The Perfect Family
“Oh, I’m scared,” Emily stopped in front of the apartment building.
“Of what? My parents?” Jack asked, taking her hand.
“That they won’t like me,” Emily admitted, looking up at Jack with nervous guilt.
“Don’t worry. You’ll see—everything will be fine. I love you. *I’m* the one marrying you, not my parents. Come on.” Jack gently pulled her toward the entrance.
“Mum’s name is Eleanor Margaret. Got it?” he instructed.
Emily repeated it slowly.
“I’ll definitely forget or mix it up from nerves,” she confessed.
“And Dad—”
“Henry William!” Emily blurted out. “At least your dad’s name is straightforward. Where did your mum get a name like that? Is your grandfather German?”
“What makes you think that?”
They stepped inside, and Jack pressed the lift button.
“Father named her after his wife. Said she was a radiant woman—an actress. Shame I never met her; she died young. His family had English roots.”
The lift arrived, doors sliding open with a soft chime. The two stepped in.
“Relax. I’m right here,” Jack murmured, pulling her close.
The door was opened by a petite woman with a sleek bob. Emily was struck by how young she looked to be Jack’s mother. She greeted them warmly, ushering them inside.
Dressed in flowing taupe silk trousers and a crisp white blouse, Eleanor carried an effortless elegance. Under the bright hallway light, faint lines at her eyes and mouth betrayed her years.
“Hello,” Emily said, glancing at Jack for reassurance. He stayed silent, leaving her to navigate alone. Afraid of misspeaking, she avoided using Eleanor’s name altogether, dropping her gaze.
“Come in, Emily. Don’t be shy. No one gets my name right the first time,” Eleanor said kindly, and Emily offered a grateful smile.
“No need to take off your shoes. Straight through. Henry! Where are you?” Eleanor called.
Moments later, a broad-shouldered man entered—handsome, with an air of old Hollywood charm. To Emily, he brought to mind Cary Grant, though their features didn’t match. Beside him, Eleanor looked almost fragile. *What must he have been like in his youth?* Emily wondered.
“Henry William,” he introduced himself, extending a hand. Emily placed her slender fingers in his palm. His grip was firm, warm, brief.
“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Eleanor commanded.
“Jack, take care of Emily,” Henry said, pouring wine from an already open bottle.
Eleanor asked delicate questions, never prying, and shared stories of their family. Whether it was the wine or the comfortable atmosphere, Emily gradually relaxed.
“Tell your parents not to worry. We’ll handle the wedding ourselves,” Eleanor concluded with a warm smile.
To Emily, Jack’s family seemed perfect. Hers was nothing like it. Her mother fussed over feeding everyone, while her father drank too much, refilling his glass without waiting. Drunk, he’d lecture anyone within earshot, snapping at her mother if she tried to rein him in.
She’d always been ashamed of him. Part of her wished she could exclude her parents from the wedding—but they’d be hurt. If only she had parents like Jack’s. Why had she agreed to marry him? They were from different worlds. Lost in thought, she barely heard Jack’s words.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“I said they like you.”
“Your parents are wonderful. I hope we can have what they do. You can see how much they love each other—and you. But mine… I dread how they’ll behave at the wedding.”
“Don’t stress. They won’t let you down. We argue too, just… quieter. Speaking of, have you picked a dress? I want you to be the most beautiful bride.” He kissed her softly.
Emily didn’t want to shop alone, and tradition forbade Jack seeing the dress. Her mother was out—too practical, always penny-pinching. That left her friend Lucy.
She rang Lucy as soon as she got home.
Lucy erupted into excited chatter, barely pausing for breath between gossip and questions. Finally, Emily cut in.
“I need your help picking a wedding dress.”
“You’re getting married? Brilliant! Congrats! Of course—” Lucy launched into a story about a mutual friend’s wedding. Emily tuned out.
“So, will you?” she interrupted.
“Obviously! When?”
They agreed to meet at a café near the bridal boutique.
*God, she’s loud,* Emily sighed after hanging up. But Lucy was her only option.
At the café, Emily arrived early. The waiter brought a menu.
“Could I order later? I’m waiting for a friend.”
He nodded and vanished. Lucy, predictably, was late. Emily scanned the room—then froze.
Henry sat a few tables away, utterly absorbed by the young blonde across from him. The way she smiled at him wasn’t casual. Emily looked away. *Where is Lucy?* She’d leave soon if this dragged on.
Her gaze kept flicking back. Henry clasped the blonde’s hands, speaking intently. Then—he leaned in and kissed her.
A date? An affair? Did Jack know? Did Eleanor?
She should leave before he noticed her. But she stayed rooted, afraid to draw attention.
*Perfect family, my foot.* Though, with a man like him, was it any surprise?
“Em! Over here!” Lucy’s voice cut through the hum as she weaved between tables. Vibrant and fiery-haired, she turned heads. Plopping into the seat, she exhaled dramatically.
“Sorry! Traffic nightmare. Then I nearly snapped my heel—”
“Lucy, lower your voice,” Emily hissed.
“Who cares?” Lucy scanned the room.
“I have to go. Let’s reschedule.” Emily stood abruptly, avoiding Henry’s direction.
She hurried out, cursing herself—and Lucy.
Lucy caught up outside. “You drag me here, then bolt? Explain!”
“Just—my head hurts. I’ve got an errand. Sorry.” Emily walked off.
“I can drive you!” Lucy called after her.
Emily didn’t look back.
Calmer, she called Jack for Eleanor’s number.
“Sent. Good call—Mum’s got great taste,” he said.
“Emily?” Eleanor answered promptly.
“Eleanor Margaret,” Emily stumbled slightly. “Could you… help me choose a dress?”
“Absolutely. Tomorrow?”
Eleanor was a natural. The boutique staff deferred to her as she curated three options. Emily tried them on, each time met with a critical stare until—finally—approval. Shoes took another two hours. Exhausted, they loaded bags into Eleanor’s car.
“Let’s grab coffee,” Eleanor suggested.
They entered the same café. Emily scanned the room—no Henry. She relaxed.
“Eleanor… how have you stayed with a man like Henry all these years? I’d die of jealousy,” Emily admitted.
Eleanor smiled faintly.
“I love him. It’s amusing, watching women fawn over him. I was jealous once. Then I got used to it. People think I don’t suit him. Do you?”
“No! Not at all,” Emily rushed.
“Handsome as he is, he’s hopeless alone. Doesn’t know where his socks are. At work, he’s a charmer—at home, a child. Every morning, I lay out his clothes. He thinks he picked them.”
“Remember this, love: a wise woman never lets her husband know she’s smarter. Advice should feel like his idea. That’s the secret.”
*And yet he chose that mistress. Should I tell her?* Emily hesitated—then stayed silent. Maybe it hadn’t gone further.
But days later, she spotted Henry and the blonde leaving a jeweller’s.
Finally, she hinted to Jack his family wasn’t so perfect.
“What do you mean?”
She confessed what she’d seen.
“You must’ve mistaken him. Dad loves Mum,” Jack said, troubled.
“Nobody looks like him. I shouldn’t have told you.”
“He *loves* her,” Jack snapped.
Their first near-fight. Emily backpedalled.
At Henry’s birthday planning, Jack left to fetch something. Alone with Eleanor, Emily fidgeted.
“You’re dying to ask me something,” Eleanor observed.
“I… saw Henry. With a blonde.”
Eleanor’s face didn’t change—only her eyes dimmed.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You think I don’t know?”
“You… *know*?”
“He’s cheated for years. Women always know.”
“And you’ve forgiven him?”
“I love him,” Eleanor sighed. “A row, a divorce—then what? I grew up poor in a cramped flat. Dad drank; Mum aged too soon. Henry was my escape. Jack adored him. I couldn’t take that away. We kept up appearances.”
“He’d never leave me. I know his weaknesses. With me, he doesn’t have to pretend. Forgiveness is hard. We’re moreAs years passed, Emily realized that love wasn’t about perfection, but about choosing—day after day—to build something real, just as Eleanor had.
