**A Holiday for Happiness**
We spend all year dreaming of our holiday, preparing for it, hoping we’ll come back happy. But sometimes, the opposite happens…
Back in May, Mark and Emily began planning their trip. They debated destinations, where to stay. Emily wanted the sandy beaches of Brighton—shallow water stretching almost a kilometre, warm and perfect for little Jamie.
“Do you really want to bring the kid?” Mark asked bluntly.
“Are you asking like he’s only *my* child? Yes, of course. What’s wrong with that? People travel with babies all the time.”
“Only if they’ve got no one to leave them with. But we do—your mum. Ask her to look after him, she’d never say no. Do you really want to drag sleepless nights, nappies, and tantrums along? What kind of holiday would that be?”
Emily agreed, though she couldn’t imagine being apart from Jamie for ten whole days.
Mum sided with Mark.
“Go alone, love. You’ll just tire yourselves out with a little one. He won’t even remember it.”
“Look at this hotel I found. And the view—you can see the sea from the top floors.” Mark turned his laptop toward her.
“What does the view matter? You’re going to the sea, not staring at it from a window,” Emily said. “The beaches are pebbly there—no lounging.”
“That’s what deckchairs are for. And at least we won’t drag sand back into the room.”
Mark always had the right arguments. And Emily always gave in, because she loved him madly. What did it matter where they went, what the beach was like, as long as they were together? In their two and a half years of marriage, nothing had changed.
“I think flying’s best. More expensive, but faster,” Mark said.
Meanwhile, Emily’s thoughts lingered on Jamie. He might be little, but he’d notice her absence, miss her, cry. Would Mum cope?
“Should I book the hotel, then?” Mark pulled her from her worries.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
They saw everything differently, even family. Mark had lost his parents young, raised by his grandparents. His grandad passed when he finished school, and Nan only outlived him by two years.
When they met, Mark was already living alone. Emily moved in almost immediately. They fixed up the flat together, building their future nest. Everyone envied Emily.
“Lucky you, Em. Gorgeous bloke, and his *own* place—no meddling mother-in-law. Don’t get cocky, or someone might steal him,” her mate teased.
“Oh, like *you* would?” Emily laughed.
“Well, I’m not bad-looking, am I?”
The first disappointment came a month after the wedding, just before Emily’s birthday, when Mark flatly told her not to invite her mum.
“Friends are coming. She’ll be bored.”
“It’s *her* day too. She *had* me on this day, raised me. How do I even tell her?”
“Invite her the next day. We’ll have tea and cake.”
Emily hated it, but she loved Mark and didn’t want to fight. Mum, if hurt, never showed it. She came the next day, bringing a fine tea set. Mark showered her with compliments, kissed her cheek, thanked her for raising Emily. Crisis averted.
And so it went—every celebration filled with Mark’s mates, most still renting or living with parents. Mum wasn’t invited.
“If you love someone, you take them as they are,” Mum said. “He grew up without parents—he doesn’t get family like we do. Don’t fight over me. Birthdays aren’t that important. A wife must be wise and patient. Start bickering, and it’ll only get worse. You’ve got a son—he needs his dad. And trust me, raising a child alone is hard.”
Emily left Jamie with Mum while she shopped. Post-baby weight clung stubbornly; dresses no longer fit, and she needed a new swimsuit. One day, she twirled before the mirror in a new cream sundress.
“Like it? Once I’ve tanned, it’ll look amazing.” She turned to Mark.
“Fine. You look a bit washed out, though. And it adds pounds.” He barely glanced at her.
Like ice water down her back. She scrutinised her reflection—once slim and bright, now softened by motherhood.
“You *used* to love that my chest got bigger,” she muttered, tossing the dress into the wardrobe.
“Don’t be sensitive. The colour just doesn’t suit you.”
The departure day loomed. Emily packed slowly, savouring every moment with Jamie, dreading leaving him. She wished they’d delayed the trip a year. Jamie would’ve loved the sea, the sand, the sun. *Next time*, she promised herself. Mark would teach him to swim. Unless—
She batted the thought away. Where had *that* come from? They never fought properly. They loved each other. “No *what ifs*,” she ordered herself.
She ate less, checking the mirror daily. Even if she slimmed down, she’d never be the girl Mark fell for.
On the way to the airport, they dropped Jamie at Mum’s. Mark tapped his foot as Emily smothered the boy in kisses.
“Enough. You’re acting like you’re leaving forever.” Mum took Jamie. “Look, he’s getting upset—he senses it. Go, before he starts crying.”
Mark beamed like a child. On the plane, he flirted with the stewardesses. Emily had noticed before—any pretty woman nearby, and Mark turned on the charm. Married barely any time, and already his eyes wandered. What next?
“Em, d’you want juice? *Em!*”
“No, thanks.”
“Cheer up. Jamie’s fine with your mum. We’ll bring him seashells…” She forced a smile.
The hotel room was small but cosy, with air conditioning. The sea was steps away.
“Freedom!” Mark whooped, spinning Emily before tossing her onto the bed. “Right, let’s hit the beach!” He bounced up.
“Yeah. Just let me change…”
The beach was packed, everyone bronzed. Emily hesitated before stripping down to her swimsuit—thankfully high-cut, hiding her stomach.
“Come on, the sooner you start, the sooner you’ll tan,” Mark said, unbothered by his own pale legs.
The sea was warm, gentle. Kids splashed in rubber sandals. *Jamie would’ve struggled here…*
Of course, she burned. Mark begrudgingly left the beach. At lunch, his eyes followed every passing girl. That night, he kissed her.
“*Ouch*—it hurts,” she whispered, her skin afire.
He rolled away, staring at the ceiling.
“It’s not my fault—”
He turned sharply to the wall.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. We’ll lose the loungers again.” His whisper was warm in her ear.
Yesterday’s tension seemed forgotten. But her skin screamed—she needed a break. Too afraid to say so, she covered up with a long skirt and blouse.
On the beach, she slathered on sunscreen, but the sun scorched through.
“Mark, let’s go back. I’m burning.”
“We didn’t come to sit inside. Shouldn’t have roasted yourself yesterday.”
“I wanted to tan faster. I’m going. Stay if you want.” She hoped he’d follow.
His gaze drifted. Two girls in string bikinis and sunhats chatted nearby.
“I’m leaving.” She waited. He didn’t move. She stumbled over pebbles, alone.
He returned hours later, cheerful.
“Starving. Quick shower, then dinner?”
She dressed, fabric searing her skin. At the restaurant, the girls in hats were there. Mark kept looking.
“They’re pretty,” Emily said.
“Who?”
“The girls. I should get a hat—my nose’s burnt.” She imagined the scene: her husband ogling strangers. Her appetite vanished.
“I’m going. I feel feverish.”
Outside, he caught up.
“What’s this act?”
“*Act?* You’re making me feel like a fool. Yes, they’re slim. *Now.* After babies, they’ll look like me—or worse. And you stared right in front of me.”
“Don’t make a scene,” he hissed.
Silence trailed them back. In the room, he lay staring at the ceiling.
She cracked. “I’m jealous.”
“You’re right. We should’ve stayed home.” He stood.
“Where are you going?”
“Out. Not sitting here. Take a pill and sleep.”
“With *them*?”
“Enough.” The door slammed.
Tears came. *Why’s he like this? Was he always this way? Everything moved too fast—falling in love, moving in, marriage, the baby… He’s not ready. Mum’s right—no example growingAnd as she held Jamie tight that night, Emily finally understood—some seashells could never mend what the tide had broken.
