Happiness Is a Family Behind You
When Edward returned from the military, he was even fitter than when he’d left. The youngest in a large family—four brothers in total—he seemed to have inherited the best of all of them. Tall, broad-shouldered, with fair hair and kind blue eyes, he was always ready to lend a hand, and strength? Well, he’d been blessed with plenty of that.
Three days after coming back to his hometown of Willowbrook, he’d caught up with relatives and old mates. Just popping out of the shop, he spotted Emily. He froze. She was beautiful—petite, but striking.
“Blimey, didn’t know we had such stunners around here,” he said, grinning. “Either I’ve been blind, or you’ve grown up while I was away.”
“Hello, handsome,” she laughed. “I’m Emily—Emily Thompson. Doubt you’d remember me. I’m not from around here.”
“Edward,” he replied. “Just back from service myself.”
They stood chatting like old friends, oblivious to the amused glances from villagers. By the time they parted, it was clear—they fancied each other. Properly.
That evening, Edward couldn’t stop thinking about her.
“Mum, where’s that new teacher Emily staying?”
His mother raised an eyebrow. “The old cottage by the church—Mrs. Wilkins’ place. Solid little house. Why? Taken a shine to her?”
“Something like that,” he muttered, already heading out.
Soon, they were inseparable. Before long, Edward proposed. The village wedding was the talk of Willowbrook. A few local girls grumbled—”Why’d he go for an outsider?”—but Emily won them over, especially once they saw how brilliant she was with the schoolkids.
They moved into her cottage—Edward’s family home was already packed with his brother’s lot. “Em, I’ll build us an extension,” he announced one evening. “We’ll need the space when the kids come.”
And he did. Within a few years, their house was the envy of Willowbrook—sturdy, spacious, just like Edward himself. Life was good. But one shadow lingered—no children of their own. Emily adored her pupils, yet her heart ached.
*What if he leaves me because of this?* she’d wonder.
*What if it’s my fault?* Edward fretted. *What if she walks away?*
Neither dared see a doctor—fear, hope, who knew? Time ticked on. Then one evening, a TV programme about adoption planted an idea.
“Ed… what if we fostered a child?” she blurted over supper.
He nearly choked. “Bloody hell, Em. I’ve been thinking the same thing. Just didn’t know how to bring it up.”
Cue tears, hugs, and paperwork. Soon, they were at the children’s home in nearby Milford, meeting the director, Mrs. Carter.
“Take your time,” she said, leading them to the playroom. Among the children, one boy—seven, sturdy, blue-eyed—caught their gaze. Then Mrs. Carter murmured, “He’s got a little brother, three. We don’t separate siblings.”
Emily’s heart lurched. Edward squeezed her hand.
“We’ll take both,” they said in unison.
Months later, Oliver and little George came home. Oliver, ever the protective big brother, announced, “George, these are our mum and dad now.” The toddler cheered, clapping—”Mum! Dad!”—and Edward’s eyes suspiciously glistened.
Years flew. The boys thrived—Oliver solid in school, George a proper little brainbox. Holidays by the sea, fishing trips, laughter. Then one day, George overheard a classmate’s whisper: *”They’re not your real parents.”*
Oliver shut it down. “They’re better than real. Remember that.”
Emily, eavesdropping, wept silent tears.
When Mrs. Carter called years later, they didn’t hesitate. “There’s a little girl—two years old. No family. She… well, she looks like you, Emily.”
Eva did. Spitting image. “She’s ours,” Edward said instantly.
Now, the house rang with a new voice—Eva’s giggles, her brothers doting on her. Oliver, grown and in uniform, phoned often, sending love to “the littles.”
And so, in their big, bustling home, Edward and Emily found their happiness—not in blood, but in the family they’d built. Together.
