THE HEART BEATS AGAIN
Emily had her little Sophie without knowing who the father was. A slip before marriage, as they say.
Oh, there had been a young man courting her quite persistently. Never proposed, though. But he was dazzlingly handsome, ever the gentleman. Emily would loop her arm through his and stride past the clucking pensioners—those sunflower-faced ladies perched by their doorways, always turning their heads like sunflowers tracking the sun.
The young man never held a job. Preferred fluttering through life like a moth. Emily fed him, gave him drink, tucked him in beside her. She’d have laid herself out like a floral rug beneath his feet if he’d asked.
Then one fine day, he announced how dreadfully bored he was with Emily, how unappreciated he felt. And really, if she loved him, she might’ve taken him to the seaside at least once…
Emily sobbed for a week. Then she tore up his photograph—the one of her “unloved”—and burned it. A month she grieved in solitude. Then she met James.
One morning, Emily was late for work. She fretted at the bus stop when a taxi pulled up beside her. The driver swung the door open and offered her a lift. Without hesitation, she hopped in.
On the ride, he struck up conversation. Emily sized him up immediately. Middle-aged, well-groomed, shaved, pressed, trim. What won her over was his old-world courtesy. Every inch of him spoke of a woman’s care—his mother’s hand, Emily decided.
James (as he introduced himself) was the opposite of her first mistake. She left her number without a second thought. The only time she ever rode a cab for free.
They began seeing each other. James showered her with flowers, gifts, tender affection.
One spring day, they strolled through the woods, lighthearted and merry. Emily picked snowdrops. James, charmed by her joy, joined in. Their harvest gathered, Emily settled into the car with her little bouquet.
James took the wheel, carefully placing his own armful of snowdrops on the backseat. Emily’s stomach twisted. “His wife,” she thought. Too afraid to ask. What if he was married? But she’d grown used to his kindness these past six months. So she chose sweet denial. Stayed silent.
Soon enough, James’s wife turned up at Emily’s door. She brought two small children and announced, “Here, love—raise them! They adore their daddy!”
Stunned, Emily stammered, “I’m sorry—I didn’t know. I won’t break up your home. I’ve no interest in nesting under another’s roof.”
That evening, she ended things with the “married man.”
Her next lover was Kieran.
An Irishman. Their romance burned fast. He swept into her life like a hurricane and vanished just as quickly.
They met at a friend’s birthday party. Kieran charmed the quiet, gentle Emily at once. She didn’t resist, swept up by his charisma.
He won her with his warmth, generosity, endless cheer. With him, she never had time to mope. Kieran always had plans—no problems, it seemed. She’d have followed him anywhere. But alas…
For a year, he doted on her. Then he left for Ireland. Never settled in England—maybe the climate didn’t suit, or his ailing mother called him home.
Emily felt abandoned, worthless. “Enough suffering,” she decided. “I’ll live alone. At least there’ll be no more tears.”
Just as she resigned herself to solitude, she discovered new life growing inside her. The news left her frozen. Who was the father? How would she survive? How could she keep her sanity?
A girl was born. Emily named her Sophie. The child became her purpose. Sophie looked just like Kieran—same curls, dark eyes, that disarming smile. And somehow, this pleased Emily. Maybe because she’d loved him like no other. Gazing at Sophie, she remembered those careless, golden days.
Of course, sometimes she wanted to howl with envy at her married friends. But raising Sophie left no time for tears.
On her first day of school, Sophie was seated beside a boy named Oliver. She took an instant dislike to him. He called her a “mad-haired fool.”
They despised each other so fiercely, the teacher had to separate them. Still, they brawled at every break.
Emily marched into school, demanding to know why her daughter came home scratched. The flustered teacher handed her Oliver’s address. “Take it up with his parents.”
Without hesitation, Emily stormed off to defend Sophie.
The door was answered by a man drying his hands on the tea towel draped over his shoulder.
“Looking for me? Come in, please. I’ll put the kettle on—just need to feed my little monster first.” He scurried off to the kitchen.
Emily slipped off her shoes and stepped inside. The flat was a bachelor’s mess—dust, strewn clothes, the reek of tobacco. “Good lord,” she thought.
He returned with a tray—two steaming mugs of coffee. (That heavenly aroma would stay with Emily forever.)
“To what do I owe this visit?” he asked.
“I’m Sophie’s mother.”
“Ah,” he smiled. “My Oliver’s smitten with her.”
“So smitten he’s scratching her?” Emily shot back.
“Pardon?” Genuine confusion.
“Just sort your son out. Thanks for the coffee.” She turned to leave.
“Consider it done.”
The “monster” sat silently in the kitchen.
Emily went home. That night, she couldn’t sleep. There’d been something about him—so domestic, so comfortable. A dream of a man. And that coffee! No suitor had ever offered her coffee—just rivers of champagne, wine, cocktails. She imagined his dingy flat swept clean, the windows open, flowers on the sill… even stroking that unruly boy’s hair.
By morning, her mood had lifted. She asked Sophie to be kinder to Oliver.
Weeks passed.
At parents’ evening, Emily saw him again—the man of her daydreams. Here, she confirmed Oliver had no mother. Why else would his father be here?
This emboldened her.
After the meeting, he offered to walk them home—December dark already.
“Yes,” Emily said at once.
He introduced himself. “Richard.”
“Emily.”
Clearly, Richard liked her. He even suggested spending New Year’s together. Emily had nothing left to lose—she’d stopped waiting for princes long ago.
How long could she fear the fire after being burned? Seven years alone made her say yes.
Later, Richard confessed he’d divorced years ago—his wife had married his best friend. He’d kept Oliver.
Of course, he hadn’t realized how much he’d miss a woman’s touch… how much Oliver needed a mother. In short, Richard fell in love with Emily.
He’d thought of her constantly since that first meeting. Saw in her a devoted wife, a loving mother for his boy.
Emily and Sophie moved in—but only after the children gave reluctant nods.
Life whirled into motion. Richard was overjoyed, moving mountains for his new family. They bought a spacious home. Emily kept house, doted on the children.
Sophie and Oliver grew up cherished. Emily treated Oliver as her own. Richard adored Sophie, treasured both his girls.
Years passed. The children married—Sophie and Oliver, of all people.
Emily and Richard blessed the match. The newlyweds honeymooned in Paris, while Emily proposed a seaside holiday for the two of them.
Richard refused.
“Buy yourself something nice instead.”
“Rich, please—just once, let’s be free!”
He relented.
A week in a seaside town—blissful, cloudless. Richard outdid himself: flowers, compliments, professions of boundless love.
On their last morning, they walked the empty beach at dawn. Richard kissed her softly, sighed.
“I love you, Emily. So much.”
“Just gonna rinse off before we go.”
She never saw him again.
He drowned. No trace found, though the sea was calm.
Emily returned alone. For months, she moved in a daze. Richard’s senseless death shattered her.
Why him? He swam so well. Why a widow at fifty-five? Why hadn’t she said she loved him too?
Had he been saying goodbye? She hadn’t understood.
Endless questions, hurled at the sky.
She shut down. Hated the sea. The world lost all color. No grave to visit—just emptiness.
Her soul splintered. She didn’t want to breathe. Better to burn seven times than widow once.
They say time heals. Lies. It only numbs. Scratch the surface, and the pain flares fresh. Memory won’t release you—it dredges up the grief again and again.
Years later, Emily held two tiny hands—Lily and Noah, her three-year-old grandchildren. They strolled through autumn leaves, as was their tradition, stopping for ice cream. Emily ordered coffee—that same rich, fragrant brew. The scentAnd as the warmth of the coffee curled around her, she closed her eyes and let herself believe, just for a moment, that Richard was sitting there beside her, smiling, as he always had.
