The Bitter Truth on the Pillow: “I’ve Come to Stay”
Emily came home exhausted. Everything inside whispered the same old story: her husband hadn’t spent the night at home again. Judging by the scattered clothes and unwashed dishes, he’d been in a hurry to leave, leaving behind nothing but indifference. She mechanically began tidying up, but as she neared the bed, she froze. On the pillowcase—a long, red hair that wasn’t hers. Trembling, she walked to the kitchen—two wine glasses, lipstick. She stared at it all as if through foggy glass. But this time, she didn’t cry. She knew with cold certainty: it was time to act.
Once, Emily had a simple dream—to find her prince. Born in a small village, she’d always longed for the city, for a beautiful life, for happiness. She studied, worked evenings at a restaurant, helping her Aunt Margaret, who’d struggled since her divorce. Money was tight. Her mother sent what little she could, but in her stepfather’s house, she was always an afterthought. Everything she had, she’d earned herself. And she believed love would one day pull her out of the grey.
Then love arrived. James—older, confident, well-off—frequented the restaurant where she worked. She fell for him at first sight, unaware he had not just a car but a whole line of admirers. He noticed her. Soon, Emily replaced them all—even the one they called “his fiancée,” who turned out to be nothing more than his goddaughter. James chose her.
The wedding was like something from a film—lavish, expensive, dazzling. James’s parents welcomed her with strained smiles but relented: he was their late, beloved son, his word was law. Her mother-in-law controlled everything, from the dress to the shade of Emily’s hair. She obeyed. She believed she belonged. For a year, life was a fairy tale.
But time passed. No pregnancy came. Then, one day, her mother-in-law declared without preamble:
*”I’ve booked you a doctor’s appointment. It’s time to find out what’s wrong.”*
Emily felt fine but didn’t argue. Then came the verdict: children would never happen.
She rode home, unsure how to tell him. How would they live now? But soon, she realized words weren’t needed. It had already been said. By her mother-in-law.
*”We’ll manage. What matters is we’re together,”* she lied.
James echoed it: *”I won’t leave you.”* She believed him. But soon came the doctors, clinics, treatments. And he stayed out later. Then moved to the guest room. Then slept more often at his parents’.
Life went on, but not together. Her best friend Charlotte had a son. Emily became his godmother. Little Oliver became her light. Then Charlotte and her husband died in a crash. Oliver was left alone. While Emily gathered the courage to visit, Charlotte’s brother, Thomas—the same boy who’d once given her sweets and notebooks—had already taken him.
*”We’re too old,”* Charlotte’s parents said. *”He’s young, has a wedding coming up. Let him raise the boy.”*
Emily couldn’t bear it—a stranger, a stepmother, would raise Oliver. She imagined taking him herself. Convincing Thomas. Maybe he’d relent.
But Thomas refused.
*”He’s my nephew. I promised my sister—I’d never abandon him!”*
Then, as if delirious, he added:
*”Or marry me. We’ll raise him together. I’ve always loved you. You never noticed.”*
*”Are you mad?!”* she blurted. Instantly, she regretted it. But it was too late.
She returned home shattered. And now—foreign hair on her pillow. Lipstick. Glasses. The truth cut deep. Had he even been at his parents’? Those “business trips”?
All that held them was duty, habit, the fear of being alone. Quickly, she packed her things, left a note:
*”This is better for everyone…”*
James would have children. His parents—grandchildren. Thomas—a family. Oliver—a mother. And her?
Love? Who knew what that was. Maybe it was already near.
Thomas opened the door, drowsy, confused: *”Again? What do you want?”*
Emily closed her eyes and whispered: *”I’ve… come to stay.”*
