Fate had its own plan.
Edward, no longer a young man, had buried his wife five years ago after a long and painful illness. They had fought it together, but in the end, she slipped away from this world into the next.
At forty-eight, Edward found himself a widower, struggling with grief and adjusting to solitude. The thought of remarrying never crossed his mind, though relatives and friends often urged him:
“You’re still young, Ed. Find yourself a good woman and be happy again.”
“I’ll never find another like her,” he’d reply. “There may be better women, there may be worse, but there’ll never be another like her.”
His younger brother, James, lived across town. The age gap between them was wide—fifteen years apart. Their mother had struggled to conceive again, and when she had nearly given up hope, James arrived. The brothers were close—Edward, ever the protective older sibling, helped raise him, and little James adored following him everywhere.
Their parents passed when James was just twenty-one. Edward supported him through university and later marriage. But fate had other plans—Edward lost his wife, and around the same time, James divorced his.
Every evening, Edward took a quiet stroll in the park near his house, a habit he and his wife had once shared. That night, as he wandered towards the pond where ducks and even a few geese swam, he noticed a girl sitting on a bench, wiping away tears. He couldn’t walk past.
“Good evening, miss. Are you alright? Has something happened?”
She looked up with sorrowful eyes. “No one can help me. Thanks anyway. I just… don’t know where to go now.”
Edward sat beside her. “What do you mean? You must have come from somewhere. What’s your name?”
“My mum kicked me out. Her flat’s full of her drinking mates now. There’s no place for me, and I’m scared of them… Emily.”
“Alright, Emily, let’s start from the beginning. I don’t understand—you can’t just sit here all night.”
Emily had lived with her parents in a tiny flat inherited from her grandfather. They’d moved from a crumbling village where work had dried up. Her father died when she was fifteen. At first, it was just her and her mother, but soon Emily noticed the smell of alcohol when her mum returned from work, sometimes with a bottle of wine, drinking it openly at dinner.
“Mum, why do you do this? It won’t end well,” Emily pleaded more than once.
“What do you know about life, Em? Your dad left me alone—what am I supposed to do? Here, have a drink. It makes everything easier. You just don’t understand,” her mother would slur before collapsing onto the sofa.
Emily made her own breakfasts and attended nursing college, eager to grow up and work. She couldn’t rely on her mother, who kept losing jobs.
“Mum, you’ve hit rock bottom. No one will even hire you as a cleaner. How will we live?”
“You’ll get a job soon enough,” her mother muttered drunkenly.
Things worsened. Strangers filled the flat, drinking through the night, passing out on the floor while Emily squeezed behind a wardrobe, too afraid to sleep.
After graduating, she started working night shifts at a hospital, grateful for the excuse to avoid home. She dreamed of renting her own place.
One evening, exhausted after a gruelling shift, Emily returned to find the flat stripped bare—even her clothes were gone. Only her old winter coat remained. Her mother lay passed out on the floor. Emily bolted, tears streaming, and ended up on that park bench.
Edward listened, heart aching. Switching to a gentler tone, he tried to reassure her.
“Emily, life takes hard turns, but hope never dies. When I buried my wife, I thought my world had ended. She was everything to me.” He paused. “Then I realised—if fate wills it, you carry on. You mustn’t give up. There’s always a way.”
“What way?” Emily looked up. “I’ll never afford my own place. Where do I go?”
“Listen. I live alone in a big house. I could use help around the place. Move in with me. Don’t be afraid—I mean you no harm. My wife and I never had children. You’d be like a daughter to me.”
Edward was a good man. Emily often thanked fate for bringing them together that night. He became her family, a second father. She took over the housework—keeping it clean, cooking meals. In the evenings, they talked for hours. Edward knew so much, and she listened eagerly, growing fond of his kindness.
But fate twisted again. Slowly, their bond deepened beyond kinship. Edward found himself living—and loving—once more. One evening, over dinner, he gathered his courage.
“Emily, I don’t know what you’ll think… but I’ve fallen in love with you. You’ve brought me back to life. Will you marry me?”
Emily had wondered if her own feelings were gratitude or love. But she agreed.
A year later, their son Daniel was born. Edward beamed with joy; Emily was radiant.
“Now I’m truly happy. Edward and my little Danny—this is my fate.”
One day, Edward told her, “My brother James is visiting tomorrow. Remember, the one I helped raise? I told him about us, about his nephew. He’s eager to meet you. I know you’ll get along.”
He was right. The moment Emily saw James, her heart raced strangely. She couldn’t look away.
James had often called Edward, knowing how grief had nearly destroyed him. Hearing of his brother’s new happiness, he was curious about the woman who’d revived him.
Stepping inside, James hugged Edward. “Look at you, brother! Fatherhood suits you. Where’s your wife and my nephew?”
Edward led him to the nursery, where Emily was dressing Danny.
“Meet Emily and Daniel. Seeing him reminds me of you as a boy.”
James froze, staring at Emily holding the baby. One thought struck him: *God, she’s beautiful.*
“James?” Edward nudged him. “Time you settled down too. Emily, this is my little brother.”
“Hello,” James managed, handing over gifts.
“Welcome,” Emily replied, forcing calm.
They couldn’t stop looking at each other.
James stayed for days. When Edward was out, Emily’s heart leapt—equal parts joy and fear at being alone with him.
Finally, James confessed, “This can’t happen. I’d never betray my brother.”
“I know,” Emily whispered. “But you’re the only one I want. Yet I can’t hurt Edward. He’s everything to us.”
James left abruptly, puzzling Edward.
Months later, a call came—Edward had been rushed to hospital. Emily ran, tears blurring her vision, only to hear the doctor say, “I’m sorry. His heart gave out.”
James returned for the funeral, comforting Emily, offering to stay. She sent him away.
One night, she dreamed of Edward—he took off his wedding ring and gave it to James beside her, as if blessing them.
Emily called James. They visited Edward’s grave under a bright sun. His photo seemed to smile.
“Look,” James murmured. “Edward doesn’t mind.”
A year later, their daughter Alice was born. Danny adored his little sister, bringing her toys and asking when she’d play with him.
