LOVING WITH PATIENCE, ENDURING WITH LOVE John and Mary had a church wedding. On the day of the ceremony, as the wedding procession neared the church, a wild summer storm sprang up out of nowhere and tore Mary’s veil from her head. The veil soared skyward like a balloon, whirled about, then dropped, exhausted, into a muddy puddle. All the guests gasped in shock. The storm vanished as swiftly as it arrived. John dashed for the veil but could not reach it in time. The once-snowy veil now lay in a black puddle. In distress, Mary called to her groom, “John, don’t pick it up. I’m not wearing that veil!” The local old ladies outside the church began to mutter, warning: with such a sign, storms and troubles would follow the couple’s lives… A fake white flower was hastily pinned in Mary’s hair from the nearest shop—there was no time to find a new veil. One does not keep one’s own wedding waiting! The bride and groom stood together, candles in hand, pledging their vows before God at the altar. But before the sacred ceremony, John and Mary had already signed papers at the registry office and celebrated with a beautiful reception. That, as Mary told herself, was for people. Three years later, their home rang with the laughter of two children: little Sophie and Arthur. Life flowed along peacefully. But a decade on, a knock came at John and Mary’s door. Mary, ever the gracious hostess, welcomed all—invited or otherwise—offering a warm meal, a cup of tea, and a listening ear. This particular guest, however, was different. She arrived when John was out. Mary’s eyes sized up the stranger immediately: well-built, beautiful, young, and polite. “Hello Mary,” she introduced herself. “I’m Emily. I’m… I’m to be your husband’s future wife.” “How fascinating!” Mary replied in surprise. “And how long has John been your fiancé?” Mary pressed on with the odd conversation. “A long while. But I can’t wait any longer. John and I are expecting a child,” Emily reported, entirely unfazed. “Hmm… A textbook saga—wife, mistress, illegitimate child… Do you know John and I are church-wed? We have children,” Mary tried to reason. “I know everything. But John and I have true love! Forever too! You could annul the marriage. He’s not faithful. I asked my priest; it’s allowed,” Emily insisted. “Well, young lady, I sincerely advise you not to interfere in another’s marriage! We’ll handle our own love and loyalty,” Mary said, now irritated. “Good day.” Emily shrugged—“I warned you”—and hastily left. Mary slammed the door, furious: “She’s done her research… not getting my John!” She couldn’t help recalling how John had seemed different lately—longer hours at work, sudden business trips, a newfound interest in fishing… All classic signs. Women always sense a rival’s shadow. But Mary forced the dark thoughts away; perhaps it was her imagination, and John was guiltless. That evening, when John got home, Mary fed him well before broaching the uncomfortable topic. “John, are you in love?” she began, struggling with the words. “I am,” John confirmed, tense. “Your… sweetheart came by today. Is it serious?” Mary dreaded his answer. “I’m a scoundrel! I can’t live without Emily! I tried to break it off but failed! Let me go, Mary!” John begged. “You’re free…” Mary replied softly, realizing appeals to conscience or the children would be pointless. Life would decide. John moved out to be with his beloved. Mary sought comfort, and advice, from her vicar. “My daughter, love suffers long and never fails—remember the words of Scripture. You have the right to annul the marriage, for your husband has fallen into sinful lust. Or you may forgive, pray, and wait for his return. The Lord works in mysterious ways…” Two months later, Mary discovered she was pregnant—John’s child. She felt it was a sign that, in time, John would repent and return. A baby boy was born; Mary’s mother suggested naming him Jack—an English John. “Maybe your John will find his way home—miracles happen,” her mother smiled, helping care for all the children with devotion. John never forgot Sophie or Arthur—he spoiled them, took them on seaside holidays, sent Mary money by envelope. Mary forbade the kids from telling him about baby Jack, but of course, children never obey. Sophie blurted out the secret on a visit; John, believing Mary had moved on, felt a pang for his old, happy life—not imagining Jack was his own son. Meanwhile, Emily was in hospital on bedrest. John flitted between bringing fruit and hunting for “tasty” chalk to quell her cravings for calcium. Tragedy struck: Emily gave birth to a stillborn daughter, then later suffered a miscarriage. Devastated, Emily longed for a pause before another child, but fate had other plans. John doted on her, feeling deep guilt for their suffering. Back at Mary’s, her former university friend David began visiting. He’d courted her years ago, but she’d always found him too picky, too serious, too much a mama’s boy. When she met John, David was resigned to his fate. One rainy autumn day, Mary met David on the bus. He sensed her sadness, and she invited him round. Over a hearty dinner, she poured out every sorrow. He listened quietly, with understanding. Mary pecked him on the cheek for his sympathy—David, still single and childless, became a regular guest, bringing treats for the children and flowers for Mary. Mary laid firm boundaries: “Come by as you please, but I’m waiting for my husband. No funny business.” Even friendship was happiness to David; he called her his honorary sister, the children, his nieces and nephew. Time passed, and change returned to John’s new family: Emily finally gave birth to a healthy daughter—Grace. Emily was swept into motherhood, but couldn’t forget her conversation with Mary. Stolen happiness is always tinged with bitterness. Only after Grace’s birth did she truly understand the pain she’d caused. She wanted to fall at Mary’s feet and beg forgiveness. John adored baby Grace—spoiling her, comforting her through the nights, cherishing every moment. Years flowed by. Five years later, Emily grew gravely ill at just thirty. John was frantic: hospitals, doctors, expensive treatments. Nothing helped—Emily was dying. Preparing herself for the end, she had just one last wish: “Take me to your first wife, please,” she whispered to John. Mary had heard the news—from Sophie, who still visited her dad. Mary agreed at once. John carried Emily, weak as a whisper, into the house. The whole family gathered, waiting for an explanation. “Leave us, please,” Emily asked quietly. Mary sat beside her on the bed. “Forgive me, if you can, Mary. This is God’s punishment. I beg you—please take Grace as your own. I have only John, and you. Promise you’ll raise her alongside John,” Emily pleaded desperately, tears streaming. Mary gently squeezed her hand. “Emily, it’s not God’s punishment—it’s our own doing. I forgave you long ago. Don’t worry about Grace—we won’t abandon her. Stay here, with John. My house is big enough for everyone. You’ll get better—believe me, with God all things are possible! Don’t despair.” So Emily stayed, the house swelling like a fairy-tale cottage, everyone finding a place. David, tender since the moment he met Emily, was her greatest support. Gradually, without realising, he fell in love with Emily, adoring Grace as if she were his own. Emily fought to recover. Driven by hope, by Mary’s kindness, and by David’s gentle presence, she slowly regained strength. In time, Emily announced at dinner: “Mary, John, Grace and I—and David—will be moving out. Thank you for everything—for your love, your home, your hearts. I have never met such people! I never will again. Thank you.” John and Mary exchanged looks; they knew that love was blossoming between David and Emily. Earlier, John had made a confession to Mary: “Mary, whatever happens, I want to come back to you, to raise our three children together. Please, take me back. I’ll beg, if I must!” “Do you even need to ask?” Mary replied, embracing her prodigal husband. “But what about Grace?” Mary worried. “She’s my daughter. I’ll never turn her away. My home will always be open to her,” John promised. As David, Emily, and Grace prepared to leave, Emily pulled John aside: “Love Mary, John—love her more than life. Don’t ever hurt her. I’ll remember you always.” “Be happy, Emily,” John replied.

Author Emily TaylorReading 12 minViews 1

TO LOVE ENDURING, TO ENDURE LOVING

Edward and Grace had a church wedding.

On the day of their wedding, just as the procession was nearing St. Marys Church, an unexpected summer storm flared up. It came out of nowhere, the wind tearing Graces veil from her head. The veil soared into the sky like a paper lantern, dancing in the gale before, exhausted, settling in a muddy puddle. All the guests gasped in shock. Then, as quickly as it had come, the storm died away. Edward rushed after the veil, but he was too late to save it.

There it lay, gleaming white against black water. Grace, flustered, shouted to her fiancé, Ed, leave it! Im not wearing that now!

The old women who always linger near the church started whispering among themselves, doom-laden predictions: the young couples lives would be one storm after another now.

Quick thinking led to an artificial white flower being purchased at the corner shop, and it was pinned into Graces hair. There was no time to hunt for another veilyou simply cannot be late for your own wedding.

The nearly-weds, standing at the entrance of the church before the altar, candles in hand, exchanged their vows before God. But before the sacred ceremony, theyd already registered at the local registry office and had a splendid celebrationone for the people, one for the divine.

Three years into their marriage, they had two children, a daughter named Charlotte and a son named William. Life hummed on quietly in their cosy home.

Ten years later, an unexpected visitor came knocking on Edward and Graces door.

Grace had always had an open houseinvited or not, guests were met with warmth, food, tea, and good conversation. But this visitor was a special case; she arrived when Edward was out.

Graces eyes appraised the young woman immediately: tall, polite, strikingly pretty, and very young.

Hello, Grace. Im Emily, said the stranger. The future wife of… your husband.

How fascinating! Grace replied, stunned.

And how long has Edward been courting you? Grace asked, keeping her composure.

A fair while, but I cant wait any longerIm expecting his child, replied Emily, completely unabashed.

A classic story, isnt it? Wifemistressillegitimate child… Grace tried to reason with her. My dear, do you realise Edward and I are joined for life? Weve two children already.

I know the situation, Emily said briskly. But Edward and I are in love. Forever. Besides, you can annul your vows. Hes not remained faithful. I checked. Its permitted.

Well, heres my advice, Emily, Grace retorted, her patience waning. Dont meddle in anothers family. Well sort out our love and faithfulness without you. Goodbye.

Emily shrugged, as if to say she’d done her duty by warning, and hurried away.

Grace slammed the front door behind her. Done your research, have you? Not a chance, Emily, she muttered.

Grace began to recall small changes: Edwards new distance from the children, increased absences supposedly due to work, sudden business trips, newfound interestsweekend fishing or shootingnone of which hed ever cared for before. Every woman senses when something is off, when another womans perfume lingers in the air, when the atmosphere is tense and full of unspoken things. Yet Grace tried to dismiss her suspicions. Perhaps, she hoped, it was all just in her head.

That evening, when Edward came home, Grace waited until after dinneralways feed your husband well before tackling weighty mattersand then broached the topic.

Edward, are you in love? Grace began, unsure of how to begin such a painful conversation.

I am, Edward answered, tension in his voice.

Your friend dropped by today, Grace said quietly. Is this serious?

Im a wretch! I cant live without Emily, Edward burst out. Ive tried to break it off, but its impossible. Please, Grace, let me go!

I will Grace replied. She saw that appealing to his conscienceor playing the think of the children cardwould be pointless. Time alone would judge them.

So Edward left to live with Emily, and Grace went to see her vicar for guidance. The kindly priest listened patiently to her woes before saying, My dear, love is patient and never failsremember those words. You have every right to annul the marriage, as your husband has strayed. Or you may forgive, pray, and wait for his return. Gods ways are mysterious.

Two months on, Grace realised she was expecting Edwards third child. She took this as a signperhaps, with time, Edward would repent and come home. This hope buoyed her through the rest of her pregnancy.

At last, she gave birth to a boy. Graces mother suggested naming him Johnthe English version of Edwards own name. Maybe, darling, your Ed will come back. You never know what life brings…

Thankfully, Graces mother helped her through everythinglooking after the children, cooking, reading stories, sharing wisdom.

Edward didnt forget Charlotte and William. He sent gifts, took them to the seaside, and made sure Grace had an envelope of money for the household.

Grace strictly told the children not to mention baby Johns birth to their fatherbut, of course, they didnt obey. Charlotte spilled the beans during a visit. Edward assumed Grace had moved on with someone else, and his heart ached with nostalgia for the life theyd once had. Little did he knowJohn was his own son.

Meanwhile, Emily was dealing with her own struggles. She had a precarious pregnancy and spent time in hospital. Edward tried to care for her, running out for fruit or salty crisps or whatever strange craving she had. But tragedy struckEmily gave birth to a stillborn daughter. Another pregnancy ended in heartbreak.

Devastated, Emily wanted to take a break from trying for children. But fate had different plans.

Edward was always at her side, blaming himself for all that had befallen themeach family with its own trials.

Meanwhile, Graces old university friend Henry, who once fancied her, became a regular visitor. In their student days, Henry had always followed Grace about, proposing marriage the day they graduated. But Grace never saw him as husband material: too persistent, too much his mothers favourite, and rather humourless. Other girls competed for his attention, but once Grace met Edward, Henry was gently but firmly dismissed. Or so shed thought.

One dreary autumn day, as Grace rode the bus gazing out at the rain, a man took the seat beside her.

May I? he asked.

Of course, Grace replied without turning, shifting slightly.

Are you lonely? he persisted.

Still staring out, she sighed, as if to say, Its none of your concern.

But the man pressed on.

Grace, its meHenry! You look so down!

Grace finally turned, surprised to see him. Henry! I havent seen you in ages! Where have you been?

Henry steered the conversation to her and, soon enough, Grace invited him overYour wife wont mind if youre late? she joked, already pulling him to her stop.

Henry bought wine, fruit, and treats for the children. Over a heartfelt dinner, Grace poured out her soul to Henryshe needed a friendly ear. Henry was a grateful listener, nodding understandingly, never interrupting. At the end of her confession, Grace kissed him on the cheek in thanks. Henry, heartened, left for home.

As it turned out, Henry had never married nor had childrenjust his lot in life.

Henry became a regular visitor at Graces home, always bringing treats for the children and flowers for Grace.

From the start, Grace set boundaries: Youre welcome any time, but I am waiting for my husband. No liberties allowed.

Henry was content with thisbetter than being all alone. Then Ill think of you as a sister, and your children as my nieces and nephews.

He soon became part of the family.

Then, good news for Edward: Emily gave birth to a healthy, beautiful daughter. They named her Felicitymeaning blessed. Emily poured herself into motherhood, finally understanding, after all those tears, what shed taken from Graces family. Borrowed happiness brings only bitterness, she reflected, longing to beg Grace for forgiveness.

Edward adored Felicity, showering her with gifts, soothing her to sleep, cherishing bath timeEmily treasured seeing him so devoted.

The river of time flowed on.

Five years passed.

All the children had grown; their parents older and perhaps wiser.

Life took a cruel turn when Emily grew seriously ill at just thirty. Edward was beside himself, shuttling to hospitals and specialists, spending a small fortune on doctors appointments and medicine.

As Emily laid dying, readying herself for the end, Edward did what he could to comfort and soothe her.

Finally, the doctors sent her home, beyond their help. With great effort, Emily whispered to Edward, Please take me to your true wife. Please.

Though surprised, Edward agreed.

Grace already knew Emily was terminally illCharlotte had told her after visiting her father. So, when Edward called, Grace did not refuse.

Edward carried Emily, frail as porcelain, into the familiar house.

The whole family was there, awaiting explanation.

Grace, arms folded, nodded at the bed. Edward laid Emily gently on the coverlet, arranging her comfortably.

Please, Emily begged, let me speak to Grace alone.

Everyone left the room.

Grace moved closer, examining her rival. Ive seen corpses with more life, she thought.

Then she sat beside Emily.

Forgive me if you can, Grace. I see nowIve been punished. I beg youtake Felicity as your own. Other than Edward andyoushe has no one. Promise youll raise her with him, Emily pleaded, weeping.

Grace took her hand gently.

Oh Emily, it isnt God who punishes uswe bring it on ourselves. I forgave you long ago. Dont worry about Felicity; shell always have a home here. And another thingstay here with Edward. Its hard for both of you alone; theres room in this house for all. Youll get well, I promise. Miracles happen. Dont lose hope.

So the house became its own little world, and everyone pitched in to care for Emily. Henry was especially attentive, keeping vigil at her side, finding the right words, speaking of lifes gifts. One word can wound, another can heal. He didnt even notice when he fell for Emily, doted on Felicity, whom he called Felicity Flower. She truly was a wonder.

Emily found the will to liveclinging to that fragile hope as the illness slowly abated.

Six months of despair passed; slow healing, endless treatments. Then Emily could go outside, breathe deeply, feel the sun on her gaunt face, whisper to herself, smile. Life, thin as a trickle, crept back into her. Against all odds, she rallied.

Emily thought about Henry. She still cared for Edward but he was anothers husband, and shed learned her lesson. Henry was kind, warm, and took in Felicity as his own. Some families thrive on the love of just one parent. If she were given a new lease on life, she would do her best to make their love grow.

She was healing, slowly but surely.

One family lunch, Emily announced, Grace, Edwardwere moving on. I want to thank you both for all youve done for us, for your warmth and kindnessI never knew such people existed!

Edward and Grace exchanged a look. They sensed the bond forming between Henry and Emily; love was blossoming.

Some weeks before, Edward had told Grace, No matter what happens with Emily, I want to be with you. Your generosity knows no bounds. Will you take me back? We have three children to raise together!

Of course I will, Ed. I should be the one seeking your forgiveness. What a wise teacher life isI should have learned earlier.

And what about Felicity? Grace asked. She loves you, and youre her father.

Shell always have a place here. Ill never abandon hermy door is always open, Edward replied firmly.

Henry, Emily, and Felicity prepared to leave. At the door, Emily called Edward over.

Love Grace more than life itself. Never hurt her. Ill never forget you, Edward, Emily said, kissing him goodbye.

Be happy, Emily, said Edward softly.

“Button? I called her Holly. She was running about all morning, obviously lost – then curled up at my feet. So I tucked her in the car to keep her warm, the poor thing,” the man smiled… “Tammy, how can you be so unlucky? How many times have I told you, Vicky’s not the right one for you!” her mother scolded Tamara. She stood, head bowed, and though she’d just turned thirty-seven, she felt like a schoolgirl who’d brought home a failing grade. Tamara’s heart ached for herself, her failed marriage, and her little daughter—especially now, with the magic of Christmas around the corner, and no father in their home. “I’m leaving you,” Victor muttered carelessly that evening. Tamara stared blankly, not comprehending, as she set down a fragrant bowl of stew. “Where are you going?” she asked automatically. Victor rolled his eyes, “You just don’t get serious things, Tammy. And that yappy dog of yours, and our daughter’s always ill. No romance, no spark. Just look at yourself! What have you become?” And with that, he began packing his bags. Sensing trouble, their little dog Button circled Tamara’s feet, whining to comfort her. “At least now I’ll finally get some rest from her barking,” Victor called from the door, hoisting his duffle. “But what about Eva?” Tamara whispered, imagining how their five-year-old would be devastated. “Sort it out, you’re her mother, after all!” he replied, and left to Button’s howls. Tamara sat at the kitchen table all night, clutching the dog, who licked her face gently, as if to say she understood something terrible was happening. For days, Tamara hid the truth from her mother and dodged questions about her job search. But finally, her mother visited—and Tamara broke down, admitting Victor had left days prior and the job offers weren’t coming. Her mother scowled, “It was obvious from the start: five years together, a child, and he never married you!” Still, she promised to help look after Eva when needed, though she’d never liked Button—the street pup Tamara had once rescued. Another week passed. Tamara started work at Eva’s nursery; Eva was delighted, but worried, “Mum, can we take Button too? Gran grumbles about walking her—maybe Button could guard us during nap time and help you wash dishes!” Eva beamed. Tamara would laugh and hug her daughter, though Eva’s next question always stung: “Mummy, will Daddy be home for Christmas?” Not wanting to break the truth, Tamara invented a business trip. Victor, when reached, urged her not to disturb his new ‘private life,’ and suggested she tell Eva he was a ‘super-spy on a top-secret mission.’ As New Year’s Eve crept closer, Tamara dreaded the holiday alone, unsure how to explain everything to Eva. One day, Eva’s grandmother took her to the doctor after she’d caught a cold. Around the corner, they bumped into Victor. “Daddy! You’re back!” Eva cried—but he awkwardly explained that he wouldn’t be living with them anymore and hurried away. That night, Eva’s temperature rose, and she stopped speaking, eating, or drinking. The doctor blamed stress. Then, another blow: Gran lost Button while walking her, accidentally letting her slip away without a leash. Eva stubbornly refused to eat, vowing, “I’ll only have dinner when Button comes back.” Tamara searched the streets every evening, growing desperate. On New Year’s Eve, with Eva still sick and heartbroken over her missing friend and absent father, Tamara tried to comfort her: “There’s no big tree, sweetheart, but we’ve got each other…” But Eva sobbed, “We need a real Christmas tree. Then Button will come home—just like in my dream!” Unable to afford a fresh tree, Tamara bundled up and dashed out into the snowy dusk. Passing cheerful families, she barely noticed them—frantically calling for Button, scouring every street. She stumbled upon a nearly empty Christmas tree lot. The last tree was unsold, guarded by a burly man in an old winter coat. “Last one left—two-for-one if you want it!” he called out. Flustered, Tamara admitted she couldn’t afford a tree, but dared to ask for leftover branches. The man, moved by her sad story, offered the branches—and then, impulsively, loaded the final tree onto his van, insisting on delivering it for free. When she climbed into the van, Tamara gasped—there on the seat, Button slept, snug in a woolly jumper. “Button? I called her Holly. She was running about lost this morning, then curled up at my feet. Couldn’t let the poor thing freeze, so I took her in,” the man smiled kindly. He introduced himself as Paul—a fellow animal lover, recently heartbroken himself. Soon, Tamara’s home felt unusually warm and bright—not least because of the kindness of strangers, the reunion with Button, and maybe, just maybe, a bit of everyday Christmas magic. Nobody can say exactly how it happened—but what’s certain is this: Tamara, Eva, and sometimes even Gran, called their little dog both Button and Holly from that day on. And a new family found happiness, when it once seemed lost.

I was eight years old when my mum left home. She walked to the corner, hailed a cab, and never came back. My brother was five. Everything changed after that. Dad began doing things he’d never done before: waking up early to cook breakfast, learning how to do laundry, ironing school uniforms, fumbling through brushing our hair before we left for school. I watched him misjudge rice portions, burn meals, forget to separate whites from coloured clothes in the wash. But somehow we never went without. He came home tired from work and helped with homework, signed our exercise books, and made lunchboxes for the next day. Mum never came to visit. Dad never brought another woman home, never introduced anyone as his partner. We knew he went out and sometimes got back late, but his personal life stayed outside our walls. There was only me and my brother. I never heard him say he’d fallen in love again. His routine was work, come home, cook, wash, sleep, repeat. On weekends he took us to the park, the river, the shopping centre—even if it was just to window-shop. He learnt how to braid hair, sew on buttons, and make packed lunches. When we needed costumes for school plays, he fashioned them from cardboard and old fabric. He never complained. Never said, “This isn’t my job.” A year ago, Dad passed away—it happened quickly, with no chance for long goodbyes. While sorting through his things, I found old notebooks: lists of household expenses, important dates, reminders like “pay the school fee,” “buy shoes,” “take the girl to the doctor.” No love letters, no photos with another woman, no sign of a romantic life. Just the traces of a man who lived for his children. Since he’s been gone, one question won’t leave me alone: Was he happy? My mum left to find her own happiness. Dad stayed and, it seemed, gave up his own. He never rebuilt a family. Never had a home with a partner. Never again became a priority for anyone but us. Now I realise what an incredible father I had. But I also see that he was a man who stayed alone so that we wouldn’t be. And that weighs heavy. Because now he’s gone, I wonder if he ever received the love he deserved.

Natalie, You’ve Been Gone for Five Years—You Never Cared How I Was or What Became of Me Natalie and Ben had lived together for over five years. Ben didn’t earn much—his salary was rather modest, as he was an ordinary labourer. Natalie always dreamed of a comfortable, or even better, wealthy life, so she was thrilled whenever she met men more successful than her husband. One day, Natalie had incredible luck—she caught the eye of a wealthy businessman who promised her a fortune. She fell for his grand promises and left her poor husband to start a new life. Ben was devastated by his wife’s decision. He pleaded with his beloved, begging her not to leave. He promised her everything would change, that he’d work harder, switch jobs, work day and night if he had to, just to make her happy. But Natalie was unmoved—she was already dreaming of sailing white yachts and shopping in Europe’s finest boutiques. Her poor husband could never afford such luxuries. No vow of love or promise could persuade her. Five years later, now thirty-two, Natalie’s rich benefactor lost interest in her amidst a crowd of younger, more alluring women. He told Natalie she was too demanding and quarrelsome, and he lost all affection for her. Having no way to support herself in London, never having had a job in her life, Natalie decided to return to her ex-husband. After all, hadn’t he sworn eternal love and said his heart belonged to her forever? Surely he would be waiting for her. As Natalie approached the flat where she once lived, she heard footsteps and saw a woman open the door, holding a small girl. “Darling, we’ve talked about not opening the door alone,” the woman gently chided the child. “Can I help you?” she asked. Natalie stood speechless on the doorstep. “I’m looking for Ben. Is he home?” Natalie stammered, confused and uncertain. “Ben, someone’s here asking for you! What’s your name?” the woman called for Natalie’s ex-husband, then glanced back at the guest. “Natalie!” Ben said in surprise, then turned to the woman. “Love, could you go inside? I need to talk.” “Who was that?” Natalie asked in astonishment, watching as the woman carried the little girl away. “That’s my wife, Olivia, and in her arms is our daughter, Emily,” Ben replied. “You’re married? You have a daughter? You swore you would never love anyone the way you loved me!” “So many years have passed since that day! I was heartbroken at first, but then I realised life doesn’t end when someone leaves. That’s when I met Olivia, fell completely in love, and she made me happy. She gave me a daughter.” “And me? What about me?” “Natalie, you’ve been gone for five years and never cared how I was or what became of me. You ran after someone else’s money, and all you wanted was wealth and a lavish life. We may never have been rich, but that doesn’t excuse what you did. And now you’ve come back? Did you expect me to sit and wait for you all this time?” “I was foolish! I still love you!” “Natalie, enough of this act. Please go. I don’t need you, and I don’t want to see you. Your boyfriend dumped you, and that’s the only reason you’re here? It makes me sick. Please, just go.” Natalie burst into tears, consumed by her heartbreak and the pain of not being wanted, while Ben was glad to have finally moved on and found happiness—achieving closure and a sense of vindication.