**Diary Entry**
I stood in front of the mirror, fussing over my outfit—a simple white dress I’d snatched up in a hurry from a bargain sale. The lace I’d chosen so carefully now looked cheap in the glaring daylight. *Oh well,* I thought. *As long as Arthur likes it.* I sighed. This was the dress I’d marry him in.
Arthur… He’d been my dream, my love at first sight. Not some fairytale prince on a white horse, mind you—more like a rogue Viking, with a mop of unruly blond hair, broad shoulders, and mischievous cornflower-blue eyes. I’d always believed love would strike me suddenly, dramatically, like in the novels. Nothing less would do.
My phone buzzed, snapping me back to reality. Mum, of course. Probably calling to beg me to call it off—again.
*“Emily, love, listen to me—to someone who’s lived longer than you!”* Her voice was thick from crying, like it had been all week. *“A wedding after only a month? You barely know each other!”*
How many times must we have this conversation?
*“When it’s real love, you just *know*,”* I said dreamily. *“I’ve told you a thousand times. It’s like in the films!”*
*“Films tell fairy tales, love!”* Mum shot back. *“And in fairy tales, they always end with ‘happily ever after’ and a curtain drop. But real life? That’s when the real work starts—jobs, bills, children… Do you even know where he works? What his plans are?”*
I hesitated. Arthur and I never really talked about those things. Our conversations were all grand declarations, dizzying romance.
*“He… works in logistics, I think?”* I dodged, knowing Mum would probe deeper if I said anything solid.
Luckily, she didn’t ask about hobbies. Not that I could have answered—unless pints with mates and late-night gaming counted. But did any of that matter when love was this all-consuming?
Dad took the phone next. *“Emily, how can you build a life with someone you don’t *know*? You can’t even tell me where he works!”*
*“But Gran and Grandad did! They barely knew each other and ran off to the registry office!”*
*“That was luck, plain and simple. One in a million.”*
*“Well, maybe I’ll be lucky too.”*
*“Emily—”*
*“Sorry, gotta go! Arthur’s here.”* I hung up before the lecture could continue.
Arthur had just come back from the shops wearing a wrinkled navy suit, clearly too big—the jacket sagged at the shoulders, the trousers bunched over his shoes. In his hands, a bouquet of daisies tied with a plain ribbon. Wild ones, probably picked on the way. To me, they were the loveliest flowers in the world.
*“Ready?”* he asked.
I nodded, my hands trembling. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out, leaving doubts, warnings, and common sense behind.
The registry office was brisk and unbearably ordinary. The registrar droned through the script about love and commitment. Arthur fumbled with the ring, and we smiled for the few relatives he’d brought along. Mine hadn’t come—Mum and Dad were too hurt by my stubbornness.
Afterwards, we went to Arthur’s flat—now *ours*. The table was covered in a tacky plastic cloth, lined with ham sandwiches, a bowl of mayo-laden salad, and sliced tomatoes. His relatives—Auntie Carol, who’d clearly resented making the spread, Uncle Barry nursing his usual hangover, and his envious cousin Lily—congratulated us half-heartedly before shuffling off. They might as well have been at a funeral.
When the last guest left, Arthur grinned. *“Well, that’s that. Now we’re married—forever!”* He spun me around, and I laughed, dizzy with happiness.
But three hours later, the circus began—just like Mum would’ve predicted. Bored after seeing off his family, Arthur declared that celebrating with them was one thing, but with his mates? *Essential.* So off he went, leaving me alone in our new “home.”
*“I’ll be back soon! The lads are insisting—can’t say no on my wedding day, can I?”* he shouted, already out the door.
*“Soon”* stretched until dawn.
He stumbled in, reeking of booze, remembering nothing. Mumbling apologies, he collapsed onto the bed and was out cold. I wordlessly pulled the blanket over him.
Morning brought Arthur’s hangover and my aching disappointment. I knew I’d made a mistake—but admitting it (especially to my parents) was unthinkable. This was *love*. I could change him, couldn’t I? Love worked miracles.
Life with Arthur was a rollercoaster—wild turns, reckless spending (a pricey gaming console one month, a ridiculous VR headset the next), sudden rages over unwashed dishes followed by lavish praise.
Once, he bought an abstract painting—chaotic shapes that meant nothing. *“It’s a masterpiece!”* he insisted. *“You just don’t get art.”* Neither did he. It was a whim.
I stared at the mess of lines, thinking of the broken washing machine I’d hoped to replace. But I said nothing.
Arthur worked in logistics—a job he hated but paid the bills. He dreamed of starting his own business but never did. I worked at a salon, keeping up the illusion of a happy home, though it crumbled daily.
I begged him to take our marriage seriously—to think beyond his whims. He’d dismiss me as *“too serious”* or promise to change… then didn’t.
One day, after he blew our last quid on nonsense, I snapped. *“How are we supposed to live like this? *I* have to scrape by because *you* can’t be responsible?”*
*“Relax! I work hard—I deserve to treat myself!”*
*“And what about *me*? Am I just here to serve you?”*
*“Then treat *yourself*,”* he shrugged. *“Go to those dance classes you wanted.”*
*Wanted.* With what money?
Our anniversary was the last straw. I set the table, lit candles, bought champagne—hoping he’d remember. Instead, he came home late, drunk… with a woman.
*“Emily, this is Alice. She’s… pregnant.”*
*“What?”* The floor vanished beneath me.
*“Look, I was drunk, I don’t even remember how it happened. She’s got nowhere else to go, so she’ll stay with us. I’ll sort it—promise.”*
Alice looked mortified. But I was numb. Mechanically, I walked past him—out the door, into the night, to Gran’s.
She listened, stunned, as I spilled everything—the reckless marriage, the betrayals, Alice.
*“I thought love conquered all,”* I sobbed. *“But he never loved me. I wanted what you and Grandad had!”*
Gran sighed. *“Emily… not everything is as it seems. You asked how we lasted so long, marrying so quick. Here’s the truth: I never loved him like that.”*
*What?*
*“I married him because it was time. He was a good man. But *I*… loved someone else—someone I couldn’t have. Your grandad knew. He forgave me… to keep the family.”*
My idolized love story was a lie.
*“But why tell me?”*
*“Because you can’t live a lie. If you’re miserable, *leave.* Don’t make his mistake.”*
The next morning, I packed a bag and left.
Arthur blinked, bewildered. *“Where are you going?”*
*“Away from you.”*
Months later, I ran into an old schoolmate, James. It was nothing like with Arthur—slow, steady. He loved me as I was.
As for Arthur? He married Alice. Still drank, still wasted money. She left him too.
She even called me once to apologize. *“I thought I could change him,”* she admitted.
*“So did I,”* I said softly. *“Don’t blame yourself.”*
Some people never change. The trick is knowing when to walk away.
