Another Chance at Happiness
Emily woke with a flutter of excitement—it was her eighteenth birthday. She knew her parents had prepared a gift, though she wasn’t sure what. Still, she hoped for a delicate gold ring with a diamond.
“Darling, wake up! Happy birthday, love!” Her mother stood by the bed, holding out a small ring, while her father beamed beside her.
“Thank you, Mum, Dad!” Emily leapt up and slid the ring onto her finger. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she murmured, hugging each of them in turn. “But it must’ve cost so much…”
“Would we deny our only daughter such a gift on her eighteenth birthday?” her father said with a chuckle. “Especially when you’ve dreamed of it for so long.”
Her mother added, “Up you get—that’s not all. We’ve a surprise planned. We’re taking you to the seaside. We’ve holiday leave, and your university break has just started.”
“You kept this a secret?” Emily laughed. “But what about packing?”
“I’ve already sorted your things,” her mother replied. “Just check if there’s anything else you’d like to bring.” With that, she left the room.
Emily’s joy was only dampened by the rain outside, but by the time they set off, it had cleared. They loaded the car and drove onto the motorway, Emily imagining the sun on her skin, the envy of her friends—especially her best mate, Victoria.
When Emily next opened her eyes, pain seared through her body. She tried to rise but gasped at the agony.
“Lie still, dear,” said a nurse in a crisp white uniform, adjusting her pillow. “The doctor will be along shortly.”
An older man with spectacles soon stood by her bed, taking her hand gently. “There was an accident on the motorway. A lorry lost control in the wet and collided with your car.”
“Mum—where’s Mum and Dad?” Emily’s tears flowed freely.
The doctor’s voice softened further. “Emily, you must be brave. Your parents didn’t survive. You’re very lucky to be alive.”
“No! Dad was always so careful!” But the truth was inescapable. The lorry had skidded, and the impact had been fatal.
Weeks passed in the hospital. The doctor’s words struck like another blow: after two difficult surgeries, she’d never bear children. Slowly, she regained strength, though she had no close family—only a frail grandmother in the Yorkshire Dales.
Her friend Victoria visited, once bringing along James, a lad she’d fancied after a few walks in the park. But James never returned.
After her discharge, Victoria tried to distract her, bringing along Oliver, who’d always fancied Victoria. But Oliver’s gaze lingered on Emily—this quiet girl who’d lost everything. He wanted to comfort her.
Soon, the three walked together, though Oliver began appearing alone. Emily bloomed under his attention but feared Victoria’s resentment. She finally broached the subject.
“Victoria, are you cross with me over Oliver?”
Victoria forced a smile. “Why would I be? Would you give him up if I were?”
Emily, missing the bitterness, grinned. “Of course not! Just say you’re not cross.”
Victoria’s nod was stiff. Inside, she seethed: *If I’d known this broken girl would steal him, I’d never have introduced them.*
Oliver saw no scars—only beauty. He showered Emily with affection, and she flourished. One day, he arrived with roses and confessed his love. Panic gripped her. Serious love meant intimacy, marriage, children… and she could never give him that.
She confided in Victoria. “I must tell him.”
“Of course,” Victoria agreed—then hurried to Oliver first.
“Oliver, I feel you should know—Emily can’t have children after the accident.”
He studied her a moment, then nodded. “Right. Thanks.” He turned on his heel.
Emily waited anxiously, resolved to confess. But when Oliver arrived, he pulled her close. “You don’t need to say a word. I know—and it changes nothing.” She forgot to ask how.
They married quietly. Emily’s heart ached for children until Oliver suggested adoption. “Darling, why don’t we take a little one from the orphanage?”
They named their daughter Charlotte, doted on her, and for years, life was sweet. Yet as Charlotte grew, so did her entitlement. She neglected school, demanded expensive clothes, and manipulated her doting mother.
One day, Oliver discovered their holiday savings gone. Under Charlotte’s mattress, he found the money.
“Emily, look at this!”
He didn’t confront Charlotte, but Emily pleaded for leniency.
“You’ve raised a thief,” he said bitterly.
Emily defended their daughter, even declaring, “I’ll always stand by her—not you.”
Charlotte overheard. Later, she whispered lies: “Mum, when you’re out, Dad hits me.”
Horrified, Emily confronted Oliver. “I won’t have you laying hands on her! Pack your things and go.”
“Have you lost your mind?” he gasped. “I’ve never raised a hand to her! Who do you believe—her or me?”
“My child,” Emily said coldly.
As Oliver left, Charlotte rejoiced. Now she could twist her mother as she pleased.
Too late, Emily saw the truth. She wept over her daughter’s deceit, recalling Oliver’s warnings.
Her heart ached for him. Perhaps, if she sought his forgiveness, life might grant her one last chance at happiness.
