LUCKY OR JUST A FOOL?
Emma, a quiet, unassuming girl, was often called “the lucky fool” by her friends. How could those two things go together? You’ll soon see.
Before she’d even turned twenty, a friend invited her on a holiday to Brighton. Sea, sunshine, free accommodation—they were staying with her friend’s relatives. There, Emma met Oliver—a handsome former lieutenant colonel renting a place nearby. A military man with a past, having served in Afghanistan, he now worked as a recruitment officer. He carried himself with strength, certainty, and authority. And yet—there was pain. Emma realised this when she spotted the old, jagged scar on his back. Foolishly, she asked:
“Did you get that over there?”
Oliver just shrugged and dived under the water. He didn’t like talking about it.
Emma fell head over heels. She gave herself to him the moment he wanted. In return, he smirked and said:
“Well, guess we’re getting married now.”
She wasn’t bothered that no words of love were spoken. To her, this was true happiness.
Oliver was seventeen years older and took charge of everything: a no-fuss wedding, just signing papers at the registry office in his hometown. “We’re too old for fairy tales,” he said. Besides, he’d been through it all before. He was a widower with an eight-year-old daughter.
This hit Emma hard, but she decided love mattered more. So she stayed. The girl, Lily, was neglected—shuffled between grandmothers. At first, Emma just pitied her. Then, hearing Lily call her “Mum” from the street one day, she nearly cried. She adopted Lily.
Emma had only ever done a hairdressing course. She wanted to study—Oliver shut her down:
“Find a salon and get pregnant. I want a son.”
But no pregnancy came. Or maybe the problem wasn’t hers.
Then disaster struck: one of Oliver’s subordinates was caught taking bribes. Though Oliver wasn’t involved, the blame rolled uphill. He was forced to retire “for health reasons.” The pension was decent, but it broke him. He locked himself away, stopped contributing, spent his days drinking with mates. After a year or two, Emma realised: the man she’d married was gone. He didn’t work, didn’t help, didn’t even buy groceries—just ate whatever he fancied from the fridge.
When summer came, Emma and Lily went to Brighton. Two weeks there made it clear: she had to leave.
“You’re still my mum,” Lily told her.
Emma nodded.
Oliver threw a fit:
“Fine, you take Lily then!”
When he realised she was serious, he spat:
“You’re a fool, Emma.”
She went back to her hometown, to her parents. They’d hoped for blood grandchildren, but they accepted Lily. The girl started school; Emma went back to cutting hair. One day, a silver-haired man walked in—polite, pleasant. Left a tip, then a bouquet that evening. His name was Henry. Ten years older, divorced, owned a house, ran a small but steady construction firm.
With him, life felt cosy. He said he loved her. Emma thought: How much longer should I chase happiness? This was it. They married. Friends whispered:
“If only she hadn’t taken in her ex’s kid, she wouldn’t be such a fool.”
Emma sometimes felt a pang—she’d never had children of her own. But life had another twist. Henry’s younger sister was trouble. Two daughters, irresponsible, always drunk. Now she was losing custody. Social services were involved.
Henry hesitated:
“It’s not really your responsibility…”
Emma pictured the girls—like a boat everyone was pushing away. Their mother, their fathers, even their uncle. And what, would she do the same?
“We’ll take them,” she said firmly. “You know Lily isn’t mine by blood. And she’s practically grown—off to college soon.”
Henry pulled her close, and they sat there silently, holding each other. Two people who didn’t need words anymore.
So, was Emma lucky? No doubt! First husband—officer, handsome. She’d known love, lived the dream. Divorced, yes, but no ties. Second chance—a kind man, home, stability. No wonder colleagues envied her.
But was she a fool? Adopted a girl, took in her husband’s nieces. Knew it meant sleepless nights, tears, bills. But she didn’t back down. Because her heart never chose the easy path.
…As she drifted off against Henry’s shoulder, Emma imagined braiding the girls’ hair, picking out dresses, reading bedtime stories. Their house would be full of laughter, home-cooked meals, birthday balloons, park swings. Lily was grown—more friend than daughter now. These little ones would stay close for years. And that—that was happiness. Emma wasn’t afraid of it. So no, not a fool. Just a woman lucky enough to know what really mattered.
