Oh, you’ll love this—so, Emily was living this whirlwind life, and her mate Sarah at work was always saying, “Honestly, Em, your life’s so full-on, they could make a telly show out of it!” And Emily would just laugh and say, “Yeah, it’s all go, but who knows how this story ends? Still, I’ll figure it out. Time to settle down, I’m twenty-eight now. Gotta put the work in, though.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Come off it, Em—you don’t *really* want to get married. You’re fine as you are! Marriage is all responsibility and just one bloke forever.”
Emily smirked. “Who said *one* bloke? That’s *your* life with your Steve. Mine’s different.”
Sarah gasped. “You can’t be serious! How can you be married and still fancy other men? I’d never stand for that.”
Emily just flashed her killer smile. “Well, that’s you. This is me.”
And honestly, she *was* stunning—slim, gorgeous, with this smouldering look that had blokes turning their heads wherever she went. Emily wasn’t the type to let opportunities slip. Her motto? “Take what’s given, and hit back if they hit you.” At work, she’d joined *after* Sarah but shot right past her on the ladder, ending up as her boss.
Loads of blokes in the office fancied her, even the married ones. But Emily had rules: “I’m on a mission—marriage material only. No ring on *his* finger.” Still, some of those married ones were *proper* fit. She narrowed it down to three colleagues—Daniel, James, and Oliver. But which one?
She even asked Sarah for advice, but Sarah clammed up. “Look, Em, don’t take this wrong, but I’m staying out of it. You pick. If it goes tits up, I don’t want you blaming me.”
Emily wasn’t about to flip a coin. She weighed it up properly—who’d got the best prospects? Oliver stood out: reliable, handsome, good with his hands, earning decently, and most importantly, he *listened* to her.
Oliver clocked the shift straight away. He’d always fancied her, but Daniel and James were still in the picture, and Emily flirted with *them* too—drove him mad. “She’s finally realised I’m the one,” he thought. “Better not waste time—gotta propose.”
So he did. One date, a massive bouquet, and a little ring box. “Emily, love, marry me. I’ve thought about it loads—you’d make a brilliant wife. And I wanna wake up next to you every morning.”
She blinked. “Alright, then. Didn’t expect you to pop the question *this* fast. But we know each other, so… yeah, I’m in.”
They lived in her little flat at first, but soon Oliver said, “Let’s sell this place, get a proper house. We’ll take out a loan if we have to—we’re earning well, we’ll manage.”
Emily hesitated. “Where’ll we live in the meantime? Rent?”
“Nah. My dad’s been on his own since Mum passed three years ago. His place is huge—he won’t mind. Sorted?” She agreed.
The build kicked off fast—they sold the flat quick and moved in with his dad, Henry. He was *chuffed*. Emily got on with him, though they’d not spent much time together before. Warm, but distant.
Henry—Oliver’s dad—was fifty-three but looked *sharp*. Not old, not even “middle-aged” yet. After meeting him, Emily joked, “Your dad looks like he should be in one of those posh aftershave adverts.” Oliver laughed—she wasn’t wrong.
Henry was tall, muscly—hit the gym twice a week—with this rugged beard and deep voice. Women flocked to him, but he wasn’t about to remarry.
Having them move in spiced things up for him. But as time passed, Oliver was *always* at the build site, barely home. Meanwhile, Emily saw more and more of Henry.
Then one day, she realised—Henry was looking at her *different*. At first, she brushed it off. But no. He’d squeeze her shoulder, drop compliments, smile *that* way.
“Blimey,” it hit her. “My *father-in-law* fancies me. And… he’s *well* fit. Why not get something out of it?”
Next time he touched her, she didn’t pull away. Before they knew it, they were in bed. Neither asked, “Is this wrong?” No guilt—just… *whatever*. Oliver was never home, always exhausted from the build. Emily missed having a man around.
It carried on till she got pregnant. She told Henry straight: “No doubt it’s yours. These things happen, you know.”
He beamed. “I’m *made up*, Emily. Proper chuffed!”
Oliver? Not so much. A baby wasn’t in the plan yet—house first. He forced a smile.
“Don’t worry, mate,” Henry clapped him on the back. “I’ll help with the baby. What else am I gonna do with my time?” Oliver had no choice but to nod.
The pregnancy was rough, but Emily toughed it out—she *wanted* this baby, and time wasn’t on her side (over thirty now). Henry took her to every scan. Everyone just assumed Oliver was too busy with the build.
When little Noah arrived, Emily and Henry were *over the moon*. Oliver? Well, he *seemed* happy—the house was nearly done.
Then Oliver dropped the news: “Right, love, we’re moving in a couple days. Start packing.”
Henry panicked. “What about *me*? Noah’s used to me—I *help*!” He *begged* to move with them.
Oliver shut it down. “You stay here. Visit whenever.” Henry *hated* that—he started turning up constantly.
Then, nightmare. At Noah’s three-year check, the doctor found something worrying. A genetic test was ordered. Emily and Henry *knew*—Oliver would find out the truth.
She wrestled with it but finally said, “For Noah’s sake… he *has* to know.”
Waiting for results, she was a wreck. Oliver assumed it was just worry. He went to collect the test himself.
What he read *destroyed* him.
“Noah’s… *not mine*? How? Is this a mistake?”
The row was *brutal*. Emily cracked—Noah was *Henry’s*.
Oliver *lost it*. “You’re *lying*! Why drag my *dad* into this?”
Then Henry stepped in. “Son… it’s true. You were always at the build. She needed… attention. It just… happened.”
Oliver screamed, “I *hate* you both!” and stormed out.
He filed for divorce. Emily and Henry stayed in the house; Oliver moved back to his dad’s flat. Noah’s illness got worse—endless hospital trips. Slowly, he recovered.
“This is my punishment,” Emily thought. “Noah’s sickness—God’s payback for what I did.”
Oliver was broken too. The double betrayal gutted him. “Being lied to *hurts*. But by the two people you trust most? *Kills* you.”
When the doctor finally said Noah was clear for nursery, Henry wept with relief. He carried the guilt—visited his late wife’s grave, even went to church. Too late for regrets, though.
Ten years on, Emily *kicked Henry out*. He’d aged; she’d only got more gorgeous. All that guilt? Forgotten. She’d already set her sights on the new guy at work—Thomas, fresh from a divorce.
Oliver? Married again—a doctor he met on a trip to the Lake District. Moved up there with her.
And Emily? Still the same. Some people never change.
