Another Chance at Happiness
Emily woke with a smile—it was her eighteenth birthday, and she knew her parents had prepared a gift. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she suspected, secretly hoping for a golden ring with a tiny diamond.
“Darling, wake up! Happy birthday, love! Look what we’ve got for you,” her mother held out a delicate ring, while her father stood beside her, beaming.
“Thank you, Mum, Dad,” she gasped, slipping it onto her finger at once. “Oh, it’s beautiful!” She hugged them each in turn, then hesitated. “But it must have cost so much.”
“Would we deny our only daughter such a gift on her eighteenth birthday?” her father chuckled. “Especially when you’ve longed for it?”
“That’s not all,” her mother added. “We’ve planned a surprise—a trip to the seaside. We’re on leave, and you’ve your break from university.”
“Really? You sly things, keeping it a secret! But—what about packing?”
“I’ve already done it,” her mother said, nudging her toward the wardrobe. “Just check if there’s anything else you’d like.” Then she left the room.
Emily’s joy was briefly dimmed by the rain outside, but by the time they’d loaded the car, it had cleared. As they drove onto the motorway, she daydreamed of sunbathing and swimming, returning home bronzed and envied by her friends—especially Victoria.
Then—pain.
Emily forced her eyes open, tried to sit up, and cried out. Every inch of her ached.
“Stay still,” murmured a nurse in a white uniform, adjusting her pillow. “I’ll fetch the doctor.”
An older man in spectacles took her hand when she blinked awake. “There was an accident on the motorway—a lorry skidded into your car.” His voice was gentle, bracing her for worse.
“Mum—where’s Mum and Dad?” Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Emily… you must be strong. Your parents didn’t survive. You’re the only one who made it.”
“No. My father—he never drove carelessly!” But the truth was worse: the lorry had lost control on the slick road. For weeks, Emily drifted between grief and sedation, her parents’ absence a wound no injection could numb.
When she finally left the hospital, the doctor’s words followed her: two major surgeries—she could never bear children. Another blow.
No relatives remained—only a frail grandmother in Yorkshire, too ill to visit. Victoria came occasionally, once even with James, a boy Emily had strolled with in the park, hopeful for more. He never returned.
After her discharge, Victoria tried distracting her, bringing along Thomas—who fancied Victoria but was met with indifference. Instead, Thomas found himself drawn to quiet, grieving Emily. Learning of her loss, he offered kindness. Soon, the three took walks together—until Thomas came alone.
Emily bloomed under his attention yet feared Victoria’s jealousy. She confronted her:
“Are you cross with me? About Thomas?”
Victoria’s smile was thin. “If I were, would you give him up?” She knew the truth—Thomas had fallen for Emily.
Misreading her tone, Emily laughed. “Don’t be silly! You’re not upset, are you?”
Victoria forced a nod, seething inwardly: Had she known that broken, barren Emily would steal Thomas, she’d never have introduced them.
Thomas, blind to Emily’s scars, showered her with praise. She flourished—until he confessed his love with roses. Panic seized her. Serious love meant intimacy, marriage, children. How could she confess her barrenness? Overwhelmed, she confided in Victoria.
“I must tell him—”
“Of course you must,” Victoria agreed—then hurried to Thomas first.
“Thomas,” she said, feigning concern, “Emily can’t have children. I thought you should know.”
He stared, then turned away without a word.
When he arrived at Emily’s door, she braced herself. “I need to tell you something—”
He pulled her close. “Don’t. I know… and it changes nothing.”
She forgot to ask how. His love was enough.
They married quietly. Though childlessness shadowed her joy, Thomas one day suggested, “What if we adopted?”
“Thank God for you,” she whispered.
Soon, they brought home baby Catherine, doting on her. By first grade, she had the finest shoes, the prettiest ribbons—spoiled, though Thomas grumbled.
Years passed. Catherine grew spoiled, neglecting school for demands. Thomas scolded; Emily indulged.
“Your coddling made her a thief!” he snapped after finding their seaside savings under her mattress.
Emily defended her: “I’ll always stand by her—not you.”
Catherine, listening, twisted the knife: “Mum, when you’re gone, he hits me.”
Shocked, Emily confronted Thomas. “How dare you? Leave. Now.”
“Emily, think! Would I ever—?”
“I believe my child.”
He packed his bags. As he left, Catherine smirked—free to manipulate her mother.
Regret came too late. Emily wept over her daughter’s deceit, recalling Thomas’ warnings.
Perhaps life would grant her one more chance—to seek his forgiveness, to mend what was broken.
If only she dared.
