“Oh my god, Emily! What are you even thinking?” Sarah’s voice trembled down the phone, shaking with outrage. “This is my wedding! Mine! I’ve been waiting eighteen months for this day!”
“Sweetheart, love, you’ve got to understand,” came the calm reply from her best mate. “John rang me himself last night. Himself! Was I meant to just say no? We dated back in uni—you know how it was!”
Sarah slumped onto the sofa, the phone shaking in her hand.
“But the wedding’s this Saturday! The dress is bought, the guests are invited, the venue’s booked! Emily, how could you do this?”
“What was I supposed to do? He said he’d made a mistake, that it was me he loved, not you. Sarah, love, you can’t help how the heart feels…”
Sarah threw the phone onto the cushions and sobbed. Outside, an October drizzle pattered against the window. On the table lay a folder of marriage paperwork, and in the wardrobe hung a white dress she’d bought with happy tears in her eyes.
Mum came in when she heard the crying, sat beside her, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“What’s happened, darling?”
“John… John’s marrying Emily,” Sarah choked out through tears. “They’re filing the paperwork tomorrow. Our wedding was next week!”
Margaret shook her head and squeezed her tighter.
“Then it wasn’t meant to be, love. He wasn’t the one for you. Better to find out now than spend a lifetime regretting it.”
“But why, Mum? Why am I always the backup plan?” Sarah sniffled. “At school, James dated me until that new girl showed up. At college, Mark courted me for three months, then ran off with someone in his class. Now John…”
Mum stroked her hair without a word. She remembered how Sarah had been glowing as she planned the wedding, how she’d teared up trying on dresses. She’d never much liked John—something about him set her off. Too polished, too handsome, too good at saying the right things. But his eyes… they were empty.
“Mum, what do I even do now? How do I face people? Everyone knows about the wedding! Auntie Sharon’s already bought train tickets from Manchester, Uncle Paul took time off…”
“What do you do? You keep going. You’re young, lovely, clever. The right man will come along.”
Sarah lifted her tear-streaked face.
“What if he doesn’t? I’m twenty-seven, Mum. All my mates are married with kids. And I’m just… dating, hoping each time…”
“He will,” Mum said firmly. “He absolutely will.”
What she didn’t say was that she’d lived this too—that she’d been someone’s second choice until she met Sarah’s dad. A simple mechanic, not a looker, not rich, but he’d loved her properly, every day till the end.
A knock at the door cut through the moment. Sarah tensed—what if it was John? What if he’d changed his mind?
But it was just neighbour Auntie Linda, holding a jar of strawberry jam.
“Sarah, love! I heard… Oh, don’t take it so hard! That John’s no good, I knew it from the first time I clapped eyes on him. Shifty little bugger. Not a real man, if you ask me.”
“Auntie Linda, please,” Sarah sighed.
“Oh, I’ll say it! Someone’s got to! You’re a lovely lass, hardworking, kind. Not many like you these days. And he’s a fool if he couldn’t see it. Listen, love—” She perched on the sofa. “I’ve got a nephew, Dave. Divorced, yeah, but a good bloke. Works at the factory, doesn’t drink, adores his kids. Want me to introduce you?”
Sarah shook her head.
“No. Not ready.”
“Well, I’m telling him about you anyway. Might come knocking himself.”
After she left, Sarah sat by the window watching the rain, wondering why she was always just a placeholder—somewhere for men to stay until they found something better.
At school, she’d fallen hard for James Morrison. Football captain, every girl fancied him. But for some reason, he’d picked quiet Sarah from the parallel class. Six months together, she’d thought it was love. He’d made her cheesy cards, walked her home, even took her to meet his parents.
Until Jessica transferred from London—glamorous, fashionable, knew how to do her makeup. James lost his head and dumped Sarah the next week.
“Don’t take it personal,” he’d muttered, not meeting her eyes. “We’re young, yeah? Too soon for serious stuff. You’re great, you’ll find someone better.”
Two weeks of crying, and she’d sworn off love. But promises like that never stick.
At nursing college, there’d been Mark Bennett—tall, clever, posh family. Straight-A student, planned to be a doctor. Sarah worked in the library, often saw him studying late. One day he asked for help finding a book, they got talking.
He was thoughtful, well-read, full of dreams. She listened, imagining her place in them. Three months together, he said all the right words—until she found out he’d been messaging a girl from another city for a year.
“Look, Sarah,” he’d said, eyes averted, “me and Lauren go way back. Our families are close. You and me, we’re just… fun, yeah?”
Just fun. Those words stung every time she met someone new.
John came into her life a year and a half ago at a mate’s birthday. Tall, handsome, corporate job. Flowers, fancy meals, gifts. Said he wanted to marry her within months.
“Sarah, you’re the one,” he’d said. “Kind, patient, the sort who makes a house a home. I’ll make you happy, promise.”
And she believed him. Thought she’d finally found the one. They picked out a flat, planned the honeymoon, dreamed of kids. He introduced her to his parents—they’d approved.
Then Emily came back—his uni ex. Glamorous, successful, just returned from New York. At first, he just mentioned her in passing. Then he was “working late,” calling less. Last night, he came home and said they needed to talk.
“Sarah, you’re amazing,” he started, and her stomach dropped. She’d heard this script before. “But we’re not right for each other. Too different.”
“How?” she asked, already knowing.
“Well… different interests, goals. You’re homely, steady. I need someone more… ambitious.”
“Emily, you mean?”
He flushed.
“How’d you know?”
“She rang me today. ‘Congrats on being free,’ she said.”
“Sarah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out like that. It just… happened.”
“Yeah. Happened.”
He packed his stuff, promised to refund the venue and flowers. Like that fixed anything.
Sarah stood by the mirror. Ordinary face, ordinary figure, plain clothes. Maybe that was the problem—too plain, too easy.
Mum brought tea.
“Have a cuppa, love. And eat something—you’ve had nothing all day.”
“Not hungry.”
“Eat anyway. You need your strength.”
They sat in silence at the kitchen table. Mum buttered toast, sliced cheese, acting like this was any normal evening—not the end of everything.
“Mum… why did Dad marry you?” Sarah suddenly asked.
Mum paused, knife mid-air.
“Why’re you asking?”
“Just wondered. You were so different. You were gorgeous, clever, went to uni. Dad was…”
“Your dad was good. Truly good,” she said softly. “He loved me—properly. Not for anything, just because. And I felt that every single day.”
“But there was someone before him?”
A long silence. Then Mum squeezed her hand.
“There was. Promised to marry me too. Until his family found him a ‘suitable’ girl. I was just… entertainment.”
“How’d you get past that?”
“Took time. Thought my life was over. Then I met your dad. Didn’t fancy him at first—just a bloke, tradesman. But he brought me flowers every day, even when skint. Said I was the most beautiful woman alive. And you know what? I believed him. With him, I was.”
Sarah stared, realising she’d never thought of Mum as a woman with her own heartbreaks, her own love story.
“Mum… do you ever regret not marrying that first one?”
“No,” she said firmly. “Not a second. I had thirty happy years with your dad. That other man… heard he’s been divorced four times. Always chasing something ‘better’.”
The next day, Sarah dragged herself to work. The hospital knew—everyone gave her pitying looks or offered blind dates.
“Don’t fret, love,” said Matron. “And ten years later, rocking her newborn daughter on the porch while Dave played footie in the garden with Denny, Sarah finally understood what her mum meant—real love isn’t flashy, it’s just steady, like the warmth of the sun after a long rain.
