Great News
Emily hurried home. She had wonderful news for her husband—no, not just wonderful, but brilliant. They had to celebrate. On the way, she stopped at a shop and bought a bottle of wine. She’d cook dinner, they’d drink… she dreamed as she walked.
“James, I’m home!” she called out, stepping into their small flat. There was no need to shout—the click of the lock echoed through every corner—but joy overflowed, and she couldn’t contain it.
James reluctantly came to meet her.
“I’ve got such news! I’ll quickly make dinner, and we’ll sit down and celebrate. I even bought a bottle of wine. Look.” Emily pulled the bottle from her bag without noticing the tension in her husband’s expression. “Take it to the kitchen, I’ll just change.” She slipped past him to the wardrobe, changing behind the door like a screen. She put on the short robe he liked, fixed her hair, and shut the wardrobe.
James sat in front of the telly, the sound off, staring blankly. Emily approached.
“What’s wrong? Is your mum ill again?” she asked carefully.
He didn’t answer. She sat beside him, covering his hand with hers.
“Whatever it is, we’ll manage. I got—” Before she could finish, James pulled his hand away and stood abruptly. “Alright, tell me later. I’ll go make dinner.”
Emily fried potatoes, tormented by uncertainty. She knew pressing him was pointless. Her excitement had vanished. The wine had been a bad idea. But how could she have known?
They’d married eighteen months ago. James already worked at a major construction firm, while Emily was finishing her degree. They lived on his salary, renting a tiny flat that just sufficed.
Part of his pay went to his mother, who lived in another city and was often ill—her medicine cost a fortune. When Emily graduated and found a job, they even saved a little towards a house, though at this rate, they’d never afford one.
Late at night, they dreamed of starting their own firm one day. James would design homes, extensions, while Emily handled interiors and decor. But they needed experience. No one would hire an unknown firm. They needed recommendations. Then they’d buy a big house, have children…
For now, Emily was stuck with dull, minor projects that didn’t showcase her talent. She worked tirelessly, even for modest pay, believing she’d eventually be noticed and trusted with something grand. Then they’d have everything—the house she’d decorate herself, a car, fine furniture…
Just that day, her boss had handed her a serious project: refurbish and furnish a flat for a wealthy woman’s son as a wedding gift. The wedding was in a month. Emily was freed from other tasks to focus solely on this, with a bonus for speed.
She was confident. Ideas flooded her mind—she’d design it as if it were her own. She’d already visited the flat, meeting the elegant client, dripping with wealth, who told her not to skimp.
They agreed Emily would draft the layout, material choices, and decor, while Isabella Montgomery (the client’s name) hired the labourers. If Isabella approved, work would start immediately.
Emily had rushed home to share the good news but the wine remained unopened. She put it in the fridge. After a silent dinner, she worked at her computer, absorbed until James sat beside her.
“Take a break. I’ve got to tell you something,” he began.
“Go on,” she turned to him.
“I’ve been sacked,” he muttered, avoiding her eyes.
“What? Why?”
“The firm’s swamped, but the directors pushed a big new project on us. Deadlines were brutal. I made a mistake in the calculations. By the time I spotted it, construction had started. I tried to fix it, but they dismissed me.”
“It’s fine, we’ll manage. I wanted to tell you—”
“That’s not all.” James jumped up, pacing like a wounded bear. “I’ve got to repay them. It’s in the contract.”
“How much?” she asked weakly.
“A fortune. We don’t have it. I’ll take a loan, but I won’t be able to help Mum.”
“A loan? With interest? We’ll borrow from friends—”
“Don’t be daft. What friends? Friends vanish when you’re skint. Want to know who your mates are? Ask for money.” He was shouting now.
“You already tried?” Emily guessed. “But I’ve got friends who—”
“Go on, try. Turns out I’ve got none.” James stormed off.
Emily racked her brain for who could help. She rang an old school friend, Natalie, who’d married a wealthy businessman.
“Natalie? It’s Emily Whit—no, Parker…” A cheerful reply—Natalie remembered her. Emily cut to the chase. “Nat, I need help. Can we meet? You’re away? Then I’ll say it now—I need money fast…” Silence. Had the call dropped? Then Natalie spoke.
“Sorry, love. It’s his money, not mine. He gives me pin money—anything big, he buys himself. And it’s all tied up in business. Wouldn’t lend a penny. Last month, I wanted to send Mum to a spa—he screamed he won’t feed my family. I’m sorry.”
Rich people, yet so tight-fisted. Emily tried another friend, Vicky, a seamstress saving for a flat.
“Vicky? It’s Emily… No, I don’t need a dress. I need to talk. Can we meet? Busy? Fine. I need money… Oh. Already? Congrats on the flat.”
So. Vicky had bought a place already. “I’ll ask colleagues tomorrow. Worst case, we’ll borrow,” Emily decided.
Next morning, she finished her sketches and costings, called Isabella.
“Already? Excellent. Drop by—I’m showing builders the flat. We’ll discuss it together.”
Isabella studied the plans. “You’ve done well. I like it.”
“We’ll need ready-made furniture, but the layout—” Emily handed over more sketches.
“Agreed. We’ll shop together. Let’s begin. Call if issues arise,” Isabella said, heading out.
Emily summoned courage. “Wait! May I speak with you?”
“Quickly. I’ve a salon appointment.”
Emily didn’t mince words—James’s job, the debt.
“Could you pay me now? The plan’s done, you’re happy. I’ll supervise everything perfectly…”
Isabella hesitated but didn’t refuse outright. Normally, clients paid the firm, but often tipped designers privately.
“Very well,” Isabella finally said. “I’ll give you the sum. I’ve a country house needing redecorating—do that for me. I’ll pay you separately. Call it a personal favour.”
“Of course. I’ll see the house first—thank you, I won’t let you down!”
“I’m taking a risk. Don’t disappoint me.”
James was on the sofa when she returned.
“Job hunting?” she asked.
“Nothing decent.” He tossed the paper aside.
“I found the money,” Emily said brightly.
“Where?”
“I earned it. Wanted to tell you yesterday—got wine, but… Well, I’ve got my own project—a wedding flat. And a country house. The client paid upfront. Money comes tomorrow. No repayments. Aren’t you happy?”
“Em, you’re a star!” James lifted her, spinning her around. “You saved me.”
The debt was settled. James found work, came home exhausted, ate, and slept while Emily stayed up late at her computer. Dinner was pasta or scrambled eggs—quick, easy.
Finally, she finished the country house. Isabella loved it.
“Transformed! I doubted you at first, but you proved me wrong. Even fixed the squeaky stairs! I’ll recommend you to everyone.”
Flushed with pride, Emily demurred when Isabella handed her an envelope.
“Oh no, you’ve paid already!”
“Take it. You exceeded expectations—even repairs I hadn’t asked for.”
“My husband helped. He’s grateful too—you rescued us.”
“Call it a bonus for excellent work.”
At home, Emily checked the envelope—a tidy sum. She’d save it for their house. She flew home, stopping at traffic lights, impatient. She’d cook a feast, they’d drink that wine, toast their fresh start.
The light turned green, but Emily froze. Across the road sat a white luxury car. James was driving—she knew his shirt, the one she’d customised with a designer emblem last year. No one else had one like it.
A beautiful blonde sat beside him. They laughed, James turning to her often. He didn’t see Emily.
The lights changed, the car sped off, but Emily stood stunned. At home, she didn’t cook—everything slipped from her hands. She waited in the dark. The lock clicked. James switched on the light and jumped seeing her.
She watched him leave with quiet resolve, knowing that this pain, like all things, would pass, and someday she’d look back and wonder why she ever cried.
