June 12th
Not like in the telly dramas, but the heart still found its way.
Emily adored telly shows. She believed real life could be just as vivid—full of twists, passion, drama, and happy endings. But her reality was different: grey, routine, dull. She lived in a small village near Leeds, and even marriage hadn’t brought the happiness she’d dreamt of in her youth.
James, her husband, had seemed loving and dependable at first. But three years in, he suddenly announced:
“I’m leaving. Can’t stay here another day. It’s suffocating. I’m meant for a bigger city, Emily.”
“What d’you mean? We’ve got a good life,” she tried to reason.
“Good for you, not for me,” he snapped, tossing a few shirts into a duffel before walking out without a second glance.
Gossip spread like wildfire through the village. The women clucked:
“James left Emily, ran off to Manchester. Reckon there’s another woman waiting.”
Emily stayed quiet. No tears, no complaints. Just carried on. Her parents’ house wasn’t an option—her brother, his wife, and their four kids crowded every corner. She had no children herself.
“Maybe it’s a blessing. A man like James would’ve made a poor father,” she’d think, watching the neighbour’s kids play.
Evenings, she’d sit before the telly, lost in the dramas—where people betrayed, loved, suffered. The stories seared her heart. Sleep never came easy after.
Mornings were the same grind—pigs, geese, chickens, the calf named Benny. Not in a proper pen; she tied him behind the garden. One morning, a neighbour shouted:
“Emily, your calf’s loose, charging about the village!”
She dashed out—Benny was butting the fence, his little horns scraping the neighbour’s gate.
“Benny, please, stop,” she coaxed, waving bread. He tossed his head, wrenching free, scattering a flock of ducklings.
Victor, the village tractor driver and her old schoolmate, stepped in. He caught Benny, deftly looping rope around him. Emily watched—his hands strong, muscles shifting under his shirt. A sharp pang hit her: how she yearned to be held by those arms…
“Madness,” she flushed. “Like a springtime cat.”
Shame followed. Victor lived with Brenda, a tall, sturdy woman who’d stayed the night after a pub crawl—taking advantage when he’d had one too many. She’d moved in with her daughter from a first marriage. No papers, just settled.
Emily divorced James quick once he vanished. Suitors came later, even proposed, but her heart stayed silent. Now, Victor—this old classmate—looked at her differently, warmth in his gaze. She felt it like fire. And feared it. Feared Brenda finding out, spreading talk.
Yet Victor started taking the long way home, past her garden. She rose early, pretending to weed—really waiting for his footsteps. Their eyes met, and in his was something James never had: kindness, tenderness.
Then James returned. Like he’d never left.
“Take me back?” Same smirk.
“Why didn’t city life suit you?”
Her heart stayed quiet. Not a flicker. Turned out, there’d never been love. Or it had died long ago.
He moved back in—she couldn’t legally kick him out, but he acted no better. She barricaded her door at night, climbed in through the window. Victor saw—understood. She hadn’t welcomed James.
One morning, steps appeared beneath her window. Someone had built them so she wouldn’t struggle. Not James—he still came and went. Victor had done it in the night.
Then… Brenda came back. But fell ill, sudden and severe. Her mum took the daughter. Brenda was hospitalised. Didn’t come home.
Emily noticed Victor shovelling snow from her path before dawn. Secretly. Come spring, she returned from work—door ajar, a stout woman sipping tea from her mug.
“Hello, love,” James grinned. “Me and Sharon live here now. House is mine. Pack your things.”
That night, Emily pushed the dresser against the door again. Come morning, she hauled her things out. Victor approached, wordlessly took her suitcase, carried it to his place. Again and again. No questions—just claiming her bit by bit. James and Sharon exchanged looks but stayed silent.
“So, this is love, then?” James sneered. “Good luck.”
Victor took Emily’s hand. Led her home. She burst into tears—relief, joy, shock. He held her close, and the whole world spun.
They married quickly. Emily’s expecting now. James watched from his doorway, uneasy. She didn’t spare him a glance. Behind her stood a real man. Not on telly—in life.
Lesson learnt: Hearts choose quietly. Not with drama, but with steady, certain beats.
