The Roadblock to Happiness
Emma had finally ended things with the bloke she once thought she’d build a future with. His name was Oliver, and they’d been together nearly two years, even moving in together at one point. But the longer they shared a home, the clearer it became to Emma—this wasn’t the man she could spend her life with. He grated on her nerves: his laziness, the flat always in disarray, the endless excuses about work, the way he sprawled on the sofa scrolling through his phone.
That evening, after a gruelling shift at the hospital, Emma made up her mind—enough was enough. The flat was a mess, as always. Oliver, unshaven and in a worn-out tee, idly flicked through social media.
“Oliver, pack your things. We’re done,” she said flatly, no room for doubt in her voice.
“Have you gone mad? What’s your problem now?” he snapped, jumping up from the sofa.
“Everything. I’m tired of carrying you. Just go.”
“You’ll regret this. Where the hell am I supposed to go at this hour?”
“Your parents’, a mate’s place—anywhere but here.”
He slammed the door on his way out, vowing she’d live to regret it. But Emma didn’t waver. *When one door closes, another opens,* she thought, sinking onto the sofa with a newfound lightness in her chest.
Her parents, especially her mum, were relieved.
“About time you kicked that layabout to the curb. You’re twenty-seven—it’s time to think about settling down,” her mum, Margaret, chided.
Emma didn’t need reminding. Working as a nurse in A&E was no walk in the park—every shift brought in patients in critical condition. Some days, she could barely lift her arms from exhaustion, only to come home to more chores: dinner, cleaning, Oliver’s endless whining.
After the breakup, life became simpler: kebabs from the corner shop, a hot shower, and sleep. No complaints, no drama.
A few months later, James walked into her life. He’d brought a mate to the hospital after a car accident and noticed straight away—there was something about Emma’s expression that caught him. He tried striking up a conversation but failed. Still, he returned the next morning, waiting for her outside the hospital. Tall, fair-haired, with a warm smile—she liked him instantly.
From then on, things moved fast. He was attentive, honest, a good listener. He worked with his dad hauling freight and made time for her without fail.
A couple of months in, Emma introduced James to her parents. Margaret stiffened, her face tightening.
“Hello, come in,” she said curtly.
Over dinner, her dad made small talk while her mum barely spoke. James felt the chill; Emma was baffled.
Later, she learned the truth: James’s mum, Eleanor, was Margaret’s old school friend—the one who’d stolen her boyfriend years ago. Margaret had never forgiven her. Even after marrying and having Emma, she’d always believed life owed her more. Seeing her rival’s son in her home was too much.
“It’s him or me,” Margaret declared.
But Emma chose love. She told James everything. He just shrugged.
“We’re not responsible for our parents’ history. We’ve got our own lives to live.”
He confessed to his mum who Emma was. Eleanor simply nodded.
“You two write your own story. No grudges here. Just be happy.”
They married. Both sets of parents attended but kept their distance. Margaret didn’t smile once all evening. Eleanor, on the other hand, was radiant with joy.
Months passed. Emma and James lived together, visiting both families, but the silence between the parents remained unbroken.
“Maybe once there’s a grandkid, the ice’ll thaw,” James said hopefully.
For now, they were happy just the two of them. And only recently had they discovered the best news of all—soon, their home would echo with a baby’s laughter.
