London. An autumn evening. A damp wind, weary eyes, and an even wearier heart. Emily returned home after ten hours in the supermarket’s checkout lane. Only one thought circled her mind:
*If only Daniel had at least fried some potatoes…*
The flat greeted her with the scent of something delicious. Emily hung up her coat, kicked off her boots, and stepped into the kitchen—plates of steaming mash and roast chicken sat on the table. Beside them, cutlery, salt, bread, the teapot. Daniel nodded silently at the chair.
“Sit.”
“Blimey, what’s the occasion?” Emily forced a smile. “This is new.”
“Just supper,” he shrugged. “But we need to talk.”
They ate in silence. The chicken—tender, the mash—just salty enough. Emily boiled the kettle, brewed chamomile tea, then sat across from her husband.
“Go on, then. Something’s eating at you.”
Daniel stared out the window for a long moment before meeting her eyes.
“Nan and Granddad’s golden anniversary is Saturday. They’ve invited us.”
“Those the ones who gave us five grand for the wedding? How’s that work? Weren’t we about to divorce?”
“Let’s just go. For their sake. They’re getting on. We’re still married, technically.”
Emily studied him, doubtful. Too tired to argue. Too tired to reconcile.
“Alright. Suppose it’s the last time we play happy couple.”
They drove in Daniel’s father’s car—him up front with his dad, Emily in the back with his mother. Silence.
“Had a row, have you?” her mother-in-law whispered.
“No,” Emily lied, smile tight.
“Look at the rings we got them. Proper gold, lovely.”
“Lovely,” she echoed.
“Stick together. In fifty years, your kids’ll give you the same.”
Emily lowered her gaze. *Fifty years? A lifetime.*
The party was lively—young and old, laughter, mountains of food. But Emily kept her distance. Daniel’s aunts pulled her into planning the entertainment. Women her age, mid-thirties, bickering, poking fun at their husbands—yet visibly in love.
*Did I ever love him? Does he love me?*
Maybe once. But now? The flat’s a mess. Money’s always tight. Three years since she’s bought a proper coat. Kids? He never mentions them. Can’t hold a decent job. Yet once, he’d been everything.
The celebration ran late. Guests dispersed. Nan Margaret approached them.
“Stay the night. Help us tidy up.”
Wordlessly, they cleared tables. Worked in sync. Two hours later, the house was spotless.
Nan set out tea.
“Well, George, fifty years we’ve managed,” she smiled at Granddad.
“Nearly divorced half a dozen times,” he grumbled. “Got as far as the registry office.”
“But we walked back.”
“Wasn’t even working then. Skint.”
“Forgotten how men flocked to me? Called me a right catch. And you—grinning like the cat that got the cream.”
“’Course I remember,” he huffed, but his eyes softened.
Emily watched them—something twisting inside. They bickered, talked over each other, yet… loved. *Really* loved.
*We were like that. Young, hot-headed, convinced we were right. Now they laugh at what nearly broke them.*
Nan pulled an envelope from her pocket.
“Here. Buy yourselves something nice. Won’t leave us short.”
Emily meant to refuse, but Daniel took it.
“Cheers, Nan.”
“Off to bed with you. Room’s ready.”
The room was familiar—Daniel’s childhood bedroom. Now, a double bed. They lay down. Silent.
“Em…” he murmured.
She curled into him. Warmth. *Home.* Not money. Not a new coat. Just *him.*
Daniel drifted off. Emily stared at the ceiling.
*Glad we didn’t divorce. Tomorrow, a proper coat. Then maybe… a baby. Grandkids, one day. In forty-nine years… golden rings. Just like theirs.*
She smiled. First time in ages. And slept. Peacefully. Beside him.
