The Obstacle to Happiness
Emma had broken up with the boyfriend she once thought she’d spend her life with. His name was Oliver, hers Emma. They’d been together nearly two years, even moved in together, but the longer they shared a flat, the clearer it became—she couldn’t build a future with him. He grated on her nerves: the laziness, the mess, the endless excuses about work, forever sprawled on the sofa scrolling his phone.
That evening, coming home from an exhausting hospital shift, Emma made up her mind—enough. The flat was chaos, as usual. Oliver, unshaven and in a stretched-out t-shirt, mindlessly scrolled through his phone.
“Oliver, pack your things. We’re done,” she said, no hesitation in her voice.
“Are you mad? What’s wrong now?” he snapped, jumping up from the sofa.
“Everything’s wrong. I won’t carry you anymore. Leave.”
“You’ll regret this. Where am I supposed to go at this hour?”
“Your parents, anyone. But you’re not staying here.”
He slammed the door on his way out, swearing she’d regret it. But Emma didn’t flinch. “Every closed door is a chance to open another,” some forgotten saying echoed in her mind. She sank onto the sofa, feeling lighter than she had in years.
Her parents, especially her mother, were relieved.
“Finally, you’ve kicked that freeloader out. You’re twenty-seven, it’s time to think seriously,” her mother, Margaret, chided.
Emma knew it herself. She worked as a nurse in the trauma ward. No sanatorium, no quiet clinic—just frantic days of saving lives. Some nights, her arms were too heavy to lift, and yet at home, there was always more waiting: dinner, cleaning, Oliver’s sulking.
After the breakup, life was simpler: takeaway kebabs, a hot shower, sleep. No complaints, no tantrums.
A few months later, Daniel walked into her life. He’d brought an injured friend to the hospital and noticed Emma instantly—her sharp gaze caught him. He tried to speak to her then, but she was busy. The next morning, he waited for her outside the hospital. Tall, fair-haired, with a warm smile—she liked him immediately.
Their relationship moved fast. He was attentive, honest, a good listener. Worked with his father in logistics, always made time for her.
After a couple of months, Emma introduced Daniel to her parents. Margaret stiffened, her face tightening.
“Hello, come in,” she said, icy.
Over dinner, her father tried to chat while her mother barely spoke. Daniel felt the tension, Emma—confused.
Later, she learned the truth: Daniel’s mother was Alice, Margaret’s old school friend—the one who’d stolen her boyfriend years ago. Margaret had married, had Emma, but never let go of the grudge. Seeing her rival’s son, she couldn’t hide her disgust.
“It’s him or me,” Margaret declared.
But Emma chose love. She told Daniel everything. He only shrugged.
“We aren’t responsible for our parents’ past. We live here and now.”
When he told his mother who Emma was, Alice just sighed.
“You’ve got your own lives. I hold no grudges. Just be happy.”
They married. Both sets of parents attended but kept to opposite corners. Margaret never smiled once. Alice, though, was radiant with joy.
Months passed. Emma and Daniel lived on their own, visiting both families, but the silence between their parents remained.
“Maybe a grandchild will melt the ice,” Daniel said hopefully.
For now, they were happy together. And just recently, they’d found out—the sound of a child’s laughter would soon fill their home.
