**A Diary Entry: Happiness Comes to Those Who Believe**
I still remember that snowy New Year’s Eve in Year 8 when Emily sneaked away from the school party with Thomas. They just wanted to be alone, and suddenly the snow began falling in thick, swirling flakes—as if someone had torn open a feather pillow in the sky.
Thomas took Emily’s chilly hands in his and breathed warmth into them. They’d been friends since childhood, but now things were different. They both felt it—the shift, the quiet understanding that childhood had slipped away. Neither knew where it had gone, but at least they still had each other. They hoped it would be forever.
*God, that feels like a lifetime ago,* Emily thought now. *Where is he now?*
At thirty-two, she’d never married. Life had taken strange turns, mostly because of her mother, Margaret. If not for her, things might have been different.
Emily had always been an ordinary girl—laughing, running, climbing trees with her best friends, Thomas and Sarah. Thomas had carried her schoolbag since primary school, helped her with maths, shielded her from stray dogs and bullies. His own home was troubled; his father drank, often kicking his wife and son out, forcing them to spend nights at Emily’s.
Margaret would sigh, shaking her head at Thomas’s mother, Claire.
*”Why do you put up with this? Leave him—this isn’t a life.”*
*”I stay for my boy,”* Claire would reply.
*”What kind of example does that set? What will Thomas learn from his father?”* But Claire would just shrug.
Later, Margaret would warn Emily. *”Darling, you shouldn’t be so close to Thomas.”*
*”Mum, he’s my best friend—the kindest, bravest boy I know!”*
*”You’ll see when you’re older. He’ll turn out just like his father. There are other boys, you know.”*
But Emily never listened. She and Thomas were inseparable—jumping into deep river currents (though he always stayed close; she wasn’t the strongest swimmer), standing at cliff edges, nearly slipping once.
Sarah sometimes joined them, their trio tight as they grew. But as they got older, Sarah drifted away, smitten with Michael from the year above.
Then, after New Year’s in Year 8, Emily slipped on ice and broke her leg. Badly. The doctors said she might always limp.
Margaret wept. *”Oh, love—what if you’re left with this forever?”*
But Emily was stubborn. She swore she’d walk again, even without crutches. The doctor told Margaret her daughter had grit. And soon enough, she took her first steps.
Classmates and teachers visited her in hospital—but none more loyally than Thomas. He brought her homemade pasties, strawberry jam, books she loved.
When she was discharged, she still limped. The doctor suggested moving south for the milder climate, and Margaret agreed.
*”We’re going to stay with Aunt Louisa. The sea air will help you heal.”*
*”Mum, no! My friends are here—this is my life!”*
But they left for the coastal village anyway.
Saying goodbye wrecked them both. *”No matter what, don’t forget me,”* Thomas whispered, kissing her properly for the first time.
At first, she wrote to him and Sarah. No replies came. She assumed they’d abandoned her—not knowing her mother had secretly intercepted the letters.
The new school was cruel. The kids mocked her limp, calling her *”Gimpy.”* She buried herself in books, nursing her anger at Thomas. She wrote again—still nothing.
At university, while Emily was buried in exams, Margaret went back home alone—perhaps deliberately.
*”Forget Thomas,”* Margaret said upon returning. *”He’s married now, with a child. I always knew he’d turn out badly—”*
Heartbroken, Emily focused on her degree. She became an English teacher, still using her cane, still convinced no man would want her.
*”Who’d love someone broken?”* she’d think, though she was lovely.
Evenings were spent with books, Thomas still haunting her dreams—flying hand-in-hand over cliffs, weightless.
Years passed. Friends married; she attended their weddings, her own eyes dull with resignation. Men still noticed her, but she refused to believe in love.
Then she and Margaret bought a small, rundown house. They advertised for repairs. A handyman named Stephen responded—skilled, kind, and clearly interested in Emily despite her limp.
*”Darling, he’s got a steady trade, and he fancies you,”* Margaret pressed. *”Forget Thomas—he’s long gone.”*
Reluctantly, Emily let Stephen in. He moved in while fixing the house, eventually proposing.
*”Might as well make it official,”* he joked.
She said yes.
Then—knocking at the door. A woman and a police officer stood there.
*”You’re Emily?”*
The woman handed over a marriage certificate. Three birth certificates.
Stephen was her husband. They had three children. He’d disappeared months ago.
*”We live in the next county,”* the woman said, his real wife. Stephen returned just then—handcuffed before he could flee.
Emily was done. She swore off love entirely.
Then Margaret fell ill. *”Forgive me,”* she whispered. *”Perhaps this is my punishment.”*
She confessed: She’d intercepted all of Emily’s letters, terrified Thomas would ruin her life.
*”And him being married—was that true?”*
*”I don’t know. They moved soon after we left. His mother finally left his father.”*
Emily wrote to Sarah, including her number. Sarah called immediately.
*”Emily! Finally!”*
They talked for hours. Sarah invited her to her wedding.
*”Come. I’ve got a surprise for you.”*
The wedding was joyous, the village hall packed. But Emily felt hollow—until she stepped outside for air.
Then—a familiar voice.
*”Em. Emily.”*
Thomas.
He swept her into his arms. *”I waited,”* he murmured. *”All this time, I waited.”*
They married quietly, just them and their mothers. Now, they live in contentment—Emily teaching, Thomas farming, raising twin sons.
Happiness, she knows, comes to those who believe. And wait.
