The Heart Beats Again
Emily gave birth to her daughter Lily without knowing who the father was. It was, as they say, a “slip before the vows.” Yes, a young man had courted her ardently. He never spoke of marriage, though. Still, he was dazzlingly handsome and ever so polite.
Emily would take his arm and walk past the elderly women—those “sunflowers” perched on benches outside their flats. Like real sunflowers turning toward the sun, their heads would swivel to follow every passerby.
The young man had no steady work. He preferred to flutter through life like a butterfly. Emily fed him, gave him drink, let him sleep beside her. She would have laid herself down like a patterned rug at his feet.
But one fine day, he declared her utterly dull, that she didn’t appreciate him as a woman ought. And really, if she loved him, she might have taken him on holiday somewhere warm…
Emily wept for a week. Then she tore his photos to pieces and burned them. A whole month she spent alone in misery. Then she met Charles.
…One morning, Emily was running late for work. She stood fidgeting at the bus stop when a taxi slowed beside her. The driver swung the door open and offered her a lift. Without hesitation, she hopped in.
As they drove, the man struck up conversation. Emily immediately sized him up. He was middle-aged, well-groomed—clean-shaven, neatly trimmed, crisply dressed. What truly won her over was his courtesy. Everything about him spoke of a woman’s attentive care. Emily decided it must be his mother’s handiwork.
Charles—that was his name—was everything her first lover was not. She gave him her number without a second thought. Later, she’d laugh at how this was the only free taxi ride she’d ever taken.
…They began seeing each other. Charles showered her with flowers, gifts, tender affection.
One spring day, they strolled through the woods, lighthearted and merry. Emily gathered snowdrops, and Charles, charmed by her joy, joined in. With their bouquets in hand, she settled into the car.
He placed his own bundle carefully on the backseat. Emily’s heart clenched. “For his wife,” she thought. She didn’t dare ask. What if he was married? But after six months, she’d grown too fond of courteous Charles. So she chose sweet delusion. She said nothing.
Then Charles’s wife showed up at Emily’s door with two small children.
“Here, love,” she said. “You raise them! They adore their father.”
Stunned, Emily could only whisper, “Forgive me. I didn’t know. I won’t break your family. I shan’t nest under another’s eaves.”
That evening, she ended things with the “married man.”
…Her next love was Rhys, a Welshman. Their affair was fleeting—a whirlwind that swept into her life and vanished just as swiftly.
They’d met at a friend’s birthday party. Rhys had charmed quiet, gentle Emily effortlessly. She didn’t resist the pull of his bright charisma.
His generosity, his boundless cheer—it left no room for gloom. With him, she could forget sorrow. He always had plans, as though life held no troubles at all. She would have followed him to the ends of the earth. But alas…
For a year, Rhys adored her. Then he returned to Wales. England’s damp chill didn’t suit him, he claimed. Or perhaps it was his ailing mother calling him home…
Emily felt abandoned. Unwanted. “I’ll live alone,” she resolved. “At least there’ll be no more tears.”
Then, just as she resigned herself to solitude, she discovered new life growing within her. The news left her numb. Who was the father? How would she manage? How could she keep her sanity?
…A girl was born. Emily named her Bethan. The child became her world. Bethan had Rhys’s curls, his dark eyes, his mirthful smile. Somehow, that comforted Emily. Perhaps because she’d loved him as no other. Seeing Bethan, she remembered the golden days with Rhys.
Oh, there were nights she ached with envy for her married friends. But raising Bethan left no time for weeping.
…When Bethan started school, she was seated beside a boy named Oliver. They despised each other at once. He called her a “frizzy-headed fool.” Fights broke out at every break.
Emily marched to the school, demanding answers for her daughter’s scratches. The flustered teacher gave her Oliver’s address. “Take it up with his parents,” she said.
Emily stormed to the house.
…The door swung open to reveal a man drying his hands on a tea towel slung over his shoulder.
“Looking for me? Come in. I’ll brew us some coffee—just let me feed my little rascal first,” he said, darting off to the kitchen.
Emily stepped inside. The flat was a bachelor’s mess—dust, scattered clothes, stale smoke hanging in the air.
“Good Lord,” she thought.
He returned with two steaming cups. (That rich, fragrant aroma would stay with her forever.)
“What brings such a lovely lady to my door?” he asked.
“I’m Bethan’s mother,” Emily began.
“Ah,” he grinned. “My Ollie’s smitten with your girl.”
“And that’s why she comes home scratched?” she countered.
His brow furrowed. “I don’t follow.”
“Just speak to your son,” she said, rising. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“I will,” he promised.
That night, Emily couldn’t sleep. Something about that homely man—so unlike her past lovers—stuck in her mind. And that coffee! No suitor had ever offered her such a simple, perfect thing. Champagne, wine, cocktails—those flowed freely. But never a humble cup of coffee.
She imagined tidying his flat, airing it out, placing flowers on the sill… even ruffling Oliver’s hair.
By morning, her mood had lifted. She told Bethan to be kinder to Oliver.
Weeks passed…
At parents’ evening, Emily saw him again. Now she knew—Oliver had no mother. Why else would his father attend alone?
This emboldened her.
After the meeting, he offered to walk them home. December nights fell early.
“Yes,” Emily said at once.
He introduced himself. “James.”
“Emily,” she replied, smiling.
James, it seemed, liked her too. He even invited her to ring in the New Year together.
She’d long stopped waiting for princes. What did she have to lose?
Seven years alone made her say yes.
Later, he’d tell her: his wife had left him for his best friend. He’d fought to keep Oliver.
Of course, he hadn’t realized how much he’d miss a woman’s touch—or how Oliver would yearn for a mother. In time, James confessed his love.
He’d thought of her constantly since that first meeting. In Emily, he saw a devoted wife, a loving mother for his boy.
She and Bethan moved in—but only after the children’s wary consent.
Life bloomed. James, overjoyed, worked tirelessly. They bought a spacious home. Emily tended house and children, cherishing Oliver as her own. James adored Bethan, treasuring his girls.
…Years passed. Bethan and Oliver grew, fell in love, married.
James and Emily blessed their union. The newlyweds honeymooned in Paris, while Emily urged James to the seaside with her.
He resisted. “Buy yourself something nice instead.”
“Please,” she begged. “Let’s steal time for just us two.”
At last, he agreed.
They spent a week in a seaside town—days of unclouded bliss. James outdid himself: flowers, tender words, vows of endless love…
On their last morning, they walked the empty beach. As the tide lapped softly, he kissed her, then murmured, “Em, I love you. So much.”
“I’ll just rinse off,” he added, nodding toward the water.
She never saw him again.
The sea took him. Calm waters, yet the rescuers found nothing.
…Emily returned home shattered. James’s absurd, sudden death unraveled her.
Why him? He swam so well. Why widowhood at fifty-five? Why hadn’t she said she loved him too, there on the sand?
(He’d been saying goodbye. She hadn’t understood.)
The questions clawed at her. She withdrew, loathing the sea. Color drained from the world. Grief gnawed without gravesite to visit, without earth to tend.
Her soul splintered. Breathing felt too much. Better burn seven times than bury love once.
Time doesn’t heal, they say. It lies. It only numbs. Scratch the surface, and the pain surges fresh. Memory won’t release you; it resurrects sorrow anew.
…Years later, Emily held the hands of her grandchildren—Lucy and Jack—as they walked through autumn leaves.
Their tradition: a stop at the café. Ice cream forShe sipped her coffee, breathing in the warmth and the memories, knowing that love, once given, never truly fades, and that though life ends, the heart keeps its promises.
