Chasing Happiness on Holiday
We spend all year dreaming of a holiday, preparing for it, hoping we’ll return happier. But often, the opposite happens…
Back in May, Mark and Emily began planning their break. They debated where to go, where to stay. Emily wanted the sandy beaches of Brighton—shallow water stretching nearly a kilometer, warm and gentle. Perfect for little Alfie.
“You really want to bring him?” Mark asked flatly.
“You say that like he’s only my child. Yes, I do. What’s the issue? People take babies all the time.”
“Only if there’s no one to leave them with. But we’ve got your mum. Ask her to look after him—she won’t refuse. Do you really want sleepless nights, nappies, and tantrums on holiday? Where’s the rest in that?”
Emily agreed—yet the thought of ten days without her son was unbearable.
Her mum sided with Mark.
“Go alone, relax. He’s too young to enjoy it, and you’ll just exhaust yourselves.”
“Look at this hotel—sea views from the upper floors.” Mark turned his laptop toward her.
“What does the view matter? You go to the sea, not stare at it from a window,” Emily countered. “It’s pebbly, too—hard to lounge on.”
“That’s what sunbeds are for. At least we won’t drag sand into the room.”
Mark always had an answer. And Emily always gave in because she adored him. What did it matter where they went, what beach they chose, as long as they were together? In two and a half years of marriage, nothing had changed.
“Flying’s best—expensive, but fast,” Mark said.
Emily worried about leaving Alfie. He’d notice her absence quickly, miss her, cry. Would her mum manage?
“So, shall I book it?” Mark pulled her from her thoughts.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
They saw family differently. Mark had lost his parents young, raised by grandparents. His grandfather passed just as he finished school, his grandmother two years later.
When they met, Mark lived alone. Emily moved in almost at once. They redecorated, built their nest. Everyone envied her.
“You’re lucky, Em. Handsome bloke, his own flat, no meddling mother-in-law. Don’t get cocky, or someone’ll snatch him,” her friend teased.
“Like you?” Emily laughed.
“Well, I’m not bad myself.”
The first disappointment came a month after the wedding, just before Emily’s birthday, when Mark bluntly said not to invite her mum.
“Friends are coming—she’ll be bored.”
“It’s her day too. She birthed me, raised me. How do I tell her no?”
“Invite her the next day. Cake and tea.”
Emily disliked it but loved Mark too much to argue. Her mum, if hurt, didn’t show it. She came the next day, bringing a fine china set. Mark showered her with compliments, kissed her cheek, thanked her for her daughter. No scene.
So it became routine: Mark’s friends filled their home on holidays. Many lived with parents or rented, while her mum stayed uninvited.
“If you love him, accept him. He grew up without parents—family means less to him,” her mum said. “Don’t fight over me. A wife must be patient. Start quarreling, and it’ll spiral. You’ve got Alfie—he needs his dad. Trust me, raising a child alone is hard.”
Emily left Alfie with her mum, shopping for herself. Post-baby weight clung stubbornly. In a new sundress, she twirled before the mirror.
“Love it? Once I tan, it’ll be perfect.”
“Meh. Washes you out. Makes you look heavy,” Mark said, barely glancing.
Icy shock. She scrutinized her reflection. Pre-wedding, she’d been slim, bright. Now, motherhood softened her.
“You used to like my bigger chest,” she muttered.
The dress went back in the wardrobe.
“Don’t sulk. The color’s just wrong,” Mark tried.
Departure day loomed. Emily packed slowly, savoring Alfie’s warmth, dreading leaving him. They should’ve postponed the trip. Alfie deserved the sea too. Next year, maybe—all together. Mark would teach him to swim. Unless…
She banished the thought. They’d never truly fought before. “No ‘what ifs’,” she ordered herself.
She ate less, checked the mirror daily, knowing she’d never be the girl Mark fell for.
They dropped Alfie at her mum’s en route to the airport. Mark fidgeted as Emily smothered the boy in kisses.
“Enough. Like you’re leaving forever,” her mum chided, taking Alfie. “He’s getting fussy—go, before he wails.”
Mark beamed, playful with flight attendants. Emily had noticed before—any pretty woman, and he’d flirt. Married barely any time, and already his eyes wandered. What next?
“Em, juice?” Mark nudged.
“No.”
“Stop moping. Alfie’s fine. We’ll bring him seashells…”
She forced a smile, shoving dark thoughts aside.
The hotel room was small but comfy, air-conditioned, steps from the sea.
“Freedom!” Mark spun her, tossed her onto the bed. “Beach?” He bounced up.
“Give me a sec to change…”
The beach teemed with tanned bodies. Emily hesitated, pale in her modest swimsuit.
“Come on. Burn faster,” Mark said, stripping unselfconsciously.
The sea was warm, soothing. Kids splashed in rubber sandals. “Alfie’d struggle here…”
She burned fast. Mark barely left the beach. At lunch, he eyed every passing girl. That night, his touch burned her scorched skin.
“Easy, it hurts,” she whispered.
He rolled away, stared at the ceiling.
“Mark, it’s not my fault—”
He turned to the wall.
“Up, sleepyhead. We’ll lose the sunbeds.”
Yesterday’s tension seemed forgotten, but her skin screamed. She covered up, slathered on sunscreen, still shivering under the blazing sun.
“Mark, I need shade. I’m burning.”
“We came to bake, not hide. Should’ve been careful yesterday,” he snapped.
Two girls in skimpy bikinis and wide hats strolled past. His gaze lingered.
“I’m going.” She waited, hoping he’d follow. He didn’t.
He returned hours later, buoyant. “Starved. Shower, then dinner?”
In the café, the hat girls reappeared. His glances were obvious.
“They’re pretty,” Emily said.
“What?”
“The girls. Maybe I need a hat—my nose is burned.”
She lost her appetite, queasy.
“I’ll go. Think I’ve got a fever.”
Outside, Mark caught her. “What’s your problem?”
“You don’t see it?” She halted. “You’re making me feel worthless. They’re slim—for now. After kids, they’ll look like me. Or worse. You stared right in front of me.”
“Don’t make a scene,” he hissed.
Silence back to the hotel. He lay stiffly, arms behind his head.
She cracked. “I’m jealous.”
“Should’ve stayed home,” he muttered, rising.
“Where are you going?”
“Out. Not sitting here. Take a pill, sleep.”
“With them?”
“You’re insufferable.” He left.
Tears choked her. Why was he like this? Had he always been? Too fast—love, moving in, wedding, baby. He wasn’t ready. That’s why he invited friends, not family. Mum was right—no parental example. But he wouldn’t cheat. Would he?
He returned hours later, chatty.
“Better?”
“Much. Dinner?” Relief—he was back, no longer angry.
“Not hungry.” Seeing her face, he backtracked. “Fine, let’s go.”
His moods swung like a pendulum. Home would fix it—no bikini-clad distractions.
Each day repeated. By week’s end, Emily hated the sun, sea, tanned bodies. She called her mum hourly, checking on Alfie. The sea soothed her, but Mark barely noticed her tan or the sundress he’d scorned. He drifted, silent or oddly cheerful.
She counted down, desperate to leave. Three days left. The sea wasn’t the issue—she knew, but couldn’t admit it.
“Gifts for Mum and Alfie. Mark?” He seemed miles away.
“What?”
“Gifts. I thought we’d go together.”
“Go ahead. My stomach’s off—probably food poisoning.”
She left medicine, went shopping. Men noticed her—slim again, sun-bleached hair, glowing skin.
She bought her mum a scarf, Alfie shells and T-shirts. Mark didn’t pick up. “She returned to find the hotel room empty, her phone buzzing with a message: “Let’s talk when you’re home,” and in that moment, she knew their marriage was over, just like the holiday that was supposed to bring them happiness.
