Unexpectedly Married
Emma dashed through the shopping centre, arms laden with bags, weaving past shoppers on the escalator. She cursed under her breath at her hopeless boyfriend, Oliver, who didn’t even own a car to collect her and her mountain of purchases. Typical. She’d had to book a cab through an app, and of course, it arrived instantly—forcing her to sprint across the mall in heels, lugging everything to the car park.
Emma was furious. Not only was she left to fend for herself, but her ridiculously expensive leather shoes had rubbed her feet raw.
“Watch where you’re going, love!” snapped a woman on the escalator after Emma accidentally smacked her with a shopping bag.
“Maybe look where *you’re* standing instead of gawping at the sky!” Emma shot back without so much as a glance.
“Rude!” the woman spat, but Emma couldn’t care less.
She burst through the doors into the car park and finally thought to check the cab number—only to find the driver had cancelled. The fare had nearly doubled. Fuming, Emma cancelled the booking, stuffed her phone in her pocket, and spotted a free bench. She dumped her bags and flopped down, peeling off the stupid, blister-inducing shoe.
“Bloody hell! The world’s conspiring against me today!” she grumbled, shoving a bag in frustration. It slumped sadly onto the bench, receipt fluttering to the ground.
Emma leaned back and shut her eyes. Lately, it felt like life was actively plotting her misery…
***
Emma had always believed in aiming high—never settling for less. If it was a phone, it had to be the latest model. If it was a manicure or hair colour, only the top salon would do. Shoes? The finest quality. Naturally, she applied the same standards to her love life. Yet somehow, instead of rich, charming, gorgeous men, she only ever attracted the “bargain bin” types—balding, paunchy, dull, or just plain stingy. She sifted through them all, but none ticked her boxes.
“Keep this up, and you’ll end up alone,” her mum often warned. “A man’s worth isn’t in his wallet or his face, love.”
“Oh, so I should just admire his *actions* in the dark, should I?” Emma scoffed. “Besides, grand gestures need grand budgets.”
Her mum never had a comeback. Emma’s sharp tongue could slice through steel—a skill honed not in debate club but behind a restaurant hostess stand. Three years ago, that job had warped her worldview. Watching well-heeled ladies draped in fur, wined and dined by polished gentlemen, she’d decided: *I deserve that life too.*
Yet fate had other plans. The wealthy suitors never glanced her way. Something about her—maybe the faint whiff of her ordinary upbringing—gave her away. Still, she dreamed of a man with power, prestige, a luxury car, and bespoke suits.
Years passed, boyfriends came and went, but the dream man never materialised. Eventually, she caved when Oliver, a steady-but-unremarkable bank clerk, started pursuing her. Four years older, average height, sandy hair, grey eyes—neither fit nor flabby. His biggest asset? A spacious two-bed flat (mortgaged, of course). No car, though. Oliver insisted public transport was more than enough for city life.
Kind but persistent, he wooed her for months—flowers at work, dinners, the works. After three months of her mum’s nagging (“He’s a good one! Loves you to bits! A bird in the hand, Em!”), she relented.
Grudgingly, Emma admitted life with Oliver wasn’t awful. He was attentive in his own way—paid for her whims, took her abroad (budget airlines, no five-star resorts), cooked dinners, brought her morning coffee. He even encouraged her shopping sprees. And he was dead serious about proposing.
Nearly a year in, Emma had adjusted—but never stopped dreaming. She still complained to friends about Oliver’s shortcomings, though really… she had little to moan about.
***
“Why’s the world against you? I certainly wouldn’t mind your company,” a voice purred near Emma’s ear.
She jolted upright. Behind the bench stood Daniel—a guy who’d fancied her back in college before she’d publicly shot him down.
For a second, she didn’t recognise him. Gone was the scrawny, spotty student. In his place stood a handsome brunet with a sharp haircut, stubble, broad shoulders, and a leather biker jacket.
“Blimey, look at you!” Emma grinned. “You’ve… changed. Long time no see.”
“Too long,” Daniel agreed. “But I spotted you straight away. What’s wrong? Sitting here solo, one shoe off, looking like you’ve lost a fiver and found a penny.”
Emma shrugged and spilled her woes (omitting Oliver, naturally).
“Tell you what—let me drive you home,” Daniel offered, nodding at a gleaming black Range Rover nearby.
Emma perked up instantly, rubbing her sore foot theatrically. Within minutes, Daniel was helping her in, loading her bags, and driving off as she gave her address. The car’s plush interior smelled like ambition.
“So… how’d you pull off this glow-up?” she cooed.
“Luck and the right connections,” he smirked, turning at the lights. “But I’ll spill properly over coffee. There’s a great spot nearby.”
Emma’s mental maths was swift. The shy boy from college had vanished—replaced by a confident, obviously loaded man who was *very* interested in her.
“Love to,” she chirped. “I *did* skip lunch…”
Half an hour later, over lattes, Daniel explained: dropped out, self-taught coder, landed a gig testing AI, then climbed to project lead. Now he ran his own IT firm, developing apps and training talent.
Emma gaped. “You’re brilliant! Always knew you had it in you.”
Daniel chuckled.
“What about you? Married yet?” he asked casually.
Emma shook her head *vigorously*. Suddenly, Oliver—still in the same dull job—seemed pitifully small next to Daniel’s success.
Over food, Daniel waxed poetic about projects, European holidays, and expensive hobbies. Emma melted. *This* was the man she deserved.
After he paid, he stood. “Shame to end such a lovely meet-up.”
“My evening’s wide open,” Emma said quickly.
“Brilliant. Fancy a film?”
She’d have followed him anywhere.
They strolled after the cinema, laughing, flirting. Daniel hinted he’d been single for ages. Meanwhile, Emma texted Oliver: *At Sophie’s. Back late.*
When the chilly April night set in, Daniel suggested coffee in the car to warm up. Emma agreed. Inside, he pulled her close, kissed her—and she let things escalate.
“That was *magical*,” she sighed later, fixing her lipstick as the car sped through the dark. “When will I see you again?”
“I’ll… call you,” Daniel said, parking near her flat.
One last kiss, and Emma floated inside, giddy with triumph and guilt.
The next day, she dumped Oliver. “I never loved you. There’s someone else.”
Oliver just clenched his jaw. “If your mind’s made up, what can I do?”
“Nothing!” Emma snapped, packing. “You’re not what I want.”
Oliver didn’t beg. He knew where she’d *really* been. And he wasn’t grovelling for someone so ungrateful.
Emma swanned back to her mum’s, brimming with plans. Her mum sighed but knew arguing was futile.
Days passed. Then a week. No call. Emma finally dialled Daniel herself. The phone rang out.
“Odd,” she muttered. “Must’ve misdialed?”
She scoured social media—and found Daniel’s profile. Her stomach dropped.
Photos showed him with a woman and two toddlers—playgrounds, beaches, family dinners.
“But… he said he was single!”
No mistaking it: a wife and kids. She called again. This time, he answered.
“Emma? Stop calling. I’m busy.”
“You… you *lied*! You’re married!”
“So? We had fun. That’s all.”
“I’ll tell your wife!”
“Go ahead. Got proof? Didn’t think so.”
Emma slammed the phone down, sickened. She’d been played.
And crawling back to Oliver? Impossible. He’d never take her after this.
She threw her phone on the bed and cried. Her dream life had slapped her—*hard*.
