**No Wedding**
Emily graduated from teacher training college with top honors, dreaming of university. But life had other plans. Her father was badly injured in a car accident and spent months in hospital. When he was discharged, her mother took leave from work to care for him as he adjusted to life in a wheelchair.
Their town had no university—she’d have to move to the nearest city. Emily decided to wait another year before applying. She couldn’t abandon her parents now. Instead, she started teaching at the local primary school.
Doctors assured them her father might walk again with therapy, massages, and medication. Her mother sold their holiday cottage in Cornwall to pay for physiotherapists and medicine. But her father never left his wheelchair.
“That’s enough,” he said bitterly one day. “Stop wasting money. It’s pointless.”
His temper soured. He grew irritable, suspicious, snapping at everyone—especially her mother. If he called, she had to drop everything. Usually, he just wanted water, to chat, or ask some trivial question. Meanwhile, dinner burned on the stove.
“Dad, you could wheel yourself to the kitchen. Now the potatoes are ruined,” her mother scolded.
“My life’s ruined, and you’re worried about potatoes?” he’d snap. “It’s easy for you—you can walk. Is it so hard to bring me a glass of water?”
Sometimes he’d hurl a plate or glass in frustration. More often, he begged for whiskey. When drunk, he lashed out at her mother as if she’d caused the crash.
“Dad, drinking won’t help. Read a book, play chess,” Emily pleaded.
“What do you know? Trying to take my last bit of joy? Books are all lies,” he muttered. “I’m useless now.”
“Mum, stop buying him whiskey,” Emily begged.
“If I don’t, he’ll scream. It’s hard for him.”
“But he needs to do his exercises! The doctors said he could walk again. He just doesn’t want to. He enjoys making us run around for him.” She hated how harsh she sounded, but they were exhausted.
One evening, Emily came home drained, her throat sore, longing to rest. But her father kept calling her. Finally, she snapped.
“Enough! I’m exhausted. You have wheels—get your own water. Hundreds of people live like this and still work, even compete in the Paralympics. You can’t wheel yourself to the kitchen? Do it yourself. I’ve got lessons to plan.” She stormed off.
She heard his chair creak down the hall, the clink of a glass on the kitchen table, then silence. She braced for a shouting match, but it never came. From then on, he stopped demanding so much.
On warm days, he’d sit by the open back door—his version of “fresh air.” The doorway was too narrow for his chair. They couldn’t afford renovations.
“Just put me in a care home,” he’d slur after drinking.
“Don’t talk like that,” her mother soothed. “You’re alive—that’s what matters.”
“Wait till you’re sick of cleaning up after me,” he muttered. “Why stay with a cripple? You’re still young…”
Time passed. Autumn rains returned. One afternoon, Emily left school just as a downpour started. She ducked under the bus shelter, but passing cars splashed muddy water onto her trousers. She stood there, shivering like a drenched sparrow.
A van pulled up. A young man jumped out, holding his jacket over his head, and ran to join her.
“Need a lift?”
Cold and soaked, Emily climbed in. The cab smelled of petrol and oil, but it was warm.
“James,” he said.
“Emily.”
“Where to?”
She gave her address. James chatted easily about why he’d become a driver.
“Mum raised me alone. After the army, I started hauling cargo. Pays well, cash in hand. If you ever need anything, call me.” He was already on first-name terms.
“And you? Teacher, huh?”
She nodded.
“Impressive. I’ll pick you up after school sometime. Show off my van,” he grinned. “Everyone’ll be jealous.”
It was easy with him. That evening, he called and asked her to the cinema.
“Sorry, I can’t. My dad’s in a wheelchair.”
“What if I swing by your place?”
“Why?”
“Want to see you. Fancy you,” he admitted bluntly.
“What if I’m not interested?”
“Not good enough for you? Too common?”
“That’s not—fine, I’ll come out.”
The next day, his horn blared outside.
“Who’s that? A suitor?” her mother teased.
“Just a friend.”
“Go on, before he wakes the neighbours.”
James started picking her up regularly. They’d sit in his van, drinking tea from his thermos, eating sandwiches his mum had packed.
“He’s keen. Good catch,” her mother remarked one evening.
“He’s not a catch.”
“Your friends are all marrying. You’ll wake up one day, and it’ll be too late.”
“Mum, I’ve got marking!” She fled to her room.
James had mentioned marriage a few times, but Emily stalled. Her heart didn’t race when she saw him. She disliked how often he talked about money.
“Don’t worry—I’ve got savings. We’ll do it proper. Autumn’s busy—firewood deliveries, clearing gardens. You won’t go hungry with me,” he said, squeezing her in the cramped cab. “I’ll upgrade to a proper car soon.”
No flowers, no restaurants—just thermos tea and sandwiches. When his mum visited her sister, he’d take Emily to his flat. It was all very practical, passionless. She avoided it when she could.
She didn’t love him. But where else would she meet someone? James didn’t drink or smoke. Her mother approved. So she said yes—but made him wait till summer.
Winter usually dragged, but spring came fast. After the bank holidays, James insisted they register at the council office. All she had to do was buy a dress and show up.
One afternoon, Emily bumped into a man in her dimly lit hallway.
“Emily? Is that you?”
She squinted. “Oh my God—James?”
Not the scrawny boy from next door anymore—this James was tall, broad-shouldered, handsome. His parents used to bring him to his gran’s every summer. They’d been inseparable, swearing they’d marry someday. Then he stopped visiting.
“I’m back for Gran’s birthday. You look amazing,” he said, smiling.
Her heart fluttered. “You too. What are you doing now?”
“Freelance work. And you?”
“Teaching. Dad’s in a wheelchair.”
“Gran told me. Any chance he’ll walk again?”
“The doctors say yes. But he won’t try. Drinks instead.” She blinked back tears.
“And you? Happy?”
“Getting married,” she blurted, then flushed.
“Who’s the lucky man?”
“I’ve got to go.” She hurried upstairs, feeling his gaze on her back.
Now James’s honking made her cringe. One evening, she snapped when he pulled up.
“Stop that! The whole street can hear!”
“Come for a drive,” he insisted.
“Fine.” She climbed in, furious.
He took her to his flat. His mum was away.
“We agreed no sex before the wedding!” she protested as he tugged at her clothes.
“Wait—that’s your dad.” James answered his phone on speaker.
“James, is Emily there? Her mum’s collapsed. Ambulance took her to hospital—”
Emily bolted for the door. James grabbed her arm.
“Let go!”
“You can’t help her now. Stay.” He kissed her neck.
She shoved him back. He stumbled over his shoes, landing on the shoe rack. She ran.
No phone, no money—just her dressing gown and slippers. Then headlights appeared.
“Get in!” It was James.
“How did you—?”
“I saw you leave. The paramedics left your door open—your dad told me where James lived.”
At the hospital, the doctor said her mum had a stroke but would recover.
In the car, Emily sobbed. “Why didn’t James bring me?”
“Guess it’s over then?”
She nodded. He pulled over, kissed her salty cheeks, then her lips. The world faded away.
The next day, she texted James: No wedding.
He came, but she refused his van, returned the ring, and went to the hospital.
“Where’s James?” her mum asked weakly.
“I don’t love him. It’s off.”
“Because of James? He’ll leave. Think carefully.”
“I have. I’d rather be alone.”
James returned to London but came back weeks later, arranging surgery for her dad. Six months later, at her wedding to James, her father stood on crutShe placed a gentle kiss on her father’s cheek as he walked her down the aisle, her heart full of hope for the future.
