Emma had never trusted her husband, Victor. From the first day they wed she had learned to count on only herselfjust the way their marriage had always seemed to work. Victor was goodlooking, as bright as a poppy in bloom, and the lifeoftheparty type. He drank in moderation, never smoked, and showed no interest in football, fishing or hunting. In short, a proper ladcould even be invited to the palace.
Those pleasant traits made Emma suspect that Victor sought comfort beyond the front door of their modest London terraced house. Men like him, she thought, were not easy to pin down, and any huntress would surely appear sooner or later. The one thing that steadied Emmas nerves was Victors devotion to their son, Charlie. Victor poured all his free time into the little boy, and Emma believed that such fierce paternal love could keep the family together.
At school Emma was teased as Redhead because of her flaming hair and a scattering of freckles across her face. Her mother, a strikingly beautiful woman named Margaret, had filled her head with a harsh truth: Emma, youre my ugly duckling. Its a bitter pill, but its the only one youll ever hear. No one will ask you to marry them, so you must rely on yourself. Study hard, build a career, and if a decent man ever comes along, be the obedient wife he expects. Those words lodged themselves into Emmas memory forever.
After finishing school with a gold medal, Emma enrolled at university, where she first crossed paths with Victor. She could not understand why a man as desirable as he was would take notice of her. Victor later confessed that she was the only girl he ever dared to approach. Emma never wore makeup, dressed plainly, and knew nothing of flirting. When she realized Victor was seriously courting her, she seized the opportunity, proposing marriage herself. Victor was taken aback by such forwardness, but Emma promised to be gentle, submissive, and faithful, insisting that love would grow in time. After a moments hesitation he consented, persuaded in part by his mothers approval.
Victors mother, Mrs. Victoria OLeary, first examined Emma with a disapproving, almost scornful glance. The boys a catchbright as a summer sun, everyone would line up for him. Yet heres this freckled, raggedlooking thing, she muttered. Id have liked handsome grandchildren, not a redhaired mess. The first meeting was far from pleasant.
Sensing his mothers displeasure, Emma understood that Victors good looks could become an obstacle to family happiness, yet she would not let the chance slip away. She visited Victoria OLeary alone, bearing a pot of tea. This time the matriarch found Emma surprisingly likable. Im getting used to this, she admitted. Emma swore she would be a loyal and obedient wife for the rest of her daysan oath that tipped the scales in her favour.
Victoria OLeary was a solitary woman; her husband had deserted her and young Victor years ago for a new love. He returned a year later, broken and dishevelled, only to be rejected by his own family. She spent a lifetime asking herself whether forgiveness was possible, but the betrayal lingered like a splinter in her heart. Raising a son alone was hard enough, so she eventually gave her blessing to Emma and Victors union, convinced that Emma would endure any road, no matter how rough, to reach her husband.
A year later their son Charlie was born, a tiny replica of his handsome fatherdelight to Victoria OLeary. Victor hovered over Charlie like a moth around a flame; the boy became his whole world. Yet the love he felt for Emma never truly blossomed. Their marriage settled into a steady, almost ritualistic rhythm: Emma washed and ironed Victors shirts, cooked meals, kissed him goodnight; Victor handed over his entire salary, gave flowers on birthdays, and planted a kiss on her cheek each morning before heading to work. It was more ceremony than passion, and both waited for a deeper connection the books and friends described in vivid colour.
After five years, Victor finally stumbled upon that feelingjust not within his own home. He fell for a woman of otherworldly beauty named Beatrice. She answered his longing with equal fervour, and for six months they met in cafés, on park benches, and in friends flats. The secrecy gnawed at Victor, who grew increasingly distant from Emma, while Charlie saw a father more irritated than affectionate. Beatrice gave him an ultimatum: Either marry me, or we remain friends. I wont settle for an old maid. Victor was torn; he could not bear to lose Beatrice, yet his son meant everything to him. Emmas face vanished from his thoughts entirely. When Charlie was five, Victor packed a bag and left.
Emma clung to her mothers brutal wisdom. Though the words had once felt like knives, they now steadied her. She realised she could survive Victors departure without leaping from a bridge or drowning in sorrow. The harsh lesson became a shield against lifes blows.
The pain of the breakup carved a small wound in her heart, a fragment that sank deep into her soul. Yet happiness, she learned, is a free bird that lands wherever it wishes. She resolved to drink the bitter cup left by a discarded wife to the very last drop. As Victor prepared to leave, Emma whispered, Youll always have a door open for you, Victor. Dont linger too long. Charlie loves youdont make him suffer.
For six months Victor hovered between his son and Beatrice, while Emma kept a single toothbrush belonging to Victor in a glass jar in the bathroom. Each time Victor washed his hands, the toothbrush seemed to stare back, a silent accusation. In a fit of frustration, Victor slipped the brush into his pocket, intent on discarding it, only to find a fresh one waiting in the jar on his next visit. The ordinary comforts of homethe steaming mug of coffee, the slippers waiting by the hallgnawed at his conscience. He could not explain why he had abandoned his family; an unseen force dragged him toward Beatrice, tearing his soul apart.
Emma never blocked Victors return; she could have barred him at the doorstep, cursed the interloper, and condemned Victor, but she remained quietly patient. Each time he left, she whispered to Charlie, Come back, Victor. Dont forget us.
Beatrice, weary of the endless drama surrounding Charlie, warned Victor, If I ever leave, itll only be because you love your son more than me. That pattern repeated for years.
Friends urged Emma, You should have married someone else long ago! What are you waiting for? Your son needs a father every day, not just on holidays. Youre still youngforget Victor! Emma listened, sighed, and stayed silent. Eventually the pleas faded; everyone assumed she would remain alone. Time marched on mercilessly.
Victor stopped visiting Charlie. Father and son met only on neutral ground. As Charlie finished school, Emma finally accepted that Victor would not return; twelve long years had passed. She put a decisive full stop on that chapter of her life, realizing she still had strength to bear another child. She booked a holiday to a sunny seaside resort, where a brief, carefree romance blossomednothing serious, just a fleeting seaside fling.
Nine months later, Charlies sister, Molly, was born. Emmas friends were stunned by her resolve. They gathered at the maternity ward, waiting for the new mother. Emma emerged, exhausted yet radiant, cradling a pinkribboned bundle. Hello, ladies! Please love and cherish my little Molly! she beamed.
One friend jabbed, And what will we call her with a proper middle name? Emma shot back, Shell grow into it. No remark could dim Emmas joy; her entire world now revolved around Molly.
Molly became Charlies first and dearest companion. She never asked embarrassing questions about her fathers identity; her mothers happiness was all that mattered. When Molly started nursery at three, she learned that children could have both mums and dads. She began calling Charlie Dad, a bittersweet habit that made Emma smile through the ache.
One evening, a hesitant knock sounded at Emmas door. Molly scrambled to answer, shouting, Its my dad! Emma looked through the peephole and sawVictor, older, weary, unannounced. She swung the door wide. Come in, if youve come, Emma said, trying to mask her surprise.
Victor set down two bulging suitcases, shrugged off his battered backpack. Molly ran into his arms, exclaiming, Mum, thats my dad, right? Emma, tears welling, nodded, Yes, darling, thats your father.
Victor lifted the girl, kissed her freckled nose, ruffled her golden curls, Hello, my little firecracker! He then turned to Emma, pressing his lips to her hand. Thank you, Emma. Will you forgive me? He tried to kneel, but Emma gently grasped his elbow, keeping him standing. Hello, my bitter honey, she said softly. You were away for seventeen years. No grudgesjust we need a father now. She exhaled, relief softening her voice.
Charlie stood nearby, eyes wide with astonishment, a tentative smile forming on his lips.
A few weeks later, Emma called a curious friend and said, You wanted to know my daughters middle name? Shes VictoranaVictoria! Remember that.
