In a sleepy seaside town where the salty breeze mingles with the cry of seagulls, I, Emily, first met my childhood sweetheart back in school. His name was Victor, and at the time, he was dating my best friend. I never dared to dream of him—he barely glanced my way. Life carried us apart, and I forgot about him until fate brought us together again in the city, where we both happened to be 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 skipping.
“And you’re still as smooth as ever,” I laughed, feeling that familiar spark between us.
“Remember how you fancied me?” he teased, flashing a wink.
“Maybe you weren’t entirely indifferent yourself,” I admitted, then quickly changed the subject.
We talked all evening, laughing over old school memories. Victor walked me back to my halls, and over the next few days, we met up a few more times. Then, just like that, he vanished—as if he’d dissolved into thin air. I finished uni, returned home, and landed a decent job at a local firm. Life plodded along predictably until I ran into him again.
It was a bright afternoon on the promenade. Victor, in a casual shirt with a guitar slung over his shoulder, was strolling with his mates, clearly celebrating something. His face lit up when he spotted me.
“Emily! Fancy seeing you here!” he exclaimed, hugging me so tightly I nearly lost my breath.
“Bit early for a party, isn’t it?” I remarked.
“Just living for the moment,” he replied airily.
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 outside. His sudden appearance caught me off guard.
“Nearly gave me a heart attack!” I chuckled, accepting the flowers.
“Am I really that terrifying?” he joked, feigning offence.
We grabbed some groceries, then settled in for a cosy night with wine and candles. Victor gazed at me as if I were the centre of his universe.
“I never stopped thinking about you,” he admitted, raising his glass.
“Oh, don’t start,” I waved him off, though his words warmed me.
“Don’t you think it’s fate?” he pressed.
“Come off it,” I smiled, but deep down, I wondered if he had a point.
We talked into the night, and I suggested he stay over—strictly as a friend, of course, not wanting him to walk home in the dark. The next morning, I left for work with a note and a spare key. As I walked down the street, who should I bump into but his mother, Margaret. I hadn’t seen her since school, and yet there she was, like a bad penny.
“Hello, Emily,” she nodded. “You wouldn’t have seen my wandering boy, would you?”
“I have, actually,” I admitted, shifting awkwardly.
“Was he drunk?” she scowled.
“No, nothing like that,” I mumbled before hurrying off.
A year later, Victor and I married. Before the wedding, Margaret had been all sweetness—thanking me for “sorting her son out,” helping him find a proper job, weaning him off his wild ways. I truly believed we’d be a proper family. But the moment we announced our engagement, she turned into my worst enemy, acting as though I’d stolen her son away.
Victor, too, wasn’t the man I’d thought he was. The first year of marriage was bliss, but then he let himself go—drinking, snapping, even raising his hand once or twice. And his mother? She only made things worse.
“If he hits you, he must really care—stop whinging,” she’d sneer.
I endured it, swallowing my pain. Even my own mum urged me not to leave. I stayed silent, too ashamed to tell my friends what my marriage had become. Life became a nightmare—dreading going home, yet having nowhere else to go.
Then one day, walking down the street, I heard a voice call out.
“Emily!” It was Daniel, an old friend from years back.
“Hi,” I managed a weak smile, fighting back tears.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said gently.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“Come on, let’s talk,” he offered, nodding to his car.
I agreed—anything was better than heading home. Daniel fetched a bottle of wine and some snacks, and we drove to the beach. Sitting on the sand, I took a sip—and suddenly, it all spilled out. I told him everything: about Victor, his mother, the misery. Daniel listened quietly, then brushed a loose strand of hair from my face and pulled me close.
“You make me feel safe,” I murmured.
“I want to be with you, Emily,” he said softly. “I always have. But you were always with Victor, or getting married…”
He kissed me, and I didn’t stop him. In that moment, I knew I deserved better than a life of fear. Daniel drove me home, and we agreed to meet the next day. But as I stepped out of the car, my blood ran cold—there, on the bench, sat Margaret, smirking like the cat that got the cream.
“Caught you, love!” she crowed. “I always knew you weren’t good enough for my boy!”
By the time I got home, she’d already spilled everything to Victor, waving around photos she’d somehow snapped. He glared at me, fury and hurt in his eyes.
“Is this true?” he demanded.
“Yes,” I said, holding his gaze. “Get out. Both of you. This is *my* house.”
I packed his things and left them at the door. They left without another word. The next day, I filed for divorce, feeling lighter than I had in years. Now, I’m happier than ever—with Daniel, a man who truly loves me. And as for my ex-mother-in-law? Well, she got exactly what she wanted: our divorce. She just didn’t realise she’d also set me free.
