People’s paths in life are so different. Some are lucky enough to meet their one true love early on, while others only find it after going through betrayals, divorce, and losing all hope for happiness.
James was one of the latter. He met his future wife back in university. Pretty, shy Charlotte had come to study from a small provincial town. James liked her immediately, though he was just an ordinary, unremarkable guy. Charlotte didn’t return his feelings for a long time.
But in their final year, when many students found their soulmates on campus—some even starting families and having kids—Charlotte suddenly took notice of James. He was over the moon and, of course, proposed almost straight away. To his delight, she accepted.
James’s mum understood that Charlotte didn’t want to return to her small town. Marrying James meant she could stay in a big city near London—a nice flat in the centre, a good job. But seeing how happy her son was, she didn’t want to shatter his illusions.
They married right after graduation. The reception was held at a countryside restaurant, packed mostly with university friends. Only Charlotte’s parents didn’t come.
She explained her father was ill, bedridden, and her mother couldn’t leave him. Further questions were met with short answers. Her face would darken, tears glistening in her eyes. James’s parents decided not to push—she was upset enough. Offers of help were always refused.
“We’ve taken him everywhere. No one could fix him,” Charlotte would say, her voice heavy with sorrow.
James’s parents did their best to step in as her family. They all lived together happily. Charlotte got pregnant almost immediately. No need for work—money wasn’t tight, and she’d be on maternity leave soon anyway. Maybe even a second child after that. Nine months later, she had a boy. His parents insisted he be named after Charlotte’s father, George.
It took eight years before she had another. By then, she and James had their own flat. The birth was difficult, premature—a tiny, fragile girl. They named her Ellie, after James’s mum.
Neither Charlotte’s father nor mother ever met their grandchildren. A year after George was born, her father passed. Her mother followed just eight months later.
When Ellie started school, Charlotte got restless at home. She wanted a job. No chance in her old field—she’d lost all that knowledge, never worked a day in her life.
James’s parents pulled strings, and Charlotte landed a job as a director’s assistant—fancy title, but really just a secretary.
Suddenly, she was always at the gym, dressing sharp, full makeup. Looked like a proper career woman, not a stay-at-home mum. Friends teased James—keeping such a beauty hidden all these years.
She lost interest in the kids. George was finishing school, off to uni soon, ready for his own life. Ellie spent most of her time with James’s parents, spoiled rotten to make up for her mum’s absence.
Charlotte started nitpicking James—he’d let himself go, needed to hit the gym, trim that belly. And she kept comparing him to her boss, older but fit as a thirty-year-old.
James knew what that meant. One day, he dropped by her office. His father’s birthday was coming up—needed an unusual gift, wanted Charlotte’s input. Couldn’t discuss it in front of his parents.
The reception was empty. He knocked on the boss’s door, then walked in. The office was deserted—but then he spotted another door. The sounds from behind it left no room for imagination.
Without thinking, he swung it open. His modest, shy Charlotte, skirt hiked up, sat astride her boss—trousers down, sprawled on the sofa. Seventeen years together, and he’d have known her from behind anywhere.
James just stood there, frozen, then quietly shut the door and left. Too shocked to react. Why hadn’t he dragged her off, punched that smug face?
Charlotte came home like nothing happened, smug as a cat. Now it all made sense—why they hadn’t slept together in ages. Headaches, exhaustion, always an excuse. She’d been tired out from pleasing her boss. Some modest girl.
James told her he knew. Charlotte recovered fast.
“Well, since you know… Makes this easier,” she said breezily. “I’m leaving you.”
“The kids?”
“George is grown, independent—might marry soon. Ellie can choose for herself.”
Ellie didn’t hesitate. No way she’d live with her mum’s new man. Dad might remarry too—who knew what stepmum she’d get? Nana and Grandad spoiled her—easy life there.
So James was left alone. Not a boy anymore, but a man in his prime. The boss had a house, but Charlotte took the car. James didn’t argue—let her have it. He didn’t need much.
Then he met Lydia. Her husband had left her too. No kids—fertility issues, a childhood illness. They just lived together.
George graduated and married. Ellie dropped out of school. James’s dad died suddenly. His mum lasted two more years. Ellie got the flat, all to herself.
Money ran out fast. No job ambitions. She started visiting James often. Lydia always cooked her favourite meals, sending her home with leftovers. Soon, it became routine—every few days, Ellie showed up for dinner and left with a packed meal.
“You’re spoiling her,” James grumbled. “She’s grown—got a flat and inheritance. Head full of entitlement.”
“She’s caught between you two. Poor girl. Your parents overdid it, but we can’t just abandon her. It’s no trouble,” Lydia said.
“Now you’re doing it too.”
“Who else would I spoil? I can’t have kids. This is the closest I’ll get.”
James hadn’t seen Charlotte since the divorce. She lived in some posh gated community—different shops, different life. No chance encounters.
One day, Ellie visited, distraught.
“What’s wrong? New dress too pricey?” James asked.
“James, can’t you see she’s upset?” Lydia scolded. “You’re pale. Are you ill?”
Ellie hid her face, sobbing.
“Tell us—we’ll help,” Lydia said, hugging her.
“No one can. I’m dying,” Ellie choked out.
“What? Explain,” James demanded.
“Brain tumour. It’s growing. If they don’t operate…” She couldn’t finish.
“Then operate. Medicine’s advanced these days,” James said.
“We went to London. They can’t do it there—too deep. I might die on the table.”
“Where can they do it?” Lydia asked.
“Germany or Switzerland. But it’s so expensive. Mum and her husband gave some, but it’s not enough.” Ellie broke down again.
“How much more?”
“Fifty thousand. Just for the surgery. Plus tests, travel… So much more. I’ll d-die,” she wailed.
“Sweetheart, we’ll figure it out. When do you need it?” Lydia asked.
“As soon as possible.”
Next day, James sold his car. A mate loaned him thirty grand—savings for a holiday home. Ellie came back, crying but happy this time, clutching the money.
“You’re my daughter. I won’t let you die. We could go with you?”
“No, too expensive. Tickets are already booked.”
“I thought hospitals take bank transfers, not cash,” James said.
“They do. I’ll drop this at the bank—”
“I’ll come. It’s not safe carrying that much.”
“I’ll hide it in my bag. Don’t tell Mum I came. She’d never forgive me for taking your money.”
Ellie left. James and Lydia couldn’t settle.
“Something’s off. Shouldn’t she be in hospital?” James muttered.
“Every case is different. She’s young, strong.”
“I regret not being there for her enough,” James sighed.
A week passed. No word. James grew frantic.
“Calling’s expensive. If something happened, we’d know,” Lydia reasoned.
“Who’d tell us? Charlotte? She couldn’t care less. Maybe you’re right—I’m overthinking.”
Another week—Lydia’s birthday. No celebrations with Ellie’s fate unknown. James suggested a café to distract them.
“Home cooking’s better,” Lydia said.
“You cooking all day on your birthday? Not happening.”
At the café, the menu prices made her balk.
“Told you home’s cheaper.”
“One night won’t hurt.”
Then James spotted Charlotte. Still bright, youthful, untouched by time. Across from her sat a much younger man.
“Who are you staring at?” Lydia asked.
“Charlotte. Why isn’t she in Germany with Ellie?” He marched over.
They talked for ages. Lydia watched Charlotte’s shocked head-shakes. James returned, pale.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered.
“Drink.” She poured wine, made him sipJames sat there, staring blankly at his untouched food, realising the bitter truth—his daughter had played him for a fool, and the only real family he had left was the woman sitting beside him, who had loved him through it all.
