At long last, it finally happened.
When Emily married, she never suspected her new husband, James, had a vice. They hadn’t courted long—James proposed quickly, slightly tipsy on ale.
“Emily, let’s wed,” he’d said, his breath sour with drink.
“James, are you drunk? Proposing like this?” She feigned outrage, though truthfully, she wanted to marry. Most of her friends already had.
“Just celebrating, love. So, what’s your answer?”
“Fine, I’ll marry you—but only if you promise to drink sparingly. Special occasions only.”
“Well, today’s special—I just asked you, didn’t I?”
Young and naive, Emily didn’t dwell too deeply. She didn’t know James’ father had been a drinker all his life. Perhaps it rubbed off on the son—especially when the older man occasionally invited James for “a spot of tea” (which was never tea).
Margaret, James’ mother, would scold her husband. “You poison yourself with that filth, and now you’re dragging our boy into it?” Her husband only laughed.
“Quiet, woman. Let the lad learn—he’s a man now.”
After the wedding, the couple moved into Emily’s small flat, inherited from her grandmother. At first, things were bearable. James worked, though he often returned smelling of drink. There was always an excuse.
“Thomas shouted the lads a round—his son was born. Couldn’t refuse, could I?” Or, “Celebrating Robert’s birthday. Would’ve been rude not to join.”
Emily bore a son, William, and James kept drinking. He lingered away from home, barely acknowledging the boy.
“Why won’t you hold him? He’s your own blood,” Emily pleaded.
“You told me not to breathe ale on him,” he’d reply.
“Then stop drinking! How many times must we have this talk?”
Eight years passed. James drank daily, lost job after job. His mother, Margaret, grew heartsick, watching Emily—a kind, patient wife—struggle.
“Emily fights so hard, yet he won’t change,” she confided in her sister. “Only worsens with time.”
“Poor lass,” her sister sighed. “Such a good woman, wasted on him.”
Two more years and William was in primary school. Emily carried the household alone—James was unemployed, though Margaret helped with money and clothes for the boy. James was a shadow of the handsome lad he’d once been—missing teeth, balding, sunk deep into apathy. He felt nothing—not for his wife, not for his son.
“Emily, divorce him. Throw him out. Why endure this?” Her mother, her colleagues, even the neighbors urged her.
But Emily pitied James—she had a soft heart, rescuing stray cats, let alone a husband. Her only concern was William. The boy saw his father’s decline, felt no respect, no bond. So Emily made her choice: she would divorce James.
She told Margaret.
“Margaret, I can’t go on. I’m filing for divorce.”
“Emily, perhaps he could be treated—maybe he’ll improve?”
“How many times did you try with your husband? Did it ever work?” Emily shook her head. “I won’t let William follow him. Best he never sees this. I’m sending James away.”
“Where will he go? Back to us, of course.” Margaret pressed a hand to her temple. “God help me.”
Truthfully, Emily had another reason—she’d fallen for a colleague, Daniel. She’d kept it hidden, even from him.
Daniel had joined the office months ago. The moment she saw him—tall, blue-eyed, with an easy smile—her heart had quickened. He wasn’t just handsome; he carried himself with quiet dignity. Though divorced, he never entertained office flirtations.
“Another time,” he’d say politely when women asked him out.
When Emily filed for divorce, she told James outright:
“James, we’re done. Take your things and go.”
He stared blankly, unfazed. He took his bags and left.
*I meant nothing to him in the end,* she thought. *But now? Now I’ll learn to trust again.*
And she did. One evening after work, Daniel called to her.
“Emily, got a moment?”
“Just heading home. What is it?” Her cheeks warmed.
“Fancy supper? Would like to talk properly—not in front of everyone.” He smiled, gesturing to his car.
She agreed.
The pub was quiet—too early for crowds. Over supper, Daniel spoke softly.
“Emily, I heard you’ve divorced.”
She nodded. “Ran out of patience. Tired of carrying everything alone.”
“Then I’ll be bold. The day I met you, I knew—you were my fate.”
Her pulse fluttered; he’d voiced her own unspoken feeling.
“Daniel, I never dreamed you—well—”
“I think you felt it too,” he teased, and she blushed.
“Was I that obvious?”
“To the right eyes.”
They began courting. The office buzzed with whispers, especially from bold, sharp-tongued Lily:
“Look at quiet Emily, stealing Daniel! After all my attempts—how?”
Emily only smiled.
James never bothered her again, though Margaret bore the brunt. Her home became a nightmare, so she often visited Emily—not out of obligation, but comfort.
One Saturday, Margaret arrived early, finding Emily cheerful.
“Emily, you seem brighter.”
“William’s still abed, glued to his phone. Sit—tea’s ready.” She took a breath. “I’ve news… I’m to marry Daniel.”
Margaret froze—then beamed.
“At long last! Oh, Emily, I’m thrilled!” She embraced her.
Emily blinked. “I thought you’d disapprove?”
Margaret laughed. “Dear girl, I saw how James was. He didn’t treasure you. But now? You’re glowing. If you choose Daniel, he must be good.”
Emily’s throat tightened. She’d expected judgment, not joy.
“Emily, I’ll help plan the wedding—if you’ll have me! Let’s make it beautiful!”
They chatted eagerly—about the venue, the dress, the flowers. Emily realized Margaret wasn’t just a former mother-in-law; she was a true friend.
And Margaret? She’d found a daughter in Emily. Such things are rare—but they do happen.
