As autumn drew to a close, Emily finally made up her mind about university, though she had long wavered over what she wanted to do with her life. Suddenly, she realised medicine was her calling. She had always done well in school, and living with her parents in their comfortable home in Manchester, she wanted for nothing—loving parents, stylish clothes, seaside holidays, and thoughtful gifts.
Her father, James Whitmore, held a high-ranking position in the city council and spared no expense for his wife or daughter. Emily was always impeccably dressed, like a doll. He was certain of his daughter’s bright and secure future. Her mother, Claire, was a homemaker.
But life, that cruel trickster, had other plans.
“Mum, I’m off!” Emily called between bites of toast as she rushed out the door, late for school again. “Why did I stay up scrolling till three?” she scolded herself, but she made it just in time, breathlessly sliding into her seat before the bell.
“Who was chasing you?” her friend Lucy teased as Emily flopped down beside her.
“No one—just overslept again,” she sighed, just as the lesson began.
After third period, their form tutor approached, avoiding eye contact.
“Emily, you need to go home. It’s about your dad…”
“What? What’s happened?” Panic seized her as she grabbed her bag and sprinted home.
Outside their building, neighbours clustered, an ambulance idled, and police had just arrived. Emily followed two officers inside. Her mother sat motionless, hollow-eyed, swaying slightly. On the sofa lay her father.
“It was his heart, love,” the neighbour whispered.
Emily collapsed into her mother’s arms, both sobbing. The funeral passed in a blur. Neighbours offered support, but her mother withdrew, speaking little.
“Mum, please say something,” Emily begged, but Claire only stared blankly, as though peering into nothingness. Then, one morning, as Emily ate breakfast alone, her mother shuffled into the kitchen.
“He’s calling me, love… your dad is,” she murmured before collapsing.
Emily shook her frantically. “Mum! Mum!” She dashed next door.
Mrs. Jenkins called an ambulance, holding Emily as she wept. “The doctor will be here soon—they said they’re close.”
The paramedics arrived swiftly, but the doctor’s words were final. “I’m sorry… there’s nothing we can do.”
Emily barely remembered the days that followed. Mrs. Jenkins took charge—there were no relatives. Claire had been an orphan, and James was an only child. Teachers and classmates helped where they could. Slowly, Emily regained her footing, with Mrs. Jenkins watching over her, feeding her, welcoming her home from school.
Exams came and went. The prom passed in a daze. Dreams of university faded—survival took priority. The money her parents left wouldn’t last forever.
“Auntie Jean, thank you for helping me get that shop job,” Emily said one evening. “At least I’ll earn something now.”
“That’s the spirit, love. You’ll study later—life’s just starting. Keep your wits about you.”
Emily worked hard, taking extra shifts, mopping floors, unloading deliveries. Few would guess this slender, graceful girl had once lived so differently.
One evening, a man and woman approached her outside her flat.
“Emily?” the woman asked.
“Yes… but I don’t know you.”
“We’d like to talk about your future. May we come in?”
“Why should I?”
“I’m Anna, this is Paul,” the woman gestured. “We mean no harm—just a chat.”
Reluctantly, Emily let them in.
“We’re offering to buy your flat. It’s too big for one—four rooms? The bills must be steep.”
“They are,” Emily admitted. “But I won’t sell. This is my parents’ home.”
“Think it over,” Paul said as they left.
Emily told Mrs. Jenkins everything.
“Don’t you dare deal with them! Next time they come, fetch me.”
Anna called repeatedly, demanding an answer. “How’d they get my number?” Emily wondered.
Days later, Anna and another man ambushed her outside.
“We’re done waiting,” Paul snapped. “Sell, or you’ll lose it anyway.”
Emily spotted Mrs. Jenkins watching from her window and nodded. Soon, the older woman marched out.
“Clear off! She’s not selling!”
Inside, Mrs. Jenkins called her son, Mark, a police officer. He arrived swiftly, taking details and giving Emily his number. “Call me if they return.”
Three days later, Anna and Paul entered the shop. Emily discreetly dialled Mark.
“Change your mind, or you’ll regret it,” Paul threatened.
Just then, Mark and two officers strode in, hauling the pair away.
“Don’t worry, love,” Mark said later. “They’ve done this before—a whole ring scamming properties.”
Autumn faded, leaves swirling down. Emily knew her customers well—especially elderly Mr. Thompson, who shuffled in weekly. One evening, he looked ghastly.
“Not well today, Mr. Thompson?”
“Terrible, love… dizzy,” he muttered before collapsing.
Emily grabbed his phone, finding “Son, Daniel.” She called.
Daniel arrived that evening with flowers. “Thank you. You saved him.”
Blushing under his gaze, she murmured, “I just reacted.”
During Mr. Thompson’s hospital stay, Daniel visited daily. By discharge day, Emily joined him.
That evening, Daniel confessed, “I’m fifteen years older… divorced… but I’ve never been surer of anyone. Marry me.”
Emily said yes. Daniel moved in, caring for his father while managing his business remotely.
Emily enrolled in law school—Daniel needed a legal mind in his work. Soon, their son, Oliver, was born. They live in her flat still, with Mrs. Jenkins doting on the baby.
Life’s storms may raze our plans, but sometimes, they clear the path for something unexpected—and far sweeter.
