hire joined HR—Thomas Whitmore. Tall, a little soft around the edges, with a kind smile and stern glasses. Around her age. Emily noticed his calm demeanour and quiet confidence.
The competition was fierce. Just look at Sophie, the junior HR assistant—youthful as a fawn, with legs for days, plump lips, and lashes that could summon a hurricane with a flutter.
At first, Emily despaired. How could she, plain and homely, compare to such a radiant beauty? Surely Thomas wouldn’t glance her way before falling at Sophie’s feet, dazzled by her youth and bold charm.
But she was wrong. Sophie strutted around Thomas like a peacock, flashing cleavage and endless legs, yet he remained unmoved:
“Sophie, do you need something? I’ll help once I’m done.”
His gaze stayed firm on her eyes, indifferent to her antics.
Then one day, Emily brought her famous apple pie to work, and Thomas suddenly brightened:
“Emily, you’re a witch! My gran used to bake pies like this. Takes me right back.”
An odd compliment. Emily hadn’t meant to remind a grown man of his grandmother. She wanted a partner, not a boy nostalgic for childhood. Still, she decided it was a start. Better that than nothing.
Besides, she realised: Thomas was weak for homemade meals. Cooking was her joy—though it showed—once a size 10, now a solid 14. So she baked more: treats for colleagues, less for herself.
Through pies and Sunday roasts, Emily found her way to Thomas’s heart. Simple, clichéd, but effective—stomach first. Soon, flowers, compliments, and deep conversations followed.
“It’s funny, Thomas,” she admitted once. “I’d just started dreaming of love, and there you were. So… real. I thought I stood no chance, especially with Sophie fluttering about.”
“Sophie?” He laughed. “Come off it! Girls like her are a dime a dozen—fake lashes, talon nails, legs always on display. Think blokes fall for that. Not me. A woman should be real: kind, warm, a homemaker. Like you, Em.”
*”This is it,”* Emily rejoiced. *”My happiness—late, but found!”*
Thomas seemed perfect. But no one is.
Six months in, their romance neared marriage—until a bleak November evening.
The weather was wild: rain, sleet, wind whipping unpredictably. Huddled under an umbrella, Emily and Thomas hurried home.
“Look, a kitten!” Emily stopped abruptly.
Under a lamppost, shivering, sat a tiny black kitten—soaked, filthy, pitiful.
“Leave it, Em. I’m freezing and starving,” Thomas tugged her sleeve.
“Just a second.” She bent down. “Come here, little one.”
“Are you serious?” Thomas snapped. “I’m soaked, and you’re fussing over strays?”
“We’re taking him,” she said firmly, tucking the kitten into her coat. “Quit grumbling. He’s worse off than us.”
“Mad cat lady,” he muttered, stomping ahead.
At home, Thomas’s patience vanished.
“Feed it and chuck it out!” he demanded.
“*Chuck it out?* In this weather? He’s defenceless!”
“Em, don’t be daft. Streets are full of strays—you taking them all in? Do one nice thing and move on. I’m hungry!”
“No, Thomas. I won’t abandon him.”
He scowled. “I can’t stand cats! Pets are pointless unless they’re useful—meat, milk, wool. Yours? Just nuisances. Not in my home.”
Emily saw a different man—cold, selfish, calculating.
“First, it’s *my* home,” she said coolly. “Second, tell me, Thomas—did you pick me just for *usefulness*?”
He hesitated. “Well, a wife should keep house. What’s wrong with that?”
“So I’m your *useful* homemaker, and Sophie’s too vain. You want everything to revolve around you. Get out.”
“No dinner, then?” he scoffed. “Fine. Enjoy dying alone with a houseful of cats.”
“Leave.”
He went, expecting her to cave. She didn’t.
New Year’s came. Emily celebrated with the kitten—now named Shadow—grown fluffy and dignified as a panther. He soothed her sadness, purring on her lap.
Spring arrived. Hope waned—until new neighbour George moved in.
George was Thomas’s opposite: stocky, balding, gruff. Post-divorce, he lived opposite.
“Alright, love?” he’d grunt. “Need help? I’m handy.”
At first, she refused—until her kettle broke.
“Any good with gadgets?”
“Expert level,” he boasted. An hour of colourful language later, it worked. Grateful, she invited him for dinner—and so it began.
“You cook proper, Emily,” he praised. “I’m no slouch either. Ex never appreciated it…”
*”So I’m not just his maid,”* she thought. Plus, George liked Shadow:
“Proper little gent, this one,” he’d say, scratching his ears.
She took it slow—they were opposites. But maybe that worked?
Then, waiting outside Tesco, Emily spotted a ginger pup eyeing her shyly. She broke off some sausage and crouched:
“Here, boy.”
George stormed out:
“Scram, mutt!” He swung his bag, then rounded on her: “Lost your marbles? Feeding my sausage to strays? It’ll bite you—rabies next!”
The pup cowered under a bench. Emily stood, gripping the sausage:
“You love Shadow—why yell at this pup?”
“Are you thick?” he barked. “Shadow’s *yours*. This one’s vermin—should be put down, not fed!”
Fury surged. She shoved the sausage into his mouth.
“Here’s your sausage. And I’m done with cruel men.”
She scooped up the pup—who didn’t resist. George ranted, but she walked away.
Now they were three: Emily, Shadow, and the pup—Biscuit, for his golden fur and curled tail. George called her a fool, predicted loneliness, and vanished.
“No luck with men,” she’d sigh to them. “And yet…”
Thomas was selfish—Shadow revealed it. George was cruel—Biscuit showed his nature.
“Poor missus,” Biscuit would whimper.
“Don’t fret,” Shadow purred. “She’ll find the right one.”
“How d’you know?”
“I’m a cat. I know things.”
He wasn’t wrong. Next spring, Emily met someone who loved her—and animals—without hidden edges. Their future? Surely bright. But that’s another story.
