Marrying a Millionaire
The town had nearly shed its winter coat, the pavements crusted with sand and the last stubborn patches of ice. But in the cemetery, snow still clung, sodden from the rains. Annie wandered the frosted paths between the headstones for what felt like hours before she found her parents’ grave. They lay side by side, though her father had died in a car crash when Annie was in Year Ten.
A single iron railing enclosed both plots. Her mother had passed three years ago. Annie had chosen a photo for the headstone where they looked the same age—just as she remembered them when her father was alive.
Retired now, she’d left her London flat to her son’s family and returned to her hometown two days ago. She’d tidied the old house, and this morning, she came to the cemetery.
“Forgive me, Mum. I left you then, ran off to London. I couldn’t stay. Thank you for understanding, for not holding me back.” She brushed the packed snow from her mother’s stone.
After a long silence, she said her goodbyes and retraced her steps between the graves. Head down, she followed the path toward the gates.
“Annie?” A voice called from behind. She stopped, turned.
“Are you speaking to me?” She squinted at the unfamiliar older man.
“You don’t recognise me? It’s me—Alex Hardy.” He smiled, and suddenly, she remembered.
“No, I didn’t. You’ve changed,” she said, returning the smile.
“I knew you straight away, though it’s been…” He paused, counting in his head. “Thirty years.” He stepped closer.
“Thirty-two,” she corrected.
“You haven’t aged a day. Visiting your parents?” He nodded toward the graves.
“Yes. And you?”
“My wife. Olivia.” His gaze drifted to the side.
“Olivia’s gone? How long?” Annie was surprised.
No anger lingered toward Olivia—just a distant twinge of pity.
“Six months. She suffered. Cancer. Left me all alone,” Alex said, voice thick.
Annie glanced at him. Had he sniffled? No, just a heavy sigh. His face was still, composed.
“We never had children. That’s how it goes. And you—alone, or with a husband?”
“Alone. Retired, left the London flat to my son, came back.” She deliberately didn’t mention a husband.
They reached the gates.
“I’ve kept you—you were heading somewhere,” Annie said.
“I was leaving Olivia’s grave. I’ll visit Mum another time. Who knows when you’ll vanish again?” He smirked.
Annie sighed as the bus pulled away from the stop. “Gone already. Now we wait.”
“I’ve got the car. I’ll drive you.” Alex nodded toward the row of vehicles along the fence.
She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want his company—but waiting by the cemetery was worse. She slid into the cold car. Alex turned the key, blasted the heater. They passed the cemetery walls, an empty snow-dusted field marked for future graves, rows of terraced houses. Annie always wondered how people could live so close to the dead.
“All these years, and I never understood. When you left, I was lost. But why?” Alex broke the silence.
Annie stared.
“Olivia said she was pregnant. Later, I learned she couldn’t have children. But I believed her, married her. Then it was too late. God, the scenes she made when she found out you’d left with her fiancé! Went to London to punish you both. Why did you run, Annie?”
“You still don’t get it? I’d have gone with anyone, anywhere—just to get away.”
“What do you mean?” Alex turned to her, and the car swerved on the wet road.
Annie, sparing neither herself nor him, began to explain.
***
They say friendship is rarely equal—one always loves, the other lets themselves be loved. Annie and Olivia had that sort of friendship. Annie had joined the school mid-term. A straight-A student, she’d earned instant dislike.
Olivia—the prettiest girl in class—took her under her wing. They walked the corridors together, shared homework, whispered during tests. Thanks to Olivia, Annie belonged.
Lanky, floppy-haired Alex Hardy trailed after Olivia, who laughed in his face.
“Why are you so cruel? He’s decent. One day, he’ll be handsome—just wait,” Annie defended him.
“When that day comes, we’ll see,” Olivia scoffed.
They dreamed of the future.
“I won’t rot in this backwater. I’m going to London. Come with me?” Olivia asked.
Tempting, but Annie refused. “No. I can study here. I won’t leave Mum alone.”
“Suit yourself. If you want to turn out like her—wasting away here—be my guest. I’ll marry rich. A millionaire,” Olivia sighed theatrically.
“London’s full of them, just waiting for you,” Annie grumbled, though she never doubted it.
Olivia was stunning—a rare blonde with dark eyes and olive skin, a figure even actresses envied. Men, as they say, love with their eyes.
University wasn’t for Olivia; she enrolled in beauty school. Her father’s condition—study or come home.
“Annie, visit me in London. No one to talk to—just backstabbing girls eyeing my fiancé,” she complained.
“Come home instead,” Annie said.
“Never.”
Annie’s mother raised her strictly. No makeup, no nonsense. Before dances, Annie ducked into Olivia’s to darken her lashes—washed off before returning home.
“Be self-sufficient. Men are fickle. Education and career—that’s security,” her mother warned.
True, but at seventeen, careers were dull. Annie envied Olivia’s freedom, her London life.
One day, Annie bumped into Alex, freshly back from military service. Broad-shouldered now, though his ears still stuck out. He walked her home, asked her to the cinema. They dated. Alex drove for the mayor—smart suit, flash car. A year later, he proposed. Annie asked him to wait till graduation.
The mayor secured him a flat. Annie stayed late, sometimes overnight.
One evening, leaving the cinema, they ran into Olivia. At first, Annie didn’t recognise her—glossy, London-polished.
“Annie!” Olivia hugged her.
“You look like a magazine cover,” Annie said, breathing in her perfume.
She glanced at Alex—his eyes alight, dazzled. Olivia pretended not to notice, chattering about her Italian wedding dress, her millionaire.
Back at Alex’s, they drank wine. Olivia prowled the flat. “Look at you—handsome, with a place like this. When’s the wedding?”
“In three months, after my finals,” Annie said.
Alex looked away. “She’s engaged too,” Annie told herself, but her chest ached.
Two days later, Annie aced an exam and headed to Alex’s. She had a key. Her mother was away visiting family. She bought wine, steaks—a surprise dinner.
The door opened to high heels in the hallway—Olivia’s. Laughter from the bedroom. Annie knew that laugh.
She eased the door open. Alex lay half-covered on the sofa, eyes closed in pleasure. Olivia’s head rested on his chest, her finger tracing circles on his skin.
Annie’s stomach twisted. She fled, stumbling down the stairs, blinded by tears. Strong arms caught her.
“Running from a fire? Or a ghost?” A man laughed gently.
Annie sobbed into his chest. He led her outside, gave her a handkerchief.
“Who hurt you?” he asked.
She told him.
“He never liked her. She’s engaged—bragging about her rich man, her Italian dress. Why him?”
“Your friend—Olivia, by any chance?” he asked.
Annie froze.
“She told me her mother was ill, went to visit. Stopped answering calls. I worried, came to check. Her mother’s fine. Directed me here. So she’s with your fiancé?” He glanced up at the windows.
“Good I found out now, not after marrying her. Thought she loved me.” He sighed. “Any cafés nearby? Let’s talk. I’ll drive you after. Unless you’re going back?”
Annie shook her head.
At the café, he ordered brandy—”For the shock.” His name was Christopher. He’d come from the countryside, built a business.
“Bad marriage left me wary. Thought Olivia was different. Just another gold-digger,” he said.
“What about the wedding?”
“Cancelled. Easy.” He smiled. “Two betrayed souls. Hurts, but we’ll live.”
He drove her home. Her mother was away—no explanations needed.
They sat in silence. Then he left.
Next day, Alex came, demanding answers. Annie wished him happiness with Olivia and shut the door.
A week later, a knock.
“AnThe doorbell rang, and when Annie opened it, she found Christopher standing there with an old photograph in his hand—her younger self smiling beside him at the theatre, a moment she had long forgotten, now returned to remind her that some stories, no matter how broken, still hold the chance for a second ending.
