At last… or perhaps it was just the beginning
When Emily married James, she never imagined her new husband had long been a prisoner to his own demons. Their whirlwind romance swept her off her feet, and within weeks, he proposed—slightly tipsy, the scent of alcohol lingering on his breath.
“Em, love, how about we tie the knot?” he mumbled, leaning against the doorframe.
“Are you drunk?” she asked, more surprised than angry. She did want to marry—all her friends already had their rings.
“Just celebrating,” James laughed. “This is a special occasion—I’m asking you to marry me!”
“I’ll say yes, but on one condition: drinks only on holidays,” she warned.
“Well, today’s my holiday then,” he quipped.
Young, naive, and in love—Emily had no idea James’s father had been a drinker all his life. His son had long followed in his footsteps, though his mother, Margaret, could only protest weakly.
“You’ve ruined yourself, and now you’re dragging him down too!”
“Let him be a proper bloke!” his father would smirk, pouring his son a drink at dinner.
After the wedding, the couple settled into Emily’s tiny flat, inherited from her grandmother. At first, things were manageable. James worked, came home regularly—though often smelling of beer. He always had an excuse:
“Tom’s just had a baby—how could we not celebrate? It’s Harry’s birthday, I had to give a speech… And Dave offered me a drink at his cottage—couldn’t say no.”
Then their son, Oliver, was born—but fatherhood didn’t sober James up. He came home less often, avoided the baby.
“Why won’t you spend time with your son?” Emily accused.
“You’re the one who says not to breathe on him after a pint. So I don’t,” he shrugged.
“Then stop drinking! How much longer can this go on?” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Eight years passed. Alcohol became inseparable from James. Jobs slipped through his fingers. Emily carried everything—thankfully, Margaret helped, buying clothes for Oliver, lending money when needed.
“Emily’s a saint,” Margaret confided in her sister. “But James… he’s worse every day. I don’t recognise him anymore.”
James became a shadow of himself—hollow-cheeked, missing teeth, devoid of passion. No love, no care—nothing remained.
“Leave him,” everyone urged—friends, colleagues, even neighbours.
But Emily pitied him. Like a stray dog. Until she realised Oliver was growing up, watching, absorbing—already avoiding the house that reeked of despair.
She finally told Margaret:
“I can’t do this anymore. I’m filing for divorce.”
“Maybe he can get help?” Margaret whispered. “Maybe it’s not too late?”
“How long did you try fixing yours?” Emily replied bitterly. “I want my son to be different. Better he never sees his father like this.”
Margaret sighed. “Where will he go? Of course—to us. What else can I do?”
But there was another reason. Emily had grown fond of a colleague—Daniel. He’d recently joined their department—trim, fair-haired, with striking blue eyes and old-fashioned courtesy. Divorced, no drama, moved from another town to care for his father. Women in the office—subtly or openly—tried to catch his attention, but Daniel kept his distance.
When Emily filed for divorce, James barely reacted. Bags by the door, a short talk—and he was gone. Back to his parents.
Two weeks later, Daniel approached her after work.
“Emily, fancy a coffee? Just to talk.”
She nodded, cheeks flushing. Over light laughter and serious words, he murmured:
“I knew straight away—you’re not just a colleague. You’re my fate.”
Everything changed after that. There was gossip, of course—especially from Natalie:
“Who’d have thought our quiet Emily stole Daniel… After all my efforts!”
Emily just shrugged. She owed no explanations.
Soon, Daniel proposed—a simple ring, an earnest gaze, and her heart raced anew.
One Saturday, she invited Margaret over. The flat smelled of fresh scones, tea steaming on the table.
“I have news,” Emily said, pulse quickening. “I’m getting married. To Daniel.”
Margaret froze—then hugged her, tears in her eyes.
“At last… Sweetheart, you deserve happiness. I’ll help with the wedding—we’ll make it perfect!”
As they planned dresses, flowers, and guests, Emily realised she hadn’t just kept an ex-mother-in-law—she’d gained a friend. And Margaret had found the daughter she’d never borne, but had always carried in her heart.
Sometimes, letting go isn’t the end—it’s the start of something better.
