“Men don’t marry women like you,” Simon said calmly to Emma. “Some women are for love and fun, others save themselves for marriage. Sadly, you’re not one of them.”
Emma frowned. “What’s wrong with me, Simon? I cook, I keep a tidy home, I look good—what more do you want?”
“That’s just it,” Simon sighed. “You’re… used goods. Men don’t marry women like you. They marry pure, untouched girls—the kind who’d wash their husband’s feet and drink the water, as the saying goes.” Pleased with himself, he turned over and fell asleep.
A week earlier, Emma had been in a café with her friends, gushing about her future. At thirty, she wasn’t a girl anymore, but she had a successful career, a flat in London, and a nice car. She was ready for marriage and children—especially with Simon in the picture. Forty, handsome, well-groomed, a high-paying job—the perfect catch.
They’d met at her dental practice. He came in for a check-up and left smitten. That evening, he waited outside with peonies—in February!—then took her to a fancy restaurant. Just like that, they were together.
But two years passed with no proposal. Her friends hinted it was time for a ring. So Emma decided to nudge him. She brought it up that night—and got his brutal honesty instead.
The next day, she met her married friends at the café. “Can you believe it? He said I’m ‘used goods’! Men don’t marry women like me, apparently!”
Katie scoffed. “You’re gorgeous, successful—what’s his problem?”
“He wants a virgin,” Emma muttered. “I’m ‘second-rate.’ What do I even do now? He’s perfect otherwise—smart, wealthy, good in bed…”
“Dump him,” Lucy laughed. “Before he destroys your self-esteem.”
“Or bring him to our anniversary party,” Katie suggested. “Let him see what real marriage looks like.”
To Emma’s surprise, Simon agreed to go. At Katie’s countryside cottage, the atmosphere was warm—kids ran around, a terrier named Biscuit darted underfoot, and the barbecue smoked. By evening, only the hardiest remained—Katie, her husband Mike, Lucy, and Simon, sipping tea and chatting.
Then Simon repeated his theory.
“Katie, why hasn’t Emma married yet? You’ve been wed ten years—why is she alone?”
Katie shrugged. “Mike and I married young. Emma was busy building her career.”
“But were you… untouched when you married?”
Mike bristled. “What kind of question is that?”
Simon pressed on. “A pure girl is worth marrying. But why would any man tie himself to a woman with a past? It’s embarrassing.”
Lucy snorted. “What, are you aristocracy? You need some blushing maiden?”
Simon smirked. “You’re ‘third-rate’—a divorced single mum. No hope for you.”
Mike stood, yanking Simon up. “Get out. Before I punch you.”
Simon turned to Emma. “Are you coming?”
She was too busy laughing to answer. Offended, he stormed out.
Later, wiping tears, Emma sighed. “Well, there goes my ‘expired’ man.”
Life went on. Simon didn’t call.
Then, an invitation arrived—lavish script, doves, gold foil. His wedding.
“Don’t go,” Katie warned. “Why torture yourself?”
But curiosity won. Emma bought a bold trouser suit, styled her hair, and arrived early.
Simon stood proud beside a girl no older than twenty, drowning in a frilly white dress.
“Emma, meet Alice,” he said smugly.
Emma arched a brow. “And she’s… pure?”
“Of course,” Simon beamed.
Alice blushed.
The ceremony was quick. At the reception, toasts flowed—until Alice’s father stood, gripping two little boys’ hands.
“Simon,” he boomed into the mic, “welcome to our family! Meet your new stepsons—Vlad and Nicky!”
Emma choked on her salad. Simon recoiled like he’d been burned. His mother shrieked, “She’s had children?!”
“Divorce!” Simon roared. “I’m filing tomorrow! I won’t raise another man’s brats!”
Alice wrung her hands. “Mum said not to let you near me before the wedding… or you’d never propose.”
Simon collapsed, wailing. Guests scrambled for help.
Emma slipped out, shoulders shaking with laughter.
Karma was swift.
The divorce was quick. Simon tried crawling back—but Emma wasn’t interested in “second-rate.”
Especially not when a charming divorced colleague had started bringing her coffee.
