Happiness is having family at your back
When Edward returned from the army, he was even stronger than when he’d left. The youngest in a big family—four brothers in all—he seemed to have gathered the best of them all. Tall, nearly six and a half feet, broad-shouldered, with fair hair and blue eyes that held a kind warmth, always ready to help, and certainly not lacking in strength.
Three days after coming back to his hometown of Whitethorn, reuniting with relatives and old friends, he was walking home from the shop when he spotted Emily. He froze, struck by the sight of the lovely girl—petite, but radiant.
“Blimey, didn’t know we had such beauties around here. Did I miss something, or have the lasses grown up while I was away?” he greeted her with a grin.
“Hello, handsome. Don’t think we’ve met—whose daughter are you?” he asked.
“Hello there,” she laughed, “I’m my mum and dad’s daughter. Of course you don’t remember me—I’m not from around here.”
“Edward’s the name. And yours?”
“Emily. Emily Bennett. I’m a primary school teacher—moved here a year ago.”
“Right. Well, I’ve just come back from service.”
They stood and talked for ages as if they’d known each other forever. Soon, the villagers were glancing their way—no doubt matchmaking already. In a small place like this, word traveled fast… And Edward and Emily really had taken to each other, neither wanting to part.
That evening, Edward couldn’t stop thinking about the lovely Emily.
“Mum, where’s that new teacher Emily staying?”
His mother gave him a knowing look.
“Old Mrs. Whitlow’s cottage—she passed years ago, but the place is still sturdy. Emily’s settled in nicely. Why? Taken a fancy to her, have you?”
“Suppose I have,” Edward muttered before heading out.
From then on, they spent every moment together until Edward proposed, and Emily said yes. The wedding was the talk of Whitethorn. Some of the local girls sulked.
“Why’d he go and marry an outsider? Plenty of pretty lasses right here!”
But in time, they accepted it—especially since Emily was well-loved at the village school. The children adored her, and so did their parents.
Edward moved into Emily’s cottage—his family home was already full with one of his brothers and his brood. He was a practical man, good with his hands and strong as an ox.
“Em, I’ll build us an extension. Bit cramped now, and there’ll be kids one day. I’ll order the timber, start next week,” he said, and she smiled in agreement.
Within a few years, Edward had built a house that was the envy of Whitethorn. Sturdy as he was, so was the home he’d made. Emily was overjoyed. Life was good—save for one shadow: they had no children of their own.
Emily loved children, pouring herself into her pupils, yet her own arms remained empty.
“Why can’t I conceive?” she often wondered. “What if Edward leaves me? He wants kids so badly—he’s even built the house for them.”
“Why don’t we have children?” Edward fretted too. “What if it’s me? What if Emily leaves?”
Both nursed their fears, never seeking answers—too afraid of the doctors’ verdict, or perhaps still hoping. Time passed. Emily turned thirty; Edward, two years older. Then one evening, a TV programme about adoption planted an idea in Emily’s mind.
“We could adopt. A son—I’d love a son. But what if Edward refuses? A stranger’s child…”
She agonised over how to bring it up, but at dinner, she blurted it out.
“Ed… what if we adopted a child?”
He nearly choked on his tea, coughed, then answered,
“Emily, you’re reading my mind. I’ve been thinking the same, but didn’t know how you’d take it.”
“Oh, Ed, I’m so happy!” She flung her arms around him.
After research, they drove to the city’s children’s home, tucked behind a high fence near the hospital. Meeting the director, they greeted her politely.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hartley.”
“Afternoon. Have a seat—I suspect we’ll be here a while.”
Mrs. Hartley explained everything, asked about them, and listed the paperwork needed. The conversation was long—she had to know who stood before her.
Finally, she said,
“Come, meet the children.”
There weren’t many. Emily’s eyes landed on a seven-year-old boy—sturdy, blue-eyed, much like Edward. He noticed him too. Mrs. Hartley, watching their gaze, murmured,
“That’s Oliver. He’s got a little brother, Toby. We can’t separate them.”
Emily felt it then—these boys were already theirs. She glanced at Edward, and his faint smile told her everything.
Back in the office, Mrs. Hartley said,
“I gather you’d take both?”
“Yes,” they answered together.
“Good. But remember—children don’t raise themselves. They need love, patience. Hard work, children are. Though,” she smiled, “you’re a teacher. You know that.”
“I do,” Emily said. “And seeing these children… a child without love is like a plant without water.”
After the paperwork, Oliver and Toby came home. Oliver, in Year Two, proudly walked to school with Emily. No one had to teach them what to call their new parents.
“Toby, these are our mum and dad,” Oliver said, and the little boy beamed, clapping, “Mum and dad!”
Edward’s eyes glistened; Emily noticed and thought,
“He’ll be the best father. Look how he loves them.”
Years flew. The boys thrived; Toby started school. That summer, they took a train to the seaside.
“Mum, trains are brilliant!” Toby babbled. “So much to see out the window! Is the sea big?”
“Massive,” Emily said, glancing at Oliver—quieter, but just as eager.
Back home, sun-kissed and full of stories, life rolled on. Oliver got solid B’s; Toby was top of his class. One day, Emily overheard Toby ask,
“Ollie, Mike says mum and dad aren’t really ours. That we’re adopted. Is that true?”
“Yeah,” Oliver said. “But our mum and dad are the best. Better than blood. Remember that.”
Emily wept silently, later telling Edward, who was just as moved.
“See? We’re raising them right.”
The boys shadowed Edward everywhere—fishing, fixing things. Then, when Oliver was in sixth form, Mrs. Hartley called.
“Emily, could you and Edward come in? I’ve a proposition.”
Next day, they sat in her office.
“Would you consider taking a little girl?”
They exchanged a glance, smiling.
“We’ve a two-year-old, Evie. Parents died—no family. Both were care leavers. Strange how history repeats. But… she looks like you, Emily. Come see.”
And she did—Evie had Emily’s smile, Edward’s eyes.
“Em, she’s ours,” Edward said.
“Mrs. Hartley, I’ve always wanted a daughter. The boys are Ed’s shadows. I’d love to braid hair, pick dresses… a little helper, a friend. This… this is happiness. Family at your back.”
Soon, Evie was home. The boys adored her—Toby dragged her to his room to show off old toys; Oliver lifted her, grinning,
“Welcome, sis! Mum, the gang’s all here.”
And so their home rang with Evie’s laughter—a whirlwind of energy, doted on by all.
When Oliver enlisted, later signing up as a regular, Edward nodded.
“If it’s what you want, son, we’re proud.”
Now Oliver called often, sending love to the “little’uns” back home.
And so they lived—Edward and Emily, their children, their happiness. A family, whole at last.
