“Finally… or is it only just beginning?”
When Emily got married, she never imagined her future husband, Oliver, was already a prisoner to his bad habits. They met in a whirlwind romance—fast, dizzying, absorbing—and within weeks, he popped the question, slightly tipsy, with the faint scent of beer on his breath.
“Em, love, let’s get married, yeah?” he exhaled, leaning against the doorframe.
“Are you drunk?” she asked, more amused than annoyed. After all, she did want to marry—all her friends already had rings.
“Celebrating, ain’t I?” Oliver laughed. “It’s a special occasion—I just proposed!”
“Fine, but one condition: drinking is for holidays only,” she warned.
“Funny, ’cause this feels like a holiday to me,” he joked.
Young, naive, and in love—Emily had no idea Oliver’s father had been a lifelong drinker. His son had long shared the habit, though his mother, Margaret, could only sigh in defeat.
“You’re drowning yourself, and now you’re dragging him down too!”
“Let the lad grow up a real man,” her husband would grin, pouring Oliver a whiskey at Sunday lunch.
After the wedding, they moved into Emily’s tiny flat, inherited from her grandma. At first, it wasn’t too bad: Oliver worked, came home mostly on time—though often smelling of the pub. He always had an excuse.
“Tom’s wife had a baby—had to celebrate! Mike’s birthday, couldn’t miss it. And old Dave at the pub insisted—would’ve been rude to say no…”
Then their son, Henry, was born. But fatherhood didn’t sober Oliver up. He came home less, avoided the baby.
“Why won’t you spend time with Henry?” Emily pleaded.
“You told me not to breathe on him when I’ve been drinking,” he shrugged. “So I’m keeping my distance.”
“Then stop drinking! How much longer can this go on?” Tears trailed down her cheeks.
Eight years passed. Alcohol had become Oliver’s shadow. Jobs slipped through his fingers one after another. Emily carried everything, grateful Margaret helped—buying Henry clothes, slipping her some cash.
“Emily’s a saint,” Margaret confided in her sister. “But Oliver… he’s getting worse. Hardly recognise him anymore.”
Oliver was a ghost of himself—hollow, missing teeth, empty-eyed. No love, no care—nothing left.
“Leave him,” everyone urged: friends, coworkers, even the neighbour who always borrowed sugar.
But Emily pitied him. Like a stray dog. Until she realised Henry was growing up, watching, absorbing, and now he didn’t want to come home where the air smelled like despair.
She finally told Margaret:
“I can’t do this anymore. I’m filing for divorce.”
“Maybe rehab?” Margaret whispered. “Maybe it’s not too late?”
“How long did you try fixing yours?” Emily smiled bitterly. “I want Henry to grow up different. Better he never sees his father like this.”
Margaret sighed.
“Where’s he going to go? Back here, I suppose. Lord knows what’ll become of him…”
But there was another reason. Emily had grown fond of a colleague—William. New to their department, he was fit, fair-haired, with striking blue eyes and old-fashioned manners. Divorced, drama-free, moved from Manchester to be near his dad. The office women—subtly or openly—tried catching his attention, but William kept his distance.
When Emily filed for divorce, Oliver barely blinked. A few bags by the door, a quiet chat, and he was gone—back to his mum’s.
Two weeks later, William stopped her after work.
“Fancy a coffee? Just to talk.”
She nodded, cheeks pink. They sat in a café, between light laughs and serious words, when suddenly:
“I knew straight away—you’re not just a colleague. You’re the one,” he said.
From that evening, everything changed. Of course, the office gossiped. Especially Natalie.
“Look at our quiet Emily, stealing William away… And here I was, putting in all the effort!”
Emily just shrugged. She didn’t owe anyone an explanation.
Soon, William proposed. A modest ring, honest eyes, and her heart raced again.
On Saturday, she invited Margaret over. The flat smelled of cinnamon rolls, tea steaming on the table.
“I’ve got news,” Emily said, pulse quickening. “I’m getting married. To William.”
Margaret froze. Then—she hugged her, tears in her eyes.
“Finally… Love, you deserve this. I’ll help with the wedding. We’ll make it perfect!”
They sat planning dresses, flowers, guest lists. And Emily realised—she hadn’t just kept an ex-mother-in-law. She’d gained a friend. And Margaret—a daughter she never had, but loved all the same.
