**One Whole**
Some might not believe in such things, while others are certain that two halves exist in this world—meant to find one another and become whole. Nothing could tear them apart, except death itself, and even that is a truth too grim to deny.
There are beautiful concepts—love, devotion, care, loyalty—feelings that flourish in true families, where husband and wife are one.
That was how Emily and James lived. They married for love, supported each other from the very first day, always there with kindness.
“Em, watching you and Jamie together—it’s uncanny how well you fit,” laughed her friend Charlotte.
“We’re two halves of one whole,” Emily replied, laughing too, though she didn’t think much of the words. They were just something people said.
“You’re lucky, Em. I wish I had a man like that.”
“You’ll find one. Just keep looking,” Emily assured her.
Years passed. Emily and James had two sons, raised with warmth and patience. James never once raised his voice—not at his wife, not at the boys. Emily, too, was steady as a rock. Their family was strong, kind. Holidays were spent together, weekends at the countryside cottage. No one had a bad word to say about them.
James managed a construction firm, while Emily taught history at a secondary school. The boys did well—studied hard, played sports.
The eldest finished school and went to university; the younger was still in sixth form. One evening, James came home and lay silently on the sofa, feeling unwell. He didn’t want to worry Emily, but she noticed at once—he never rested like this after work.
“Jamie, what’s wrong? Are you ill?” she asked, uneasy.
“Just a bit off, that’s all. A bit weak. Don’t fret, it’ll pass. Happened before…”
“Before? When?”
“At work once. But it went away. I’ll rest a bit—it’ll be fine.”
Emily made dinner, called him, but he refused.
“Em, you eat. I’m not hungry.”
She picked at her food, stomach tight with worry. James never complained.
“Forty-three isn’t old. This shouldn’t be happening. He needs a doctor,” she thought, sitting alone in the kitchen.
James lay in the dim light, thinking the same.
“I don’t understand. I’ve always been strong. But this weight… I don’t want her to worry.”
By morning, he seemed fine. Breakfast, then off—him to the site, her to school. But weeks passed, and Emily saw him thinning, tired.
“Jamie, are you sure you’re alright?”
“I suppose. Just tired sometimes…”
“That’s it. I’m booking you an appointment. No arguments. This isn’t right.”
When the doctor confirmed the diagnosis, Emily refused to believe it.
“There must be a mistake.”
“No mistake. Your husband has cancer. But it’s early. We can fight.”
She locked herself in the bathroom, turned the tap to drown her sobs.
“I won’t accept this. He can’t die. I know this disease—my father went the same way. Medicine buys time, nothing more.”
She washed her face, cleared the dishes. James pretended to watch television, hiding his fear.
That night, she sat him down.
“No more secrets. I know you’re afraid. So am I. But you must fight. Promise me you’ll fight. If you don’t, I’ll never forgive you.”
She reminded him of every hardship they’d faced—the fire that took their first home, the family who turned their backs. They had survived it all.
“We’ve come so far. We’ll survive this too.”
She became relentless—researching, pushing, demanding.
“Fight, Jamie. I’ll be your nurse, your cheerleader, your wife. I want you well more than you do.”
For once, he smiled.
“Alright, Em. Let’s fight.”
It was the first sign of hope.
A year passed. The doctor delivered impossible news—James was improving. He laughed again. Emily kept smiling, even when she didn’t feel it.
Then, the final verdict: he had won.
Joy flooded them. Emily didn’t understand how, but she knew—
“We refused to let go. Love won.”
Charlotte, too, was overjoyed—though her own marriage was crumbling.
“You and John are halves of one whole,” Emily had always said. “He’s faithful. You’re happy.”
Until the day Charlotte arrived in tears.
“Em… John’s leaving. For another woman.”
“No. He wouldn’t.”
“He confessed. A year-long affair.”
When John left, Charlotte didn’t scream. She only said:
“I love you. No one else. And when you come back, I’ll be here.”
To Emily, she insisted, “He’ll return. No one loves him like I do. We’re one whole.”
Emily doubted it. John was gone five years.
Then, one evening, the phone rang.
“Em! He’s back!” Charlotte’s voice was calm, as if she’d known all along.
“Is it true? I’m so happy for you.”
“Of course it’s true. We were always meant to be.”
Charlotte never mentioned those lost years. Even now, she says:
“To love and be loved—that’s what we’re made for.”
And so, Emily and Charlotte remain friends, their husbands beside them, grateful for every trial weathered together.
