In a small seaside town where the scent of the ocean mingles with the cries of seagulls, I, Emily, met my first love during our school days. His name was Victor, and back then, he was dating my best friend. I never dared to dream of him, and he barely glanced my way. Our paths drifted apart, and I forgot about him—until fate brought us together again in the city where we both attended university.
“Emily, you’re just as lovely as ever,” Victor smiled when we bumped into each other at a café. His words sent my heart racing.
“And you’re just as smooth-tongued,” I laughed, feeling a spark between us.
“Remember how much you fancied me?” he teased with a wink.
“Maybe you weren’t entirely indifferent to me either,” I admitted, though I quickly changed the subject.
We talked all evening, laughing and reminiscing about the past. Victor walked me back to my dorm, and over the next few days, we met a couple more times. Then, just like that, he vanished into thin air. I graduated, moved back to my hometown, and landed a decent job at a local firm. Life was steady—until I saw him again.
It was a bright afternoon on the pier. Victor, wearing a casual shirt with a guitar slung over his shoulder, was strolling with his mates, clearly celebrating something. His eyes lit up when he spotted me.
“Emily, fancy seeing you here!” he exclaimed, hugging me so tightly I could hardly breathe.
“What’s the occasion so early in the day?” I asked.
“Just living life to the fullest,” he replied airily.
I shrugged and carried on, but the next evening, Victor showed up outside my flat with a bouquet. He didn’t know my flat number, so he simply waited for me to step out. His unexpected visit caught me off guard.
“You scared me!” I laughed, accepting the flowers.
“Am I really that frightening?” he joked, feigning offense.
We grabbed a bottle of wine, lit some candles, and spent the evening talking. Victor looked at me like I was the centre of his world.
“I never stopped thinking about you,” he confessed, raising his glass.
“Oh, don’t start,” I waved him off, though his words warmed me.
“Don’t you think fate keeps bringing us together?” he pressed.
“Enough of that,” I smiled, yet deep down, I knew he was right.
We talked late into the night, and I offered to let him stay—not as a lover, just so he wouldn’t have to walk home in the dark. The next morning, I left for work with a note and a spare key. As I stepped outside, I ran straight into his mother, Margaret. I hadn’t seen her since school, and of all people, it had to be her.
“Hello, Emily,” she nodded. “You haven’t seen my wayward son, have you?”
“I have, actually,” I replied awkwardly.
“Drunk again, was he?” she frowned.
“No, nothing like that,” I mumbled before hurrying away.
A year later, Victor and I married. Before the wedding, Margaret had been all charm—thanking me for “whipping her son into shape,” helping him find work, and pulling him away from his wild ways. I thought we could be a proper family. But the moment we announced our engagement, Margaret became my worst enemy. Her attitude shifted so sharply, you’d think I’d stolen her son.
Victor wasn’t the man I thought either. The first year was bliss, but then he slipped back into old habits—drinking, snapping at me, even raising his hand a few times. And his mother only made it worse.
“He hits you because he loves you—stop whining,” she’d sneer.
I endured it, swallowing the pain. Even my own mum urged me to stay, so I kept quiet, too ashamed to tell my friends what my marriage was really like. Life became a nightmare—I dreaded going home but had nowhere else to turn.
Then one day, walking down the street, I heard a familiar voice:
“Emily!” It was Daniel, an old friend from years ago.
“Hi,” I forced a smile, tears threatening to spill.
“You don’t look yourself,” he said gently.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“Come, let’s talk,” he offered, gesturing to his car.
I agreed—anything was better than facing Victor. Daniel grabbed a bottle of wine and some snacks, and we drove out to the coast. Sitting by the water, I took a sip, and suddenly, everything poured out. I told him about Victor, about Margaret, about the misery I’d hidden for so long. He listened in silence, then brushed a loose strand of hair from my face and pulled me into a hug.
“Being with you feels so peaceful,” I whispered.
“I’ve always wanted to be with you, Emily,” he confessed. “But you were always with Victor, then married to him.”
When he kissed me, I didn’t stop him. At that moment, I realised I deserved better than a life of fear. Daniel drove me home, and we agreed to meet tomorrow. But as I stepped out of the car, my blood ran cold—Margaret was sitting on a bench nearby, grinning like a cat that got the cream.
“Caught you, you little harlot!” she hissed. “I knew you were never good enough for my boy!”
By the time I got home, she’d already shown Victor the photos she’d snapped. He stared at me, his face twisted with anger and hurt.
“Is it true?” he demanded.
“It is,” I said firmly. “Get out. Both of you. This is *my* home.”
I packed his things and put them outside. They left without another word. The next day, I filed for divorce, feeling like a weight had lifted. Now, I’m happier than ever. Daniel stands by me—a man who truly loves and respects me. And Margaret, who schemed for our divorce, unwittingly gave me freedom and a new life.
