By the time he turned thirty, Ben had spent a decade serving in conflict zones, been wounded twice, and somehow made it home alive. After his second serious injury, he spent months recovering in a military hospital before returning to his quiet village in the Cotswolds.
The place had changed, and so had the people. All his old schoolmates had settled down, but one day, Ben spotted Emily. He barely recognised her. When hed left for the army, shed been a scrawny thirteen-year-old. Now, at twenty-five, she was stunningand still unmarried. No one had ever measured up, and she wasnt the type to settle just for the sake of it.
Ben was broad-shouldered, steadfast, with a strong sense of justice. He couldnt just walk past her.
“Been waiting for me all this time, then?” he teased, grinning at her.
“Maybe,” she said, blushing slightly, her heart fluttering.
From then on, they were inseparable. Late autumn leaves crunched underfoot as they wandered along the edge of the woods one evening.
“Ben my father wont ever let us marry,” Emily murmured. Hed already asked twice. “You know what hes like.”
“Whats he going to do? Im not scared of him,” Ben scoffed. “If he lays a hand on me, hell land himself in prison. Problem solved.”
“You dont understand,” she said, shaking her head. “Hes ruthless. He controls everything around here.”
Edward Whitmore was the most powerful man in the village. Hed started as a businessman, but whispers tied him to less savoury dealings. Barrel-chested with a cold, arrogant stare, he was feared, not loved. He owned two farms, employed half the village, and acted like he owned the people too.
“My father wont allow it,” Emily insisted. “He wants me to marry his friends son from the next town overVincent. A lazy drunk. Ive told him a hundred times I wont.”
“This isnt the Middle Ages,” Ben said, baffled. “No one can force you to marry someone you dont love.”
He adored everything about herher soft glances, her fiery temper. She couldnt imagine life without him.
“Come on,” he said suddenly, grabbing her hand and quickening his pace.
“Where are we going?” She already knew but didnt stop him.
Edward Whitmore was in his vast garden, talking to his brother, Simon, who lived in the cottage on his property and did whatever he was told.
“Mr. Whitmore,” Ben said firmly. “Emily and I want to marry. Im asking for her hand.”
Emilys mother stood frozen on the porch, hand over her mouth, watching her tyrannical husband with dread. She knew his temper all too well.
Edwards face twisted with fury at Bens boldness, but Ben didnt flinch. The older man couldnt fathom where this lad had found the nerve to challenge him.
“Get out,” Edward snarled. “You think youre good enough for my daughter? Shell never marry you. Forget this path. Worthless soldier.”
“Well marry anyway,” Ben shot back.
The village respected Ben. Edward had never known waronly money. Ben clenched his fists, but Simon stepped between them, knowing neither man would back down.
As Simon ushered Ben off the property, Edward dragged Emily inside like a child. He never tolerated defiance.
That night, in the damp autumn air, flames engulfed Bens newly opened garage.
“That bastard,” Ben muttered. He had no doubt who was responsible.
The next evening, Ben pulled up quietly to Emilys house. Hed messaged her earlierpack your things, were leaving. She was ready. From her bedroom window, she handed down a bag, then climbed out herself, landing softly in his arms.
“By morning, well be far away,” he whispered. She clung to him.
“Im scared,” she admitted.
Ten minutes later, they were speeding down the motorway. Emilys heart raced, her breath shallow with nerves. A new life awaited them.
Then headlights flashed behind them. Her stomach lurched. A black Mercedes roared past, cutting them off.
“No,” she whimpered, shrinking into her seat.
Her father yanked her from the car. Ben tried to intervene but was struck down, beaten silently, left crumpled on the roadside.
Barely conscious, he crawled home and spent a week recovering. The police dismissed the fire as faulty wiring. But Ben knew the truth. Worse, Emily was goneno calls, no messages.
Edward had sent her to his sister Margarets house in Manchester with a stern warning:
“Keep her inside. No phone. If she comes back, Ill have that boy locked upor buried. Dont test me.”
“Youre a monster, Edward,” Margaret muttered as she led Emily inside. “Wait it out, love. Hell calm down eventually.”
Rumours spread that Emily was marrying Vincent. No one believed them.
Weeks later, Emily discovered she was pregnant. Margaret held her as she sobbed.
“Your father must never know.”
Emily screamed in rage. “I hate him! He ruins lives!”
Time crawled. Ben drowned in grief, working mechanically, drinking briefly before hating it. Meanwhile, Emily gave birth to a beautiful boyJameswho looked just like his father. Her mother visited secretly, doting on her grandson. Edward remained oblivious.
Four years passed. James grew bright and lively. One spring, Emilys mother arrived at Margarets, trembling.
“Edwards dying. Cancer. The doctors say its too late.”
No one shed tears. Not even his wife, who had endured years of bruises and humiliation.
He died in June. Emily didnt attend the funeral. Few did.
Ben, working away on construction jobs, knew nothing. Emily finally returned to the village with James. Her mother, free at last, had removed Edwards photos.
One afternoon, Emily sat on a fallen log in the woods, watching James chase butterflies. The breeze carried memoriesand then, a voice.
“Emily.”
They ran to each other. Ben looked wearier, his eyes shadowed with pain. She was just as lovely, softer now. They stood in silence, years of longing between them.
“Ben forgive me. For everything. For my father. For not telling you about our son sooner.”
Ben froze as James barrelled over. He didnt need an explanationthe boy was his mirror image.
“Son,” he breathed, lifting him high, laughter ringing. “My boy. Im never letting you go.”
“Daddy!” James giggled. “Can we get a football?”
“Course we can, lad. Right now. Isnt that right, Mum?” Ben smiled at Emily, who nodded tearfully.
She was grateful to fate for bringing them back together. And fate, as they say, loves the gratefulrewarding them with happiness at last.
