**Diary Entry**
I was always the backup option.
“Emily! What on earth are you doing?!” a woman shrieked down the line, her voice shaking with anger. “You know this is *my* wedding! *Mine!* I’ve been waiting a year and a half for this!”
“Claire, darling, please understand!” came the calm reply. “Peter rang me himself last night. *Himself!* Was I supposed to turn him down? We dated at uni, you know that!”
Claire sank onto the sofa, the phone trembling in her hand.
“But the wedding’s this Saturday! The dress is bought, the guests invited, the venue booked! Emily, how could you?”
“What was I supposed to do? He said he’d made a mistake. That he loves me, not you. Claire, sweetheart, you can’t help who you fall for…”
Claire flung the phone onto the cushions and burst into tears. Outside, an October drizzle misted the window. On the table lay the marriage certificates, and in the wardrobe hung the white dress she’d bought with happy tears in her eyes.
Mum walked in, hearing the sobs, and sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“What’s happened, love?”
“Peter… Peter’s marrying Emily,” Claire choked out. “They’re registering tomorrow. Our wedding was supposed to be next week!”
Janet sighed and pulled her daughter closer.
“Then it wasn’t meant to be, darling. He wasn’t the right one. Better to know now than spend a lifetime miserable.”
“But *why*, Mum? Why am I always the second choice?” Claire sniffled. “In school, Liam dated me until some new girl showed up. At college, Mark hung around for months, then ran off with a classmate. Now Peter…”
Mum stroked her hair. She remembered how Claire had glowed while wedding planning, how happy she’d been in that dress. She’d never liked Peter much—too polished, too smooth. But his eyes… they’d been empty.
“Mum, what do I do now? How do I face everyone? Aunt Martha’s already bought train tickets from Manchester, Uncle John took time off work—”
“What can you do? Keep living. You’re young, lovely, bright. The right one will come.”
Claire looked up tearfully.
“What if he doesn’t? I’m twenty-seven, Mum. All my friends are married with kids. I just keep going on dates, hoping…”
“He’ll come,” Mum said firmly.
She didn’t tell Claire the rest—that she’d lived the same story once. That she, too, had been someone’s backup until she met Claire’s dad. He’d been a simple man, no Great Gatsby, but he’d loved her every day until his last.
The doorbell interrupted them. Claire flinched—what if it was Peter? What if he’d changed his mind?
Neighbour Mrs. Wilkins stood there, holding a jar of jam.
“Claire, love! I heard… Don’t you fret! That Peter’s no good—I knew the moment I met him. Shifty eyes, clammy hands. Not a proper man.”
“Please, Mrs. Wilkins,” Claire sighed.
“Nonsense! You’re a lovely girl—hardworking, kind. Rare these days. His loss! Listen, my nephew Greg’s divorced, but a good sort. Works at the factory, doesn’t drink, dotes on his kids. Shall I introduce you?”
Claire shook her head. “Not now.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll tell him about you anyway.”
After she left, Claire stared at the rain. Why did this keep happening? Why was she just a placeholder until someone “better” came along?
In school, she’d adored Liam Parker—football captain, every girl’s crush. He’d picked *her*, the quiet one. Six months of handwritten notes, walks home, meeting his parents. Then Jessica transferred in—glamorous, London-born, in designer jeans. A week later, Liam dumped her.
*”Don’t be mad—we’re young. You’ll find someone better.”*
At nursing college, Mark Davies swept her off her feet—handsome, clever, destined for med school. Three months in, she learned he’d been engaged to a childhood sweetheart. *”We were just having fun.”*
Then came Peter. Handsome, corporate, full of promises. *”You’re the one I want forever.”* She believed him—until Emily reappeared, back from New York, dazzling.
Peter started mentioning her—*”Ran into an old friend.”* Then late nights, fewer calls. Last night, the truth: *”We’re too different. You’re… not ambitious enough.”*
Claire looked in the mirror. Ordinary face, ordinary figure. Maybe that was the problem.
Mum brought tea. “Eat something.”
“Why did Dad marry you?” Claire asked suddenly.
Mum paused. “He loved me. Truly. Not for anything—just because.”
“Was there someone before him?”
Mum squeezed her hand. “Yes. He left me for a ‘better match.’ Then I met your dad. He brought me wildflowers even when skint. Said I was the most beautiful woman alive. With him, I believed it.”
At work the next day, colleagues pitied her. Then Dr. Rob Wilson—kind eyes, no pretence—asked to talk.
“Heard about… everything. If you need to talk, I’m here.”
They met for coffee. He spoke of his divorce, his son, how time healed. Claire relaxed—no games, just honesty.
Six months later, Rob proposed plainly: *”I want to spend my life making you happy.”*
“Am I just your backup?” she asked.
“No. With you, I feel at home.”
At their small wedding, Claire wore simple cream. Happier than ever.
A year later, Peter rang. *”Emily and I split. Fancy catching up?”*
Claire smiled at her ring. “No, Peter. Goodbye.”
She went home—to Rob, to her stepson, to being someone’s first and only choice.
