**A Holiday for Happiness**
All year, we dream of our holiday, plan it, and hope to return happy. But sometimes, the opposite happens…
Back in May, James and Emily had started planning their getaway—where to go, where to stay. Emily longed for the golden sands of Brighton, where the shallow water stretched out for almost a mile, warm and perfect for little Alfie.
“You want to bring the kid?” James asked flatly.
“You say that like he’s only mine. Yes, of course. What’s wrong with that? People take babies all the time.”
“Not when we’ve got your mum. She’ll sit with him—she won’t say no. But if we take him, it’s nappy changes, sleepless nights, tantrums. Where’s the holiday in that?”
Emily agreed—but she couldn’t imagine leaving Alfie for ten whole days.
Her mum sided with James. “Go just the two of you. He’s too young—you’ll only tire yourselves out, and he won’t remember a thing.”
“Look at the hotel I found. That view! You can see the ocean from the higher floors.” James turned his laptop toward her.
“What does the view matter? We’re going to the sea—not to stare at it from a window,” Emily protested. “The beach is pebbly, not exactly relaxing.”
“And what are loungers for? At least we won’t track sand into the room.”
James always had the right arguments. And Emily always gave in—because she loved him madly. What did it matter where they went, what the beach was like, as long as they were together? Even after two and a half years of marriage, nothing had changed.
“I reckon flying’s best. More expensive, but quicker,” James said.
Emily, meanwhile, thought only of Alfie. He was little, but he’d notice her absence—miss her, cry for her. Would Mum manage?
“So, should I book the hotel?” James interrupted her thoughts.
“Yes, of course.”
They saw the world differently—family included. James had lost his parents young, raised by his grandparents. His grandad had passed when James was finishing school; his nan two years later.
When they met, James already lived alone. Almost immediately, Emily moved in. They fixed up the flat together—building their future nest. Everyone envied Emily.
“Lucky you, Em. Handsome husband, a flat of his own, no meddling mother-in-law. Don’t get too smug, or someone might steal him,” her best friend joked.
“Oh, like you?” Emily laughed.
“Why not? I’m pretty too.”
Her first disappointment came a month after the wedding, just before her birthday, when James outright said not to invite her mum.
“My mates are coming. She’ll be bored.”
“It’s her day too. She gave birth to me, raised me. How can I tell her not to come?”
“Invite her the next day. We’ll have tea and cake.”
Emily didn’t like it, but she loved James too much to argue. Mum never let on if she was hurt, arriving the next day with a beautiful tea set. James showered her with compliments, kissed her cheek, thanked her for raising Emily. The storm passed.
It became their tradition—every celebration filled with James’s friends, most still renting or living with parents. Mum was never invited.
“If you love him, accept him as he is,” Mum said. “He grew up without parents—family means something different to him. Don’t fight over me. Birthdays aren’t worth it. A wife must be wise and patient. Start quarrelling, and it never ends well. You’ve got Alfie—he needs his dad. And trust me, raising a child alone is hard.”
While Mum watched Alfie, Emily shopped. Post-baby weight clung stubbornly—new dresses, a swimsuit. She twirled before the mirror in a pale sundress.
“Like it? Once I tan, it’ll look even better.”
“Bit plain. Makes you look washed out,” James muttered, barely glancing her way.
The words hit like ice water. She turned back to the mirror, scrutinising herself. Before the wedding, she’d been slim, bright, full of life. Now, motherhood had softened her.
“You used to love that my chest got bigger,” she said quietly.
The sundress went straight into the wardrobe.
“Don’t be like that. The colour just doesn’t suit you,” James tried to backtrack.
The day of departure neared. Emily packed slowly, drinking in Alfie’s presence. She already regretted agreeing to go without him. They could’ve waited another year—they wouldn’t have died without a beach holiday. Alfie should’ve splashed in the sea, run on hot sand, soaked up the sun. Next year, she promised herself—they’d all go. James would teach Alfie to swim.
*If they even made it that far.*
The thought shocked her. Why think like that? They’d never had a real fight. They loved each other. *No ifs,* she told herself.
She ate less now, scrutinising the mirror daily. Even if she lost the weight, would she ever be the girl James fell for?
On the way to the airport, they dropped Alfie at Mum’s. James fidgeted while Emily smothered her son in kisses.
“That’s enough. You’d think you were leaving forever.” Mum scooped Alfie up. “He’s getting upset—can feel it. Go, before he starts crying.”
James was giddy, joking with flight attendants. Emily had noticed before—whenever an attractive woman appeared, James turned on the charm. Married barely any time, and already his eyes strayed. What would come next?
“Em, want juice? Em!” He nudged her.
“No.”
“Stop moping. Alfie’s fine with your mum. We’ll bring him seashells.”
Emily forced a smile, shoving the dark thoughts aside.
The hotel room was small but comfortable, air-conditioned, the sea just steps away.
“Freedom!” James swept her into his arms, spinning her before dumping her onto the bed. “Ready for the beach?”
“Just let me change.”
The shore was crowded, everyone bronzed. Emily hesitated before peeling off her clothes, self-conscious of her pale skin.
“Come on. The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll tan.” James stripped without hesitation, his own legs ghostly white.
Emily undressed, grateful for the high-waisted swimsuit hiding her stomach. She envied the long-legged girls strolling past.
The water was warm, soothing. Children splashed in rubber sandals. *Alfie would struggle here…*
Of course, she burned fast. James barely glanced up from his book when she begged to leave. At lunch, his eyes followed every passing girl. That night, he reached for her.
“Careful—it hurts,” she whispered. Sunburn seared under his touch.
James rolled away, arms behind his head. Staring at the ceiling.
“It’s not my fault.”
He turned sharply to the wall.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. We’ll miss the loungers again,” he whispered the next morning, lips brushing her ear.
Yesterday’s tension had vanished—but her skin still burned. She didn’t dare protest. A long skirt and blouse shielded her from the sun. On the beach, she slathered on sunscreen—but the heat pierced through. Shivers ran down her spine.
“James, let’s go back. I’m blistering.”
“We didn’t come here to sit indoors. Shouldn’t have stayed out so long yesterday,” he snapped.
“I was trying to tan. I’ll go—you stay.”
He didn’t move, gaze fixed somewhere past her. Emily followed it—two girls in barely-there swimsuits and wide hats.
“I’m leaving.” She waited. He didn’t budge. She stumbled away over the pebbles.
He returned hours later, grinning.
“Starving. Quick shower, then dinner?”
She dressed eagerly, wincing as fabric grazed her burns. At the restaurant, the girls from the beach sat nearby. James glanced over constantly.
“They’re pretty,” Emily said.
“What?”
“The girls. I need a hat like theirs—my nose is fried.” The scene disgusted her—her husband openly ogling strangers. Her appetite vanished.
“I’m going. I feel feverish.”
James caught her outside.
“What’s this drama?”
“You really don’t get it?” She stopped dead. “You make me feel like an idiot. Yes, they’re slim—for now. After kids, they’ll look like me. Or worse. And you stared right in front of me.”
“Don’t make a scene in public,” he hissed.
Silence carried them back to the hotel. James flopped onto the bed, arms behind his head again.
Emily cracked first. “I’m jealous.”
“You’re right. We should’ve stayed home,” he muttered, standing.
“Where are you going?”
“Out. Not sitting here all night. Take a pill and sleep.”
“With them?”Emily whispered into the darkness of their empty hotel room, clutching Alfie’s tiny jumper to her chest, knowing she’d already lost him long before the holiday even began.
