In a quiet seaside town where the smell of salt mingles with the cries of seagulls, I, Emily, met my first love back in my school days. His name was Victor, and at the time, he was dating my best friend. I never dared to dream about him, and he hardly glanced my way. Our paths drifted apart, and I forgot all about him—until fate threw us together again in the city, where we were both at university.
“Emily, you’re just as lovely as ever,” Victor grinned when we bumped into each other at a café. His words sent my heart racing.
“And you’re still a terrible flirt,” I laughed, feeling that unmistakable spark between us.
“Remember how you fancied me?” he teased, winking.
“Maybe you weren’t entirely indifferent to me either,” I admitted before quickly steering the conversation elsewhere.
We talked all evening, laughing over old school memories. Victor walked me back to my flat, and we met up a few more times before he vanished into thin air. I finished my degree, returned to my hometown, and landed a decent job at a local firm. Life ticked along quietly—until I ran into him again.
It was a bright afternoon on the pier. Victor, in a crisp shirt with a guitar slung over his shoulder, was laughing with his mates, clearly celebrating something. His face lit up when he spotted me.
“Emily! Fancy seeing you here!” he exclaimed, hugging me so tight I nearly lost my breath.
“Bit early for a party, isn’t it?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Just living for the moment,” he replied breezily.
I shrugged and carried on, but the next evening, Victor turned up at my doorstep with a bouquet. He didn’t know my flat number, so he just waited until I stepped out. The surprise made me jump.
“Bloody hell, you scared me!” I chuckled, taking the flowers.
“What, am I that terrifying?” he joked, feigning offence.
We grabbed groceries, cosied up with wine and candles, and Victor looked at me like I hung the moon.
“I’ve never stopped thinking about you,” he confessed, raising his glass.
“Oh, don’t start,” I waved him off, though his words warmed me.
“Come on, it’s fate, isn’t it?” he insisted.
“Spare me the dramatics,” I smirked, but deep down, I suspected he was right.
We talked till midnight, and I offered him the sofa—strictly in the name of not walking home in the dark. The next morning, I left for work with a note and a spare key. On my way, who should I bump into but his mother, Margaret? We hadn’t crossed paths since school, and now, of all times, there she was.
“Hello, Emily,” she nodded curtly. “You haven’t seen my wayward son, have you?”
“I have, actually,” I mumbled, suddenly awkward.
“Drunk, was he?” she frowned.
“No, nothing like that,” I lied, hurrying off.
A year later, Victor and I married. Before the wedding, Margaret was all sweetness—thanking me for “straightening him out,” helping him land a job, reforming his wild ways. I thought we’d be a proper family. But the moment we announced our engagement, Margaret turned into my worst enemy. Her attitude shifted like I’d kidnapped her son.
Victor, too, wasn’t the man I’d thought. The first year was dreamy, but then he slipped back—drinking, snapping, even raising his hand. And Margaret? She poured petrol on the fire.
“If he hits you, it means he cares—stop whinging,” she’d sneer.
I endured it, swallowing the hurt. Even my mum urged me to stick with the marriage, and I stayed silent, too ashamed to tell my friends what I’d married. Life became a nightmare: I dreaded going home but had nowhere else to go.
Then, one day, a familiar voice called out:
“Emily!” It was Daniel—an old school friend.
“Hi,” I forced a smile, tears prickling.
“You look awful,” he said gently.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“Come on, let’s talk,” he gestured to his car.
I agreed—anything beat going home. Daniel produced wine and strawberries, and we drove to the beach. With the first sip, the floodgates opened. I spilled everything: Victor, his mother, the misery. Daniel listened, then tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and pulled me close.
“You make me feel safe,” I whispered.
“I’ve always wanted you, Emily,” he confessed. “But you were with Victor, then married…”
He kissed me, and I didn’t stop him. In that moment, I knew I deserved better than fear. Daniel dropped me home, promising to meet tomorrow. But as I stepped out of the car, I froze: Margaret sat on the bench, grinning like a cat with cream.
“Caught you, love!” she crowed, jabbing a finger. “Knew you weren’t fit for my boy!”
By the time I got inside, she’d already shown Victor the photos she’d snapped. He stared at me, fury and hurt twisting his face.
“Is it true?” he demanded.
“Yes,” I held his gaze. “Leave. Both of you. This is my house.”
I packed his bags and shut the door behind them. Not a word. The next day, I filed for divorce, lighter than I’d felt in years. Now? I’m happier than ever. Daniel’s by my side—someone who actually loves me. And Margaret, who schemed for our split, accidentally gave me freedom. Cheers to that.
