*”If You Don’t Regret It, He Didn’t Love You”*
“Won’t you freeze in that dress? It’s minus five outside, and they reckon it’ll drop even lower tonight,” said Mum, poking her into Emily’s room.
“I won’t have time to freeze—it’s just round the corner. I can’t turn up to a birthday party in jeans,” Emily replied, twisting in front of the mirror to adjust her dress.
“Is Daniel picking you up?” Mum asked.
“No, he said he’s running late. Some mate’s laptop crashed, and he’s fixing it,” Emily said airily.
“He could finish tomorrow if he’s short on time. It’s not right, you going alone,” Mum insisted.
“Mum, nobody cares about that anymore. What’s the big deal? So we don’t arrive together—who even notices? Right, I’m off, I’m late as it is.” Emily shoved her heels into a bag and hurried to the hallway.
She knew Mum had never liked Daniel. Ever since he’d kissed Emily right in front of her. “That’s not on. There are standards, you know,” Mum had scolded after he’d left.
Emily tugged on her warm boots, wrapped herself in a long puffer coat, and wound a fluffy scarf around her neck.
“No hat?” Mum gasped.
“I curled my hair—what’s the point of a hat? Bye!” Emily unlocked the door and bolted out before Mum could protest further.
She caught snippets of Mum’s parting warnings, but she was already clattering down the stairs, her mind on the fun night ahead—and seeing Daniel.
Their romance had been fast and fierce. Emily was sure he’d propose any day now.
The icy air slapped her face the moment she stepped outside, creeping under her coat like an unwelcome guest. She buried her nose in her scarf and hurried towards her friend Charlotte’s flat. “If only Daniel would hurry up,” she thought. She’d called him half an hour ago. *”Don’t distract me, and I’ll be faster,”* he’d snapped. She didn’t call again.
In the stairwell, she loosened her scarf. She skipped the lift, taking the stairs to warm up—though Charlotte only lived two streets away, the cold had already seeped in.
The flat door was ajar, music spilling out. Probably left open by one of the lads nipping out for a smoke. Or maybe Charlotte had left it unlocked for latecomers. “Lucky me. Less fuss,” Emily thought, stepping into the dim hallway.
The music hit her first—pulsing, deafening. Then the shouts of guests. She shrugged off her coat, stuffed her scarf in the sleeve. The coat rack was heaving. Charlotte *had* said it’d be a big do. Emily wrestled her coat onto a hook, slipped on her chilly heels, and stepped into the chaos.
After the dark hall, the room was blinding. The music hammered her pulse faster. A dozen-odd lads and girls were dancing around the table, taking up every inch. No one noticed her. She scanned the room for Charlotte—no sign.
Dodging flailing limbs, Emily edged towards the kitchen. Just as she reached the glass door, it flung open. Charlotte barrelled into her, cheeks flushed, eyes wild, lips curled in triumph—until she saw Emily. The smile froze.
Behind her, Daniel appeared, fingers raking through mussed hair.
“You’re *here* already?” Emily asked, eyes darting between them.
Charlotte recovered fast, beaming like nothing was amiss. “Party’s in full swing! Where’ve you been? Fancy a dance? Or a drink first?” She breezed past.
Emily turned to Daniel. “You didn’t call. Didn’t even notice I wasn’t here? Or were you *busy*?” Her voice trembled.
“Didn’t have time. Just got here myself,” Daniel said, leaning in to kiss her. She jerked back.
The scent of Charlotte’s perfume clung to him.
“Em, what’s wrong? We were just slicing sausage,” he lied.
“Wipe her lipstick off your cheek first. Here.” She shoved the gift bag at him. He fumbled, but Emily was already shoving through the crowd.
In the hall, she kicked off her heels, jammed her feet into boots, snatched her coat, and fled. Her scarf tumbled onto the stairs. As she bent to grab it, Daniel burst out after her.
“Em, you’ve got it all wrong!” he yelled.
She hit the street. The cold clawed at her face. She remembered the heels—too late now. *How could he? Came early, didn’t call, didn’t look for me… And Charlotte—some friend. Traitors.* Tears blurred her vision as she stormed away from home. She only stopped when her lashes crusted with ice and her nose went numb.
*Now what? Home? Mum’ll fuss, say she never liked Daniel anyway… Maybe the cathedral? Midnight mass might’ve started. No—too crowded, too far.*
She blinked. Somehow, she’d wandered miles. A corner shop’s glow lured her in. Now she regretted the flimsy dress. The cold gnawed through her coat. *I’ll catch pneumonia. Good. Let them feel guilty while I’m feverish.* Her nose ran. Mascara streaked her cheeks.
The shop was dead. A bored cashier eyed her. Emily peeled off her scarf, wrapped it over her head like a hat, and stepped back into the freeze.
Suddenly, footsteps crunched behind her. Heavy breathing. She turned. A bloke in all black, hood up, kept pace.
The street was empty. Emily sped up. So did he. Soon, she was panting.
“Running from someone?” he asked.
She pretended not to hear. Maybe he’d leave. He didn’t.
“Got dumped? Don’t cry. If he left, he never loved you,” he said.
She stopped, ready to snap—*mind your own business*—but glimpsed warmth in his hood-shadowed eyes. No threat. She walked on.
They reached her block in silence.
“Thanks for walking me,” Emily muttered at the door.
“Couldn’t leave you alone. I’m James. You?”
“Emily. Now you’ll ask for my number?” She smirked.
“Will you give it?” he shot back.
She heard his smile. “Fine. Remember this…” She rattled it off. “Bye.” She turned to go.
The snow behind her stayed silent.
“I’ll call!” James shouted as the door clicked shut.
Climbing the stairs, she realised—she wasn’t crying over Daniel anymore.
“Home early. Good time?” Mum asked from the sofa, telly tuned to Christmas carols.
“Cold out,” Emily mumbled, retreating to her room.
Only then did it hit—the loss, the betrayal. *No regrets. If he left, he never loved you.* James’ words echoed.
“…never loved you,” she whispered, and wept.
Lying in bed, she listened to the choir drifting from the telly. Outside, the full moon glowed blue.
James called the next day. “Too cold for ice skating. Fancy a film?”
*Why not? He’ll help me forget Daniel.* They went. After, over coffees, they talked effortlessly. Soon, they were inseparable.
Daniel never called. Charlotte dropped by once, heels in hand.
“Big deal, we had a snog. Nothing else happened,” she’d said.
The chat was stiff, cold. What stung wasn’t the kiss—well, it *did*—but that Daniel could’ve fetched her. Didn’t. Didn’t chase her. *If he’d loved her, he would’ve.*
A year later, James proposed.
“You barely know him! Hurry much?” Mum fretted.
“How well did you know Dad before marrying? How long did you date?”
“Two years,” Mum sighed.
“Two years. Still didn’t see he’d betray you. Time doesn’t matter—it’s what comes after.”
“You’re all grown up,” Mum said, hugging her.
A son came within a year. A daughter three after.
Emily couldn’t imagine life without James—nor wanted to.
A loving husband. A doting father. What more could she want? Only this: to grow old together, raise their kids, meet grandkids—great-grandkids, even. To drain life’s cup to the dregs, side by side.
They say marriages are made in heaven. Maybe someone *did* orchestrate their meeting that Christmas Eve.
Miracles don’t just happen in fairy tales. Sometimes, they come on frostbitten nights.
Then again, maybe it doesn’t matter where or when you meet. Just that you don’t walk past the right person.
