*Diary Entry – 15th April, 2023*
“We didn’t waste time—we just took the long road to our happiness,” Emily murmured, nestling closer to Robert.
Emily opened her eyes and stretched languidly. Sunday—no rush, no obligations.
When her husband died, friends and colleagues expected her to drown in grief, suffocated by tears. So she played the part—the bereaved widow, performing sorrow with practiced ease. Work granted her leave to mourn, to “honour” the memory of her beloved spouse.
Outwardly, they’d been the perfect couple. But what simmered beneath, the secrets buried, were no one’s business. No, she pitied Kevin as one might pity any man gone too soon—but not as a husband she’d loved.
Glancing at the framed photo on the shelf, she decided: enough. Time to tuck it away. She’d kept it on display for visitors, for the pitying glances seeking the deceased’s portrait.
But waking daily to his smug, self-satisfied face—like a cat who’d stolen cream—was too much. She tossed the duvet aside, snatched the frame, and studied it. His perfectly groomed features, that arrogance. How many women had swooned over him? She smirked.
“Well? Got what you deserved, didn’t you? Think I’m weeping for you? Not a chance. Goodbye.” She wedged the photo between books on the shelf. “There. That’s your place now—not in my life.” Brushing invisible dust from her hands, she headed to the bathroom.
***
The corridor was empty when Emily stepped out after her final exam. She’d been the last to finish. From the shadows, an unremarkable bloke appeared—Robert, who’d applied to the same uni.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“First-class honours!” She beamed.
“Looks like we’ll be classmates.” He grinned.
“Still waiting on the official list…” she began, though she knew she’d made it.
“Formality. You’ve smashed it. Fancy celebrating?” His voice trembled slightly.
Her parents were at work, no more studying—why not?
“Let’s go,” she said.
They wandered London, ate ice cream, then caught a film.
Assigned to different tutorial groups, Emily didn’t mind—but Robert did. They only met in breaks or lectures, where he always sat beside her.
Once, he was late. Kevin Dobson slid into his seat last minute. Emily nearly protested, but the professor—a notorious hardliner—began his lecture.
“Worthington’s jealous. Bet he’s burning holes in my back,” Kevin whispered, smirking.
She glanced back. Robert sat at the rear, glowering.
“Gentlemen, if you’d prefer chatter over Chaucer, the door’s that way,” the professor snapped. The room’s eyes swivelled to them. Emily ducked her head over her notes.
“Now we’re marked. He’ll never forget us,” Kevin muttered. They stifled giggles.
Ejected, they waited in the hall, then headed to the canteen. Kevin was witty, charismatic—even lecturers admired his sharp mind.
“Be careful with him, Em. He’s a flirt, a proper cad,” Robert warned later.
“Jealous?”
“What if I am?”
“Rob, there’s nothing between us. One shared lecture won’t change that.”
But it didn’t stop at one lecture. Emily fell hard. Soon, they were inseparable—everyone called them a couple, her parents eyed him as a future son-in-law. Charming, polished Kevin had even her mum wrapped around his finger.
They agreed marriage could wait—until she got pregnant.
Kevin took the news calmly. “Blimey, a dad. But how? We’re skint. And uni… Maybe wait? It’s early days.”
She agreed. But nausea struck at inconvenient times, leaving her drained. So she terminated it. A child would’ve derailed everything. They were in love, building a future.
Robert? Just a friend. He shared notes when she missed class, a quiet constant in her life.
After graduation, they married. Kevin’s father—a high-flying executive—hired them both. Kevin climbed the ranks swiftly. Emily didn’t resent it; she was just the wife.
Then, one lunch break, she walked into his office to find him tangled with a brazen secretary. The girl smirked, unashamed, as if Emily were the intruder.
At home, she erupted.
“What’s the fuss? It happens. You’re my wife. I love *you*.”
He fired the secretary, hired a plain replacement. Emily relented.
Leaving him? For what? A fleeting upgrade? Outwardly, they remained the perfect couple.
Then a “well-wisher” called: Kevin had a child—two, in fact, by different women. Another row, more threats to leave.
“Em, cool off. It changes nothing. I’m not leaving you.”
She should’ve gone then. But fear glued her in place—she still loved him. Kevin always got his way; Emily, never the forceful type. Perhaps that’s why he valued her. Two alphas would’ve clashed.
He came home on time, gave her freedom (unused), bought her solo trips to Spain. He took over the firm when his father retired.
Abroad, men swarmed—mostly married liars seeking flings. Their attention soured by the second week. She’d return relieved, to their expensive flat, to Kevin.
He’d sigh, envying her tan, griping about work. Both knew the truth.
The world saw a golden couple. Emily envied ordinary families pushing prams in Hyde Park.
Comforted herself: every marriage has cracks. They coexisted, like flatmates. Most couples do—passion fades after a decade.
Then, two months ago, police called. Kevin was found at their cottage.
“Found? What d’you mean?”
No more “well-wishers” calls—he’d either stopped cheating or grown stealthier. She’d played along, life simpler that way.
“Heart attack. The woman with him… vanished. We’re investigating.”
Sympathy poured in. She wore the grieving widow mask. Kevin’s father hushed it up—no tabloids caught wind of the singer he’d been with.
The thought disgusted her: dying mid-affair. She mourned only in public, mildly.
***
Freshly showered, coffee in hand, Emily basked in the spring sun. Free—from Kevin, his betrayals, the charade.
A knock. Another mourner, no doubt.
“Can I help you?” She frowned at the man on her step. Something familiar…
“Don’t recognise me?” He feigned hurt. “Robert Worthington. Your birthday’s soon—I’m in town for work. Thought I’d pop by. Kevin at the office?”
She ushered him in. “Kevin died two months ago.”
“*What?*”
“Heart attack. Come in—it’s been ages.”
“You’re holding up well. Kids must be grown…”
“No kids. I terminated at uni. Kevin had two—by different women.”
“You say that so calmly.”
“Everyone thought we were perfect. Maybe we were. The pain’s gone.”
“He cheated, and you *stayed*?”
“Most do.”
“Rubbish. I’d never—” He cut himself off. “If I’d been better, you’d have married *me*.”
She studied him.
His visits grew frequent—always “work trips.” She knew better. One evening, he proposed.
“We’re grown now. I’ve always fancied you. Back then, I stepped aside. Now you’re free…”
“Rob, I don’t want complications. I’m used to solitude. Understand?”
He did. But kept visiting.
A year passed.
She’d avoided the cottage since Kevin’s death. Now, inspecting it for sale, she found no trace of the scandal. The neighbour—who’d kept keys—must’ve cleaned. She’d thank her later.
Air filled the stale rooms. Spring again—April, the garden budding. She inhaled deeply. *Peace*. Still, she’d sell. Too much for one.
That evening, a car purred up the lane. Peering out, she spotted Robert—flowers in hand. This time, joy flickered. She checked her reflection, smoothed her hair, and went to him.
Maybe it was the cottage, leftover passion in the walls, or spring’s magic—but she finally saw the love in his eyes. Her heart stirred.
Later, curled against him, she smiled.
“All those wasted years. Why’d you marry Kevin? I warned you. I loved you. Not like a monk—I married once, divorced fast. Call it madness, but I always knew we’d end up here.”
“Don’t rush me, Rob.”
“Still in mourning? Like some Gothic novel?”
“Don’t be daft. NotHis arms tightened around her, and she sighed, knowing—at last—she’d found the love that had been waiting all along.
