Love came knocking…
Emily had moved from her tiny village to the city and enrolled at university. After attending a small rural school, she found studying tough, but she buried herself in textbooks day after day, determined to pass her exams and keep her scholarship. The most her mum could send was food parcels.
Once Emily started working, she began sending money back home instead. Every holiday, she’d return to the village. Sure, she dreamed of the seaside, but she’d always tell everyone, “What do I need the south for? We’ve got fresh air, forests, and the river right here.”
“Emily darling, when are you getting married? Surely there’s someone you like? I swear, I’ll never see my grandchildren at this rate,” her mother sighed.
“Don’t worry, Mum, it’ll happen,” Emily would brush her off—though she was thoroughly sick of the topic. Every villager’s first question was always about marriage.
She’d had boyfriends, even love, but no one had ever proposed.
She worked at a newspaper office. One evening, as her shift ended, a downpour raged outside. Just as it seemed to ease, Emily threw on her raincoat, grabbed her umbrella, and dashed out—only for the heavens to open again. Stuck under the building’s awning, she watched cars speed past, spraying puddles everywhere.
Cold droplets splashed her legs as she huddled against the wall. Then an SUV slowed in front of a particularly deep puddle—then stopped entirely.
“Need a lift?” A young man leaned across the passenger seat, grinning through the open window. “Even if the rain stops, the roads are a swimming pool. You’ll need flippers to get home.”
Emily climbed in. Six months later, her rescuer proposed. She wasn’t head-over-heels, but it felt right—steady and safe with Robert. They moved into his mother’s spacious flat in the city centre.
His mother took an instant dislike to her.
“Don’t go thinking this flat will be yours, dear. That won’t happen on my watch,” she warned straight away.
“It’s indecent to lounge about in a dressing gown all day. That’s for the bathroom, nothing else. What if guests arrive? Change at once!”
So Emily changed. Cleaning and cooking in fancy dresses was impractical, but Margaret (her future mother-in-law) dressed as if permanently expecting royalty.
They never got along. One day, Emily overheard Margaret urging Robert to divorce while they were still childless. In tears, Emily told him his mother was right—they should separate. She started packing.
Robert didn’t let her leave. The next day, he rented a flat, and they moved out. Life improved. Maybe Margaret still nagged him over the phone, but she never visited, and Robert kept it to himself. They began saving for their own place, putting aside a little from each paycheck.
One Sunday, they went to the lake with friends—fishing, barbecues. Driving back after dark, their friends’ car sped ahead, leaving Robert and Emily trailing. He accelerated to catch up.
Emily never saw it coming. An SUV veered into their lane—whether the driver dozed off or lost control didn’t matter. The crash was unavoidable.
Robert died instantly. Emily survived with multiple fractures. Four months later, discharged from hospital—pale, limping—she returned to their rented flat, only to find strangers living there. The landlord handed her a small bag of belongings. Robert’s things? Taken by his mother, who’d also terminated the lease.
Emily went to her mother-in-law’s. The door opened, but she wasn’t invited in.
“Margaret… could I stay just until I find a place?”
“Absolutely not. You got my Robbie killed. You didn’t even come to his funeral. Get out!” The door slammed.
“I was in hospital! I couldn’t—” Emily pounded the wood.
“Leave, or I’m calling the police!”
She didn’t even try asking for their savings.
Outside, she froze. Where now? Her friends had been Robert’s. Who knew what lies Margaret had spread?
Still in her city clothes, she boarded a train to the village. But worse awaited her: her mother had died two months ago, while Emily was hospitalised. Her phone had been destroyed in the crash. No one could reach her.
The cottage looked untouched, as if her mother had just stepped out. Emily’s eyes burned. “Mum… I need you so much…” She sank onto the bed, clutching her mother’s cardigan—still faintly scented with her perfume—and sobbed herself to sleep.
A knock startled her awake. “Mum’s back!” she gasped—but then heard Robert’s voice: “Em… open up, it’s me.” She flung the door open.
There stood Robert, his face bloodied—
Emily jolted awake screaming, her heart hammering. The knocking was real.
“Everything alright in there?” a man’s voice called.
Trembling, she opened the door to a tall, bearded stranger, his gaze sharp and wary.
“Who are you? What’re you doing here?”
“I—I came to see my mum. This is my home,” she stammered.
“You missed the funeral. We tried calling…”
“I was in hospital. My husband died.”
His expression softened. “I’m sorry. I’m the local caretaker—Roman. Police are miles away, and with everyone moving out…” He stepped back. “I live two doors down if you need anything.”
“William?” she blurted—though this man was too young, and William, her childhood friend, was long dead.
“No, Roman. William saved my life in the army. He didn’t make it.”
She turned back inside, mortified.
The next day, old Samuel visited.
“Back alone, eh? My Nancy said you’d married rich in the city. Why’d you miss your mum’s funeral?”
Emily told him.
“Well, now… money can’t buy life,” he mused.
“She thought everyone in the city was rich,” Emily said weakly.
“She was right to!” Samuel cackled. “Peace, quiet—better than city filth. You’re pretty. Won’t be single long!”
“Planning to propose? What about Nancy?” she teased.
“Maybe I want a harem! I’ve still got it!”
Nancy’s voice cut in: “Flirting again? Home. Now.” She dragged him off.
At the shop the next day, Emily faced whispers and glares.
“No bread,” the clerk, Betty, snapped, eyeing the shelves behind her.
“That’s for locals.”
Roman strode in. “Problem?”
Betty turned sweet as syrup. “Oh, just low stock…”
Roman bought double, handing half to Emily. “She’s one of us,” he told Betty sharply.
Outside, Emily thanked him. He waved it off. “Why’d you come back?”
She told him. He nodded. “I’m here on borrowed time too. After the army, my wife left me. I came to repay William’s mum—ended up staying. Villagers need muscle.”
A week later, Emily packed for the city.
“Leaving?” Roman asked.
“I have to work. Find a flat.”
He hesitated. “You’ll come back? For the harvest?”
“If you help.”
She left her number. He never called. She almost dialed a few times—but didn’t want to seem pushy. Maybe he’d forgotten her.
Four months passed. Autumn leaves fell; sleet replaced rain. Emily hadn’t returned.
Then, at work, security said she had a visitor.
A well-dressed stranger stood waiting.
“Roman?!” she gasped. “Where’s your beard?”
He laughed. “Finished work? Let’s talk.”
An agonising hour later, she rushed downstairs—but he was gone. Heart sinking, she stepped outside—
There he was, grinning by a car. “Told you I’d wait.”
As they drove, he explained: after she left, he’d ditched the beard, divorced, swapped his flat. Now he ran security at a firm.
“I sold some of your harvest—sorry, it’d have spoiled. Kept the cash.”
“Don’t worry!”
A month later, she moved in with him.
For the first time, she knew real love. Even Robert had never made her feel like this.
One Sunday, curled against him, she murmured, “Thank your ex-mother-in-law. Without her, I’d never have met you.”
Roman grinned. “That harvest money? I added my pension. Sell this flat, and we’ll buy bigger.”
“Or sell my cottage?”
“Never. Perfect for kids.”
“Kids?!” she whispered.
“Obviously.”
They visited the village that February—grave tidying in winter was easier than spring mud.
“Need a headstone,” Roman said.
“A cross,” Emily corrected. “Mum believed.”
Driving home, snow flicked the windscreen. Emily flinched at oncoming headlights—flashing back to the crash, Robert’s face in her dream.
But then she realisedAnd as Emily watched the snowflakes dance in the headlights, she knew that life, with all its grief and unexpected turns, had finally led her exactly where she was meant to be.
