**I Deserve Love**
Lately, Emily has been wondering why her family doesn’t understand her—though right now, she’s never felt happier. Instead of being pleased for her, they whisper behind her back, spreading nonsense to mutual friends.
At fifty-four, Emily is a lovely woman, respected at her workplace for her dedication and kindness. She’s always helped younger colleagues, earning their admiration. But life hasn’t always been kind. Her first marriage was a disappointment. Her mother had warned her against marrying David.
“Daughter, listen to me,” her mother pleaded. “Don’t marry David. He’ll never be a reliable husband. Just look at his father—never home, always wandering. His poor mother had to chase him down the streets, and when he did return, he’d shout at her for humiliating him. The whole neighborhood heard it.”
“Mum, that’s just gossip,” Emily argued. “Even if there’s some truth, David isn’t like him. We’re happy together.”
“Slow down, love. You have plenty of time.”
“I don’t,” Emily replied, turning away.
“Emily—are you pregnant?” Her mother gasped.
“Yes. That’s why we’re marrying.”
Her mother sighed. “I thought it was just those pickles you’ve been craving. But this… Why didn’t you think? You’re tying yourself down so young!”
“Enough, Mum. What’s done is done. Start planning the wedding.”
“And where will you live?”
“Here. You always said his father’s unreliable.”
“Of course you can stay—I’ll help however I can. But I don’t trust him.”
The wedding was modest—neither family had much. Soon, their son James was born. David clashed with Emily’s mother, resenting her presence.
“Why does your mum wake so early? It’s Sunday!” he grumbled.
“She’s making breakfast so we don’t starve. She knows James keeps me up.”
“James never sleeps. Just like my dad shouting drunk at home. Now your mum clatters about—what sort of life is this?”
“You expected it to be perfect?”
“I expected peace.”
Such arguments became frequent. Then David started coming home late.
“Where have you been?”
“Working. Sometimes with mates after.”
After nearly three years, Emily learned he’d been seeing an older colleague. She threw him out and filed for divorce.
Betrayal stung. “Three years, and he cheats. What next?”
“I warned you,” her mother said.
“Spare me the lecture. I get it.”
Her mother helped with James—school runs, babysitting. Emily worked, guarding her heart for a decade.
Then her colleague Claire invited her to a birthday gathering. A man named William approached, charming and polite. They danced, talked all evening. At thirty-four, twelve years his junior, she was intrigued. He’d never married—quiet, well-read, kind.
They dated, and one day he proposed. “I’ve no experience as a husband, but I’d love to try.”
She agreed, introducing him to her mother and James.
“Well?” she asked after.
“Polite, steady. Older, but that’s no bad thing. He has his own home, car—solid.”
Marriage with William was worlds apart from her first. She barely remembered David, except when James reminded her. Work felt lighter—she floated home.
At thirty-eight, she was pregnant again.
“Will, what do we do? James is nearly grown.”
“We have the baby, of course,” he said, grinning. “Let’s leave our mark on the world.”
Little Henry arrived, adored by his father. William bathed, fed, and rocked him, cherishing every moment.
Years passed. Henry grew; James graduated, married Lucy, and had a child. But Lucy kept Emily at arm’s length, despite her efforts.
“Don’t fret,” Will soothed. “As long as James is happy.”
She tried, but it still hurt.
Then their seaside holiday turned grim—William fainted. “Just the heat,” he said.
Back home, it happened again. The hospital called. Tests revealed an inoperable brain tumour.
Emily’s world shattered.
William worsened. She told him the truth. The end was slow, painful. After his death, Henry kept her going.
At fifty-four, walking through the park one crisp September evening, she collided with a silver-haired man.
“Sorry! I wasn’t looking.”
“Neither was I,” he laughed. “No harm done.”
Oliver, an architect, was warm, engaging. He’d lost his wife six years prior. They met often, strolling and talking.
One evening, he asked her to marry him.
Henry, now in college, supported her. But when she told James, his wife’s voice crackled through the speaker.
“What are you thinking? At your age?”
“Fifty-four isn’t ancient,” Emily said calmly.
“You’ll soon retire—what’s next, love? And your flat—he’ll take it!”
“Lucy, I’m not dead yet. And my home is my business.”
“Fine. But I won’t attend your wedding.”
James came alone, bearing flowers. Lucy stayed away.
Emily sighed. At fifty-four, she wasn’t old. And she deserved love. Oliver proved it every day.
