Back in the day, villages were lively places where young folks would gather for dances, even trekking to neighbouring hamlets. Without the distractions of the internet, they made their own fun—dancing, joking, living a different kind of life.
Emily fell head over heels for Jack from the next village over. He’d rolled up on his old motorbike one evening, spotted her at the local dance, and that was it. She was sweet, bashful—he could tell by the way her cheeks flushed whenever he got close.
“Oi, Tom, that Emily—she seeing anyone from round here?” Jack asked a mate.
“Nah, single as they come. Half the lads fancy her, though. What, you smitten?” Tom grinned.
“Proper fit, isn’t she?” Jack kept glancing her way, deciding not to waste time.
Love hit hard—sleep didn’t stand a chance.
The music blared as Jack took Emily’s hand, pulling her onto the dance floor. They barely parted all night. He could feel it—she liked him just as much.
They wandered out late under a bright moon.
“Em, I’ve got my bike. Fancy a ride? Or we could just walk if you’re nervous.”
“Bit scared, yeah. Let’s walk.”
Hand in hand, no one happier. Emily had never felt this before. She’d never had a proper boyfriend, even if lads had fancied her. That night, Jack walked her home, lingering outside until she finally dashed inside. Later, she heard his bike roar past, carrying him back to his village a few miles away.
“So *this* is love,” she thought, lying awake, heart racing. Jack—tall, dark-haired, with those piercing blue eyes—had her spinning.
Weeks passed, Jack visiting often, until one day he grinned: “How about I nick you for good? We’ll get hitched.”
“What for?” she laughed. “I’d say yes either way.”
“Right then—brace for the in-laws,” he chuckled, pulling her close.
Soon, Jack arrived with his parents in a horse-drawn cart, ribbons fluttering—like something out of an old tale. Emily was besotted, though her mum warned, “Love, *very* handsome men? They’ve got their own ideas…”
“Mum, we’re in love. It’ll be fine.”
“God willing,” her mum sighed, eyeing Jack, who only had eyes for Emily.
They settled in Jack’s village. But young folks drifted to the cities, and after three years—with a toddler, Oliver—they left too.
“Go on,” her mother-in-law urged. “Ollie’s toddling now—I’ll mind him. What’s here for you? Factories, jobs—you’ll sort yourselves out.”
And so they moved. The city buzzed—crowds, opportunities. Jack landed work at a factory; Emily at a textile mill.
“Em, listen—the factory’s giving us a flat! Proper our own place,” Jack beamed.
“Oh, Jack, really? Let’s fetch Ollie—he’s nearly three, ready for nursery. Miss him terribly.”
Time passed. Oliver started school, another baby—Henry—arrived, and they moved to a proper council flat. Emily busied herself with the boys; Jack worked. Life was steady, quiet.
Until it wasn’t.
The factory was full of women. At first, Jack just noticed the attention. Then the “jokes” started—flirty invites, winks. Linda, the stockkeeper, smirked, “Fancy coming to my birthday, Jack?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he grinned.
One night out—then another. He fell into it, cheating left and right. When Emily finally asked, “You’re back so late lately…” he shrugged, “Promotion stuff. Boss keeps me on.”
Love shouldn’t hurt.
Emily believed him—until the mill girls set her straight.
“Em, love, your Jack’s a right charmer. Not just here—half the factory’s had a go.”
“What? If you love someone, you don’t cheat,” Emily said, stunned.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
That night, Jack didn’t even deny it. “Yeah, I step out. But whose fault’s that? You’re all about the kids—no time for me.”
“And when *would* I? You’re never home!”
They made peace, but the rot set in. Years passed, the boys grew—Oliver finishing school, Henry close behind.
Then Jack dropped the bomb.
“Right, Em—I’m off. Found someone younger.”
No shock. She’d seen it coming. No tears, no begging. As he packed, he tossed over his shoulder, “Flat’s yours with the boys. No fuss.”
“Good riddance,” she thought. She’d never have left first—divorce felt shameful.
The hurt came later. The betrayal. She’d loved only him. Then he upped the stakes—demanding his share of the flat.
“Pay me out, and I’m gone,” he sneered.
She scraped the money together—family, friends pitching in. “Thank God it’s over,” she whispered.
The boys flew the nest, married, gave her grandkids. Years on, she bumped into Rita, an old mutual friend.
“You look *brilliant*, Em—moved on, eh?”
“Long since. Grandkids now—life’s good.”
“Guess you heard? That young bit Jack left you for? Kicked him out.”
Emily shrugged. “No loss.”
Karma’s a mirror.
Later, Oliver brought Jack back—old, sick, nowhere to go.
“He can stay, Mum?”
Emily sighed. “Fine. But he pays rent, buys his own food. We’re strangers.”
Neighbours talked. “Vera said Jack’s spinning tales—that *you* begged him back!”
Emily scoffed. “Oh, *please*.”
She rang Oliver. “Come get him. *Now*.”
The boys tried—but Jack burned bridges everywhere. Finally, they put him in a care home.
“Pension covers it. We’ll visit,” Oliver said tiredly.
Emily exhaled. At last—peace.
