**GUARDED BY LOVE**
The meeting of Emily and Oliver was written in the stars.
Oliver had never laid eyes on his father. He was raised by his mother and grandmother. When little Oliver asked about his dad, his mother would mutter something vague—that his father was a geologist off on endless expeditions for valuable minerals. Once, in frustration, she snapped, “You never had a father, Oliver!” As a child, he accepted these excuses without question, trusting his mother completely. But as he grew older, he needed answers. After all, he couldn’t have come from thin air! It turned out that in her youth, Oliver’s mother had gone on a business trip and returned with a child—him. His grandmother revealed the truth, in secret.
Oliver was strangely relieved. At least he hadn’t been found in a cabbage patch! He vowed to find his father someday, whether the man wanted it or not. “I’m his son, not just some stranger!” And with that resolution, he made another promise to himself: “I’ll have a real family. One wife, lots of children.”
Emily, too, had never known a father’s love. Her parents had divorced before she turned two, and a stepfather took his place. A decent man, but still… He always held up his own children from his first marriage as examples, which irritated Emily. In short, her only claim to love was her mother’s.
Growing up, Emily decided, “If I ever marry, it will be once and for good. If I can find such a man.”
And then she did.
It was Christmas Eve. January, frost, evening. A bookshop. Oliver and Emily stood in line at the till, each holding a volume of Shakespeare. Their eyes met by chance—and Oliver went on the offensive. He showered her with compliments, asked polite and careful questions. He couldn’t let her slip away. She had to be his wife. She had to.
Emily didn’t even flirt. She just felt comfortable with this restless young man, as if she had known him forever. But she came from a respectable family—a girl didn’t just strike up conversations with strangers. Oliver admired her modesty and, as a start, suggested exchanging numbers. Emily took his but didn’t give hers. “I’ll call after the holidays,” she said vaguely.
Oliver couldn’t let this heaven-sent gift slip away. They parted ways—but he secretly followed her home.
All through the winter holidays, Oliver was walking on air. He had found his “swan maiden” and would love her always.
Yet, when the celebrations ended, no call came. Oliver grew restless and took action. He slipped his copy of Shakespeare into Emily’s letterbox. Surely she’d guess who it was from? That evening, she called, angry:
“Oliver! Why haven’t you called? I waited!”
“Emily, love, I didn’t have your number. Don’t you remember? You never gave it to me in the bookshop.” Oliver was beaming.
“But you found me anyway!” she snapped.
“Typical woman’s logic,” Oliver thought, delighted. At last, everything was clear—Emily cared about him!
Without delay, they married. How else could it be? They had so much in common: a pure, boundless love; the desire for as many children as God would grant; a passion for Shakespeare. Wasn’t that enough?
On this solid foundation, they built their lives.
Emily taught English literature at university; Oliver was a brilliant programmer. In time, little Rose was born. Two years later, James arrived. Life was perfect.
Oliver still longed to find his father. The internet helped. Among dozens of namesakes, he finally found the right man—a professor of medicine who lived in London. They exchanged letters, and the man invited Oliver to visit.
Their meeting was deeply moving. His father had another family but had never forgotten Oliver.
“It’s wonderful that you found me, son. We’ll keep in touch now,” he said, embracing Oliver.
Proudly, Oliver listed his own family. “Look, Dad, you’re already a grandfather twice over. And that’s not the end.”
Oliver returned home elated. His father was warm, sincere—everything he had hoped for.
Life went on. Rose and James grew. Emily decided to pursue her doctorate—her mother and grandmother had both been scholars, and she wouldn’t lag behind. Naturally, she chose Shakespeare as her subject.
Oliver supported her, helping at home as best he could. For three years, she prepared tirelessly. During that time, little Lily was born.
But then Oliver fell ill. The doctors were baffled—some rare, deadly condition. Treatment failed. They gently hinted to Emily that survival was unlikely. Oliver was only forty.
Grief swallowed her. Oliver, wracked with guilt, begged forgiveness for leaving her with three children.
She wept in secret, knowing she carried a fourth—but telling him would only deepen his pain.
“How could God do this?” she wondered. “Oliver, you must live! I won’t let you leave us!”
In desperation, she called Oliver’s father, remembering he was a renowned physician. He rushed to them.
After examining Oliver, he shook his head. “Modern medicine can’t help here. I’ll prescribe something to ease his suffering, but…”
Emily waited, hoping for a miracle—for him to pull a magic pill from his case and promise Oliver would live.
Instead, he gave her an address. “There’s an herbalist. He saved me once. Try him.”
The next morning, Emily visited the old healer. He glanced at Oliver’s reports, then handed her bottles of greenish liquid.
“Follow the dosage. Return with your husband in ten days.”
“With him? He can’t walk!”
“Then carry him. He will stand again,” the healer said firmly.
Outside, she almost threw the bottles away. “Herbs? Nonsense!” But there was no choice.
Ten days later, Oliver walked into the healer’s office. A month later, he returned to work. A miracle? The herbalist never named the illness, only saying, “Forgive all, envy none.”
In time, Emily gave birth to Henry.
Rose, James, Lily, Henry—straight out of a Victorian tale.
Oliver and Emily treasure their love fiercely, knowing happiness is fleeting, but grief is relentless.
As for her unfinished thesis? Emily let it go.
Family had always been the real subject of her life.
