The first day of winter did not begin well. Emily had to work, and the weather was dreadful. Snow mixed with rain fell steadily, the temperature hovered near freezing, and it was neither here nor there—utterly miserable.
So much for her light coat—she had to bundle up in a thick winter jacket and sturdy boots.
It was her first day back after a long break. Last summer, she had been so blissfully happy with her Oliver that she heedlessly quit her job on his advice. Her sweetheart had bought them seaside holiday tickets, but her manager refused to grant leave. So she resigned outright.
Back then, the sky seemed studded with diamonds. Emily was certain that by the shore, a marriage proposal awaited her. Why bother with work then, she reasoned? Oliver would provide so well that her meagre wages wouldn’t matter.
She had dreamed of a wedding, a baby, and a grand life in Oliver’s luxurious home. How she cursed her foolishness now!
No proposal came at the resort. He took her to fine restaurants, gave her a few beautiful nights, then brought her back. He didn’t leave right away, though—for nearly half a year, he let her hope their relationship might have some proper conclusion. Then, a week ago, Emily finally snapped and asked what his plans were.
“Not grand ones, Emily,” he replied. “I’m taking my ex-wife back. Father and I share a business, and he’s taken ill. Said he’ll leave everything to my son, with my ex managing affairs until he’s grown. But if I reunite the family, it all goes to me—and him. Harsh terms, but there you are. Sorry, love…”
Then came the usual drivel about love and sorrowful farewells. How wretched and powerless he was, poor thing.
Emily threw on his last gift—a fine wool coat—and with a curt, “Goodbye!” vanished from his life. Oliver? No loss. But the wasted time stung bitterly.
She endured her “heartbreak” and returned to her old workplace, begging the director to take her back. Exchanging a few words with colleagues, she waited outside his office. The morning briefing was underway, and through the closed door, she heard his sharp, angry voice—likely reprimanding someone.
When the room emptied, Emily stepped inside timidly, mustering a bright smile as she greeted him. She laid out her plea simply: she couldn’t bear to be idle, and her personal life had crumbled.
Her boss—likely still fond of her, though happily married—gave her a sympathetic look and said, “I wouldn’t rehire just anyone. But I’ll take you back. Not your old role, mind—it’s filled. My secretary’s off on maternity leave starting the first. Strict discipline, though—no unscheduled holidays!”
She agreed. And so came her first day back: pencil skirt, white blouse, subtle makeup, neat hair. She carried her office shoes in a bag, planning to change indoors. Rushing to the bus stop, a message arrived from her boss:
*”Come in early. Emergency meeting.”*
She checked the time—no chance. A taxi it was. But as she dialled, a boy on a skateboard—of all things, in this weather!—darted out of nowhere and knocked her over.
Now they both lay on the pavement. Her coat was filthy, her tights ruined, her phone skittered into the road. All manageable—but the boy seemed hurt, clutching his ankle. With help from passersby, he stood, though he couldn’t put weight on it.
Someone handed back her phone. An ambulance arrived.
“Who’s coming with him?” the medic asked. At that, the crowd suddenly found their shoes very interesting.
So Emily went. She gathered his skateboard, his schoolbag with a torn strap, and climbed in. At the hospital, while he was examined, her phone buzzed to life: five missed calls from her boss. The workday—let alone the meeting—had begun. She called him. No answer. Moments later, a text:
*”Never mind. Changed my mind. Best of luck elsewhere.”*
Her career was over. Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to cry. A secretary’s job? She’d find another. Though… Before she could finish the thought, the boy emerged from the exam room.
“Don’t fret, dear,” said the doctor. “Not too serious. But letting a child skate in this weather? Reckless.”
“I’m not his mother, and we’re in a hurry. Thank you,” Emily said, helping the boy sit. He looked about fourteen.
“How are you?” she asked. “Where do you live?”
He gave his address, and she called a taxi. Meanwhile, he dialled a number on his mobile.
“Gran, don’t panic—just took a tumble on my board. Be home soon.”
She heard wailing through the receiver as the taxi pulled up. Leaning on her, he hobbled inside.
His name was Gregory, and he was dressed decently—clearly not from a struggling family. But why call his gran, not his parents?
“Father’s abroad,” he explained. “Left me with Gran.”
They reached a tidy house where an anxious woman waited on the step. Emily explained briefly and was promptly invited for tea. She accepted. The flat was immaculate. Cradling a hot cup, she listened as the kindly woman scolded Gregory for sneaking out with that “blasted skateboard.”
They exchanged numbers before parting.
“I’ll check on you. Call if you need anything,” Emily said, waving goodbye to the grateful pair.
Nowhere left to go. The workday was lost, as was her secretary’s post under a besotted boss.
“Perhaps for the best,” she thought, heading home.
For a week, she scoured job listings. Either too far, or the pay was paltry, or courses were required. Nothing suited. Then, at week’s end, she decided to call Gregory—she’d rung a few times already—but he beat her to it.
“Emily! Gregory here. All fine, don’t worry. Dad’s back. Fancy coming to my birthday Saturday?”
She hesitated, then thought—why not? Nice lad, pleasant gran. She agreed. He cheered and sent an address—not his gran’s.
On Saturday, she bought him a smart, pricey schoolbag and set off.
The house made her gasp—a handsome new build, gravel drive, landscaped garden. Gregory’s gran appeared at the door, beaming.
“Emily, come in!” Behind her, Gregory grinned.
She stepped inside, handed over the gift, and froze as a man entered the parlour.
“William Ashford,” he said, offering a well-kept hand. “This scamp’s father.”
Emily stared. She flushed crimson—he was strikingly handsome. Expecting to meet Gregory’s mother, she glanced around, but the room held only the three of them. Over tea, she asked after his ankle.
“Bit sore,” William admitted. “But manageable. Thank you for helping him—not everyone would.”
The celebration unfolded as such affairs do: toasts, well-wishes for the birthday boy, and praise for Emily’s kindness. After cake, she made to leave, but William offered her a lift.
…So fate sometimes unfolds. They spent the evening talking. A widower, he’d raised Gregory alone since the boy was seven—though his mother helped. His business demanded much time, yet his son needed watching.
“Juggling it all, plus these trips abroad,” he sighed.
Emily shared little—only losing her job after missing her first day back. William listened thoughtfully.
A week later, he called with a job offer at his firm.
By Christmas, they were together—joyful gran, happy Gregory, and smitten Emily and William, their new life just beginning. A family now, with shared laughter and the lively, clever-eyed boy at its heart.
