When Everything Falls into Place: Emily Chooses Herself
“Mum, I’ll be late tonight—it’s Lucy’s birthday. We’re going to the cinema with friends,” Thomas said, kissing Emily on the cheek before disappearing into the bathroom. Behind the door, his carefree laughter bubbled up as he hummed a tune under the running water.
Emily stood by the window, listening to life humming beside her again. Thomas was happy. Light. Free. The way she had never been.
Once, at eighteen, she too had believed in simple happiness. William had seemed the man of her dreams—handsome, bold, confident. They fell in love, married, started fresh. But within a few years, Emily realised her life had become little more than chores, silence, and loneliness.
William began staying late “at work,” returning sullen and distant. Then came the jar of baby food in his bag. The nappies. They seared into her memory like proof.
“It’s… not what you think,” he muttered.
“Then what is it, William? What?” she screamed, clutching the jar as if it were the last thread of reality.
After that, it all collapsed. It was hard, but she endured. She raised Thomas alone, without support. Only her mother-in-law stayed by her side, never abandoning her.
Thomas grew up—clever, kind, grown. She was proud. But sometimes… sometimes the emptiness returned, just like now.
Sinking into her chair, she picked up her phone and saw the notification: “Paul sent you a friend request.” Paul… her schoolyard sweetheart. The boy who’d waited by the gates with daisies. She hadn’t known she still remembered his smile, but her heart clenched unexpectedly.
“Sarah, you won’t believe it,” she called her friend. “Paul—yes, that Paul from Year 11—found me on Facebook!”
“Really? The one who was mad about you? William used to grind his teeth at the sight of him! Add him! He’s doing well these days, and I heard he’s recently divorced.”
She added him. And so it began. Messages. Jokes. Shared memories. A sweet, burning flirtation that made her cheeks flush. Paul was attentive, courteous, genuine. She felt alive again.
“Thomas, I’d like you to meet someone,” she told her son one evening.
“Paul?” He grinned. “Mum, I’ve noticed. And I’m happy for you.”
She glowed—the first time in years. But it didn’t last. Paul’s messages grew sparse. Then cold. Then came the words that lodged like a stone in her throat:
“Emily, I’m sorry. There’s someone else. You chose William back then—it hurt. Now you know how it feels.”
Stunned, she stared at the screen. A man in his fifties… and this pettiness? Had it all been a game? Revenge for a youthful slight?
“What a cad,” Sarah sighed when she heard. “Write back. With dignity.”
Together, they crafted a reply—wry, measured, sharp:
“Dear Paul, Thank you. Truly. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much, flirted so freely, or felt so alive. You made me young again—as if twenty years had vanished. I hope your new love appreciates your theatrics. Best wishes. (Platonically) Yours, Emily.”
His reply came instantly—a flood of wounded pride and bitter accusations. But Emily was already laughing. Really laughing, for the first time in years.
A week later, a blonde woman stopped her outside the supermarket:
“You! Homewrecker! You ruined my love with Paul!”
Emily froze—then, to her own surprise, smiled.
“Oh, you’ve got the wrong woman. The real homewrecker is Jane. Forest Lane, number 15. She stole my husband, and now she’s after Paul. A real professional.”
The woman gaped as Emily walked away, barely stifling her laughter.
Sunlight brushed her face. And suddenly, she knew: she was happy. Without men. Without drama. Without proof.
A message flashed from Thomas:
“Mum, Lucy and I are moving in together. We’ll see how it goes.”
Emily smiled. There it was—true happiness. Watching her child choose wisely.
As for her? At last, she had chosen herself.
