“Ed! Ed, what on earth are you doing?” Emily hissed, spinning round. “You know exactly how I feel about you! Why are you putting me through this?”
“Don’t complicate things, Ed!” She stared out the window, avoiding his eyes. “It’s settled. Charles is a decent man with a solid position. We’ll have a respectable life.”
“And love? What about everything we shared? Did none of it matter?”
Emily dug her nails into her palms. Of course it mattered. More than she’d ever admit. But Mum was in hospital after her second heart attack, and the treatment cost more pounds than she and Ed could ever dream of scraping together.
“It was lovely,” she said coolly, “but life isn’t a fairy tale.”
Ed stepped closer, hand outstretched, then froze without touching her.
“Emily… remember that day at the lake? When you fell through the ice? I hauled you out, and we swore—”
“Enough!” she snapped, whipping round. “Don’t drag up the past. What’s done is done.”
Ed stared at her as if meeting a stranger. After a slow nod, he grabbed his jacket off the dresser. “Right. Well… Good luck, Emily Davies.”
The door clicked softly behind him. Only when his footsteps faded on the stairs did she let the tears fall.
Charles Wilson truly was decent. A widower nearing fifty, director of a large firm, he offered marriage and security. When Mum was hospitalised, he quietly covered every bill, wanting only her agreement in return. “You’re young, pretty, clever,” he’d said, holding her hand. “I need companionship. We suit.” Emily nodded, feeling like bargain-bin merchandise. But what choice was there? Mum was recovering—doctors promised full health with costly medication and care.
Their wedding was a quiet registry office affair. Charles was attentive, content with respect and gratitude, never demanding love. Emily tried earnestly to be a good wife.
Ed vanished for nearly three months. They bumped into each other at the local clinic.
“How are you?” he asked politely.
“Fine. You?”
“Busy. Working a lot.” He looked leaner, tanned, wearing a smart new suit. She bit back questions about his sudden style.
“How’s your mum?” Ed had always adored her.
“Improving.”
“Give her my best.”
“Will do.”
Standing in that sterile corridor, Emily suddenly recalled the winter’s day Ed saved her. Seventeen and skating on a frozen lake outside Guildford. She’d strayed too far from shore. The ice cracked softly, but Ed heard. “Don’t move!” he yelled, crawling belly-down towards her. When she plunged into freezing water, he grabbed her arm. Minutes of frantic struggle followed before he hauled her out, wrapping her in his own coat. “I’ve got you,” he’d whispered, rubbing warmth into her icy hands. “Always have you.” They’d sworn eternal love that day. Seventeen and utterly convinced.
“I should go,” Ed said, pulling her back to the present.
“Yes, of course.” He left, Emily lingering frozen, clutching her doctor’s referral.
Life with Charles unfolded smoothly. He built Mum a cottage near St Albans, hired a carer, secured Emily a plush admin role at his company. Good salary, organised files, constant worthlessness.
“You seem down,” her husband remarked over shepherd’s pie.
“Just tired.”
“Fancy escaping? Weekends at the country place?” Charles noticed moods. He tried to please, gave thoughtful gifts. Many women would envy her situation.
“Alright then.”
The country home boasted a pool and manicured gardens. Emily lounged watching clouds drift; Charles read his FT nearby.
“Remember Ed Taylor?” he asked suddenly. Emily flinched.
“Vaguely. Why?”
“Saw this piece about him.” He tapped the paper. “Quite successful now. Runs his own construction firm building cottage estates.” He showed her the photo: Ed grinning beside scaffolding beams, looking prosperous and content.
“Good for him,” Emily said flatly.
“Indeed. Shame he couldn’t compete for your affections back then,” Charles chuckled – not bitterly, she noted, but wistfully.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. Only musing on how things might’ve been different.” Charles wasn’t just wealthy; he was perceptive. He knew why she’d married him.
“Circumstances aren’t accidents,” she countered. “We make them.”
“True.”
They sat quietly. Ed succeeding? Always determined, hardworking—just lacking start-up funds back then.
“Charles, may I ask?”
“Certainly.”
“Do you regret wedding me?”
He set down his paper, serious. “No. Do you regret accepting?”
Emily’s automatic “no” lodged in her throat. “Not sure,” she admitted.
“Ah.” He retrieved the FT. Conversation over.
That night, sleep evaded her. Lake vows, Ed’s face, how easily promises shattered against cold reality swam through her mind. Mum was hale, bills paid, cottage secure. Yet something vital had expired with her choice.
After Charles flew out for business, Emily visited Mum. Welcomed warmly, plied with scones.
“You’ve lost weight, love! Charles not feeding you?”
“He treats me like royalty.”
“But are you happy?” Mum’s question was abrupt. Emily froze, scone mid-air.
“What?”
“Simple question. Money’s lovely, but happiness helps.”
“Mum, without Charles, you wouldn’t—”
“I know. Grateful, truly. Yet your sacrifice isn’t necessary.”
“Not sacrificing!”
Mum studied her. “Ed popped round last week. Asked after you.”
“Why mention it?”
“Because he loves you. Still. And you love him. That’s rare, Emily.”
“Love doesn’t pay GP bills,” she snapped.
“It could now. He earns well these days.” Emily stood abruptly. “Must dash.”
“Think on it.”
Driving home, Emily felt tangled confusion. What did Mum want? Ruin her marriage? Guilt?
Charles returned weary and thoughtful. Over bangers and mash, he broke the silence: “Emily, we must talk.”
“About?”
“Us. What’s happening.” Her pulse leapt.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I see your unhappiness every day. You’re trying to be a good wife, but it isn’t bringing you joy.”
Charles’ gaze held hers. “I married you beyond admiration. I hoped something deeper than gratitude might grow. It hasn’t.”
Emily remained wordless.
“I won’t keep you captive. If you wish to leave, I’ll help. Mum keeps her cottage; I’ll cover all medical costs. Assistance if needed.”
“Why say this?”
“Respect. Because life’s too fleeting for joyless arrangements.”
Silence stretched late into the night. Emily acknowledged a rare man indeed.
Next day, she went to Ed’s office. His assistant directed her to a Cotswolds building site. Helmeted, Ed was overseeing work.
“Emily?” Surprise etched his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Need to talk.”
They stepped clear of cement mixers.
“Apologise. For everything.”
“Nothing
Emily Davies lived out her days in comfortable solitude, forever haunted by the ghost of Ed’s unwavering devotion and the first frost that settled in her heart the day she chose practicality over passion.
