It was all written in the stars.
Edward, no longer a young man, had buried his wife five years ago. She had suffered a long illness, and though they fought it together, in the end, she slipped away from this world into the next.
At forty-eight, Edward found himself a widower, wrestling with grief and the weight of solitude. The thought of remarrying never crossed his mind, though friends and family insisted, *”You’re still young, find a good woman and be happy again.”* His reply was always the same: *”There was no one like her. There might be better women, or worse, but never another like her.”*
His younger brother, James, lived across town. There was a wide gap between them—fifteen years or more. Fate had been cruel at first—their mother had struggled to conceive again—but then, when all hope seemed lost, James arrived. The brothers loved each other deeply. Edward, practically a grown man by then, helped raise him, and little Jamie followed his older brother like a shadow.
Their parents passed when James was twenty-one, leaving Edward to support him through university, then marriage. But fate had other plans—Edward lost his wife, and James’s own marriage crumbled around the same time.
Every evening, Edward took a slow stroll through the park near his house. It was a habit from better days, when he and his wife would walk together whenever they could. That night, as he wandered the path toward the pond where ducks and even a few stray geese glided on the water—likely from the cottages beyond the trees—he noticed a girl sitting on a bench, wiping tears from her cheeks. He couldn’t walk past.
*”Good evening, miss. Are you all right? Has something happened?”*
She lifted her eyes, dull with sorrow, and looked at him. *”No one can help me. Thank you, but I don’t know where to go now.”*
Edward sat beside her. *”What do you mean? Where have you come from? What’s your name?”*
*”My mother threw me out. Her flat’s full of strangers now—no place for me, and I’m frightened of them all.”* She swallowed. *”Emily.”*
*”Right, Emily, let’s start from the beginning. I don’t understand, but you can’t stay here—it’ll be dark soon.”*
Emily had lived with her parents in a tiny flat left to them by her grandfather. They’d moved from a crumbling village where work had dried up. Her father died when she was fifteen. For a while, it was just her and her mother—until the drink took hold.
*”Mum, why do you do this? Stop, please—nothing good comes of it,”* Emily begged, night after night.
*”What do you know about life, girl?”* her mother would slur. *”Your father left me alone—what am I supposed to do? Here, have a sip yourself. You’ll see—it makes everything lighter.”* Then she’d collapse on the sofa, snoring.
Mornings, Emily made her own breakfast and walked to nursing college. She’d enrolled after secondary school, desperate to grow up fast, to work. Her mother was no help—kept getting sacked from one menial job after another.
*”Mum, you’ve hit rock bottom. They won’t even take you as a cleaner. How are we supposed to live?”*
*”That’s what you’re for, isn’t it?”* her mother muttered, already half-gone.
Then came the strangers—drinking, sleeping on the floor, laughing through the night while Emily hid behind the wardrobe, too afraid to sleep.
After graduation, she took a job at the hospital, working nights just to avoid the flat. She’d even started saving for a place of her own.
That evening, exhausted after a brutal shift, she came home to find the flat empty. Not just of people—the furniture was gone. The curtains, the carpets, even her own belongings. Only her old winter coat hung on the peg.
She ran, tears blurring her vision, until she collapsed on the park bench.
Edward listened, his chest tight with sorrow. He softened his voice. *”Emily, life takes turns we never expect. But there’s always hope.”* He paused. *”I thought my world had ended when I lost my wife. She was everything to me.”* A beat of silence. *”Then I realised—if this is fate’s design, we must go on. You mustn’t despair. There’s always a way.”*
*”What way?”* Emily stared at him. *”I’ll never afford a flat. Where am I supposed to go?”*
*”Listen. I live alone—a big house, too much space. I manage, but…”* He hesitated. *”You could stay with me. You’ve nothing to fear—I’d treat you as my own. My wife and I never had children. You’d be like a daughter to me.”*
Edward was a good man. Emily thanked fate for leading her to him that night. He became her family, a second father. She took over the house—cleaning, cooking, filling the silence with warmth. Evenings, they talked for hours. He knew so much, spoke so kindly, that she soon loved him like blood. His decency thawed something frozen in them both: a lonely man and a lost girl.
But fate twisted again. Edward found himself watching Emily differently—not as a father would. The fire he thought long dead flickered back to life. *”The more I think of her, the fiercer it burns. I must tell her. Whatever comes next.”*
One evening, over supper, he gathered his courage. *”Emily, I don’t know how you’ll take this… but I’ve fallen in love with you. You brought me back to life. Will you marry me?”*
Emily had felt it too—maybe love, maybe gratitude blurred together. But she said yes.
A year later, their son Daniel was born. Edward glowed with joy; so did Emily. *”Now I’m truly happy,”* she whispered. *”Edward and my little Danny—this is my fate.”*
Then, one day, Edward said, *”James is visiting tomorrow—my baby brother, the one I helped raise. I told him about you, about Danny. He’s eager to meet you both. You’ll like him, I’m sure.”*
He was right. The moment James walked in, Emily felt her pulse stutter. Her heart raced, then stilled, then raced again. She couldn’t look away. She’d never felt this before.
James had kept in touch, knew how Edward had grieved—then how love had revived him. His own life was less settled. After his divorce, he’d sworn off marriage, though women liked him well enough.
Arms full of toys for his nephew, James arrived. *”I had to meet the woman who saved my brother,”* he’d thought.
Stepping inside, he hugged Edward. *”Look at you—fatherhood suits you! Where’s this famous wife of yours, eh? And little Danny?”*
Edward led him to the nursery, where Emily was dressing the baby. *”Here they are. Emily, this is James.”*
James froze, gifts slipping in his grip. *”God, she’s beautiful…”*
*”James?”* Edward nudged him. *”You ought to settle down too. Emily, this rascal is my brother.”*
*”Hello,”* James managed, handing over the presents.
*”Hello,”* Emily replied, voice steadier than she felt.
They couldn’t stop staring.
Over dinner, James played with Danny, who squealed with delight. *”Look at that,”* Edward laughed. *”He knows his own blood, doesn’t he?”*
James stayed for days. Every time Edward left, Emily’s heart leapt—equal parts joy and terror at being alone with him.
James confessed first. *”This is wrong. I can’t betray my brother,”* Emily whispered.
*”I know,”* he said. *”But no one else will ever matter to me. And yet—I won’t hurt him. He’s everything to us both.”* He left abruptly, leaving Edward baffled.
Time passed. Then fate twisted once more. A call came—Edward had collapsed at work. By the time Emily reached the hospital, the doctor met her with lowered eyes. *”His heart. I’m sorry.”*
James returned for the funeral, offering to stay. Emily sent him away.
Then, one night, she dreamed of Edward. He slid his wedding ring from his finger and handed it to James—a silent blessing.
She called James. He came at once. They visited the grave together, sunlight bright on the headstone. Edward’s photo seemed to smile.
*”Look,”* James murmured. *”He doesn’t mind.”*
A year later, their daughter Alice was born. Danny adored his little sister, bringing her toys and asking, *”When can Alice play with me?”*
