**A Loving Heart**
Tom stood by the window, gazing at the sunlit courtyard. In the neighbouring house stood a Tesco Express, where people cut through the yard to save time. But the people didn’t interest Tom. He was waiting for one person—Emily.
For as long as he could remember, he had been in love with her. Emily was two years older and lived two floors below. She was nothing extraordinary—just a girl like any other. But to Tom, she was everything. You can’t command the heart—it loves who it loves, and that was that.
She had just finished her A-levels and was preparing to study nursing. Now, he wouldn’t be able to walk behind her to school or catch glimpses of her in the corridors. All that remained was his vigil by the window, waiting for a sight of her.
Emily barely noticed him. To her, Tom was just a boy, a neighbour. So he kept his feelings hidden, afraid she would push him away as nothing more than a schoolboy. He waited, convinced that when he turned eighteen and finished school, he’d confess everything. But the moment he received his diploma and prepared for university, Emily ran off and got married. Quite literally.
From the window, Tom watched as a silver Mercedes, ribbons fluttering, pulled up outside. A tall man in a navy suit paced impatiently beside it, glancing up at the second-floor windows. Then, in a whirl of lace and tulle, Emily burst out, tripped on the steps, and tumbled into her groom’s waiting arms. He swept her into the car before realising her heel had snapped. Emily’s mother rushed out with a pair of white trainers, and off they went—Emily married in pumps, not pearls.
The whole estate buzzed with gossip. Everyone agreed it was a bad omen, that the marriage wouldn’t last, that happiness wouldn’t follow.
After the wedding, Tom spent two days lying on his bed, face to the wall. His mother nearly called the doctor, fearing he’d fallen ill. On the third day, he returned to his post by the window. But Emily had vanished. His mother explained she’d left for a honeymoon in Spain. Tom dreaded she might move away for good—until, two weeks later, a sun-kissed Emily reappeared in the courtyard, radiant. His heart swelled.
Emily’s mother soon moved in with her eldest son, leaving the newlyweds to settle into their life. Time passed, and against all predictions, they seemed happy.
Tom’s world realigned. He saw Emily every day again, though now often beside her husband. But to his relief, six months later, they divorced. His mother broke the news over dinner. The omen had proven true: the marriage hadn’t lasted. Rumour had it her husband’s first wife—mother to his young son—had intervened. They’d divorced in a fit of anger, he’d rushed into remarrying Emily, then realised his mistake. His ex-wife had told Emily everything.
*”He loves his son. I’ve forgiven him. Let him go—you’ll find happiness again.”*
And Emily did. Tom imagined he could hear her crying through the walls, though that was impossible. After three days without a glimpse of her, fear coiled in his chest—had she done something reckless? He sprinted down four flights of stairs and rang her bell.
She opened the door, tear-streaked and dishevelled, eyes swollen. Seeing him, she collapsed onto the sofa, sobbing. Tom hesitated, then crouched beside her, gently rubbing her back until her shaking subsided. When she lifted her face to his, he loved her even more—broken, vulnerable, beautiful.
*”Don’t cry,”* he whispered. *”Wait for me. Once I finish uni, I’ll marry you.”*
He kept his word. At university, he’d run into Emily occasionally—head down, trudging home from work. He’d carry her shopping, crack jokes, walk her to her door. She never invited him in.
His mother knew, hoping he’d grow out of it, fall for someone his own age. Then came the next blow: Emily was seeing someone—a doctor, twice her age, married. His daughter was Emily’s peer.
Tom burned with jealousy. The only consolation? The doctor would never leave his wife.
Winter deepened, snow blanketing the estate. Then one evening, Emily came to him. His mother was out.
*”Do you have an onion?”* she asked breathlessly, cheeks flushed. *”I’m in a rush—can I borrow one?”*
Disappointed, he fetched two. She hesitated, then asked for another.
*”Expecting company?”* he ventured.
She didn’t answer, just thanked him and left.
Resentment gnawed at him. Why couldn’t she see *him*? He was a man now, not a boy. Glued to the window, he watched the courtyard. A BMW pulled up. A man in a sheepskin coat and fur hat strode in—*her doctor.* Tom’s gut twisted. He paced like a caged animal, debating how to sabotage their evening. But within minutes, the man left.
Heart pounding, Tom raced to her door. Emily answered, eyes hollow.
*”You alone?”* he asked.
She let him in. The table was set for two—untouched wine, a candle snuffed out.
*”Let’s drink,”* she said.
The wine was rich, cloying. After the second glass, courage surged.
*”Your doctor left quickly. Did you split?”*
*”He came to say he won’t leave his wife.”* Her voice cracked. *”Why doesn’t anyone love me?”*
*”I do,”* Tom blurted. *”Since Year 5.”*
The floodgates opened. He confessed everything—his years of watching, waiting, aching.
Emily listened, then took his hand and led him to the bedroom. At the edge of the bed, she unbuttoned her blouse. Tom froze. The ivory lace of her bra, the curve of her—nothing had ever looked so beautiful.
*”Don’t,”* he choked out, stepping back. *”Not like this.”*
She crumpled onto the bed. He sat beside her, hands clammy, too afraid to touch her. She leaned into him, weeping.
*”You’re the best,”* he murmured. *”I promised Mum I wouldn’t marry till after uni. But—will you marry me?”*
Emily pulled back, studied him—then smiled. *”Yes.”*
The doorbell rang. His mother stood there, lips thin with fury. *”Come home. Now.”*
*”I love her,”* Tom said later. *”I’ll marry her after uni. If you stop me, I’ll leave tonight.”*
His mother wilted. He’d won.
He visited Emily often after that, took her to films, made her laugh. When he graduated, he landed a job at a firm. One day, he arrived at her door with roses. Her mother welcomed him in, the flat smelling of baking.
*”She’s just popped to the shops,”* she said, setting the flowers in a vase.
When Emily returned, she eyed him warily.
Tom stood, pulled a ring from his pocket. *”I promised I’d marry you. Will you?”*
Emily opened the box. *”Yes.”*
Of course, people talked. Some pitied him; others shrugged. But on the day they married, as he carried her over the threshold—careful, so she wouldn’t trip—Tom was the happiest man alive.
A year later, he pushed a pram in the courtyard while Emily waved from the window, beaming.
Nothing went wrong.
