**A Heartbroken by Hope: The Path to New Happiness**
“Emma, it’s over between us,” James said coldly. “I want a real family—children. You can’t give me that. I’ve filed for divorce. You have three days to pack. Call when you’ve left. I’ll stay with my mother until the flat’s ready for the baby and its mother. Oh, don’t look so shocked—my new partner is already pregnant. Three days, Emma!”
Emma stood frozen, her world collapsing. What could she say? For five years, they’d tried for a child, but three pregnancies ended in heartbreak. The doctors insisted she was healthy, yet each time, something went wrong. She’d lived carefully, even more so when expecting, yet the last time, she’d collapsed at work, the ambulance arriving too late…
The door slammed. Weak-kneed, Emma sank onto the sofa. Packing felt impossible. Where would she go? Before marriage, she’d lived with her aunt, but she was gone now, and her cousin had sold the flat. Return to her grandmother’s cottage in Willowbrook? Rent a place? What about her job? Questions swarmed, but time was short.
The next morning, her mother-in-law, Margaret, barged in.
“Still here? Good,” she said sharply. “I’ve come to ensure you don’t take anything unnecessary.”
“I’ve no interest in your son’s old socks,” Emma snapped. “Shall we inventory my things too?”
“Such cheek! You were always the quiet, sweet one. I told James after the first loss—you’d never bear a child.”
“Is that why you’re here? Then stay silent and watch.”
“Where are you taking the china?” Margaret fretted.
“It’s mine—from my aunt. A keepsake.”
“The place will look bare without it!”
“Not my concern. You’ll have a grandchild soon enough.”
“Take only what’s yours!”
“My laptop, coffee machine, microwave—gifts from colleagues. The car was mine before the wedding. Your son has his own.”
“You’ve everything—except the ability to give him a child!”
“That’s none of your business. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be.”
“No regrets, then? Or was this deliberate?”
“Rubbish. Even thinking of it pains me.”
Emma scanned the flat—her things were gone. Toothbrush, makeup, slippers… Something was missing. Margaret’s glare distracted her. Then she remembered: the porcelain cat, her grandmother’s gift, hiding earrings and a ring inside—worthless to James, priceless to her. Had he thrown it out? She rushed to the balcony.
“What’s out there?” Margaret barked. “Hurry up and leave!”
The cat was safe, treasures intact. Time to go.
“Here are the keys. Goodbye—let’s not meet again.”
At the office, Emma requested leave.
“We’re sorry for you,” her manager said, “but we’re struggling without you. Three weeks enough? Stay reachable—half our projects hinge on you.”
“Fine. The distraction will help. Thank you.”
“Need anything?”
“No.”
“I’ll expedite your holiday pay and bonus.”
“Appreciate it.”
Emma skipped flat-hunting—she drove to Willowbrook. Her grandmother’s cottage had stood empty for three years. Her mother had died in childbirth; now Emma, too, would never be one…
An hour later, she arrived. The old oak, overgrown daisies. Last autumn, she and James had barbecued here. She parked beside the shed, its key inside. The door creaked open—silence. Dirty cups and plates littered the table. She’d cleaned last time. Someone had been here.
Two mugs, juice cartons, James’s favourite sparkling wine. Not from autumn. So he’d returned—with whom?
“No matter,” Emma brushed it off. New locks, a fresh start. A bath to wash away the past.
A knock startled her—first at the door, then the window.
“Who’s there?”
“Everything alright?” a man’s voice called.
She stepped outside. A stranger stood there.
“Sorry if I startled you,” he said. “I’m your neighbour—saw you earlier, then smoke from the chimney. Wanted to check.”
“Thank you, I’m fine.”
“You’re related to James? He visited recently with a woman… His sister?”
“No. His soon-to-be ex-wife.”
“The cottage yours?”
“Yes.”
“I’m staying nearby—a friend’s place. Temporary, like. Divorce, too. Paul’s the name. Call if you need help.”
“Emma. Wait—can you change a lock?”
“Sure. When?”
“Now. I’ll buy one tomorrow.”
“Let me handle it—easy to get the wrong type. I’m heading into town anyway.”
“Thanks.”
Two weeks passed. A week of leave remained, but Emma didn’t return to London. James stayed silent, only sending divorce papers. A mercy—she couldn’t face him.
On Saturday, Paul invited her to the river. She wasn’t ready for romance but agreed to the walk. They returned by noon—James’s car idled outside. He’d just arrived, helping a pregnant woman out.
Emma and Paul approached. James fumbled with the lock.
“What’s this?” he growled.
“And what are *we* doing?” Emma called. “Breaking into someone’s home?”
James paled.
“This is *our* cottage!” the woman shrilled.
“Really? Did *James* tell you that? This is mine. Kindly leave.”
“Jim, what’s she saying? Your ex? Throw her out!”
Paul and Emma laughed. Wordlessly, James pushed his partner into the car and drove off.
“His life’s about to get interesting,” Paul mused.
“At least she’ll give him a child. I couldn’t. Three times. Sorry.”
“My wife left *because* she wouldn’t have children…”
Four years later, Emma bumped into Margaret at a shop.
“Emma! You look—are you pregnant?”
“Yes,” Emma smiled, cradling her bump.
“James… his boy’s sickly. Some family flaw. His wife left him—abandoned the child. You’re alone? Decided to have one anyway?”
“No. I’ve a family waiting.”
“Forgive me…”
“Strength to you.”
Margaret watched as Emma walked away, Paul’s hand in hers, their little girl—her mother’s mirror image—skipping beside them.
Sometimes, broken paths lead to brighter places.
