**Shades of Happiness**
“Hello, old friend,” said Edward, letting Ian into the house—his childhood mate who lived in the city these days.
“Good to see you,” Ian hugged him. “Been too long. Four months since my grandmother’s funeral. Meant to visit sooner, but work kept me busy. Finally took leave, thought I’d relax here in the village.”
“Brilliant idea,” Edward grinned. “We’ll go fishing at the woodland lake, maybe the river—remember how we used to?”
They’d grown up together—racing down country lanes, swimming in the stream, getting into mischief. Ian had always been the quick-witted one, full of schemes, while Edward was the steady hand, loyal to the core.
“Where’s your wife?” Ian asked.
“Popped to the shops. She’ll be back soon. Proper homemaker, my Emily—cooks like a dream, feeds me till I burst,” Edward boasted.
They’d married six years ago, but no children yet. Emily had been to the clinic with him, but the doctors said everything was fine—just a matter of time.
Edward doted on her—carried the heavy bags, helped with chores, never let her lift a finger. The village women envied her, some kindly, others with a bitterness they couldn’t hide.
“Lucky Emily,” they’d mutter. “Edward treats her like royalty—no drinking, no nonsense. Just pure devotion.”
Emily lived contentedly, fussing over her dresses, tending the house, though sometimes a quiet sadness crept in when she watched the neighbours’ children. She worked as an accountant at the village council.
They avoided speaking of children, but Edward often wondered—maybe a baby would bring them closer. Sometimes, he felt an invisible chill from her.
Emily adored his love, though at times it smothered her.
“Hello,” Ian heard Emily’s soft voice and turned.
She stood there, a shopping bag in hand. Edward sprang up, took it from her, and carried it to the kitchen.
“Hi,” Ian said cheerfully, admiring her slender legs and fair, wavy hair. “Ian—Edward’s old school friend.”
“Never heard of you,” she said to her husband.
“He’s from the city. His grandmother passed a few months back—lived down the lane. Remember old Mrs. Agnes? You’re not from here, so you wouldn’t know him.”
“Oh, right. So this is her grandson. Ian’s the city boy—left right after school.”
“Spot on,” Ian smiled.
“Right, Em, we’ll take a walk while you sort supper,” Edward said, and they stepped out.
It was a Sunday. Emily’s leave started Monday. Early September—autumn painting the trees gold, spiderwebs glinting in the breeze, leaves twirling away to nowhere.
She set the table in the garden gazebo. Too fine a day to eat indoors. The men returned, settling in with pints in hand.
“Ian, mate, so glad you’re here. Finally, a proper fishing trip! You should visit more. We herded cows with my grandad, pinched apples from orchards—now you’re all city-slicker.”
“Ah, come off it—born and bred here. This’ll always be home,” Ian clapped Edward’s shoulder.
Emily watched them, laughing over old stories, and marvelled at how men bonded. She remembered the pie in the oven, dashed inside, and returned with slices.
“Bloody brilliant! Never tasted anything like it,” Ian praised. “Emily, you’re a gem.”
“Aye, my wife’s a wizard in the kitchen,” Edward bragged. “Look at the waistline she’s given me.”
They drank, joked, reminisced till dusk. Emily switched on the lights, studying them.
*Thank God Edward’s not as handsome as Ian.* Too smooth, too charming. Probably had women queuing in the city. No wonder he wasn’t married—likely hopping from one to the next.
Ian left late. Over the next fortnight, he dropped by often—Edward was at work, but evenings were theirs. One weekend, they fished under golden September skies, grilling their catch in the garden with old mates. Laughter rang through the crisp air.
At one gathering, Emily caught Ian’s gaze—different, hungrier. She knew she was pretty, but she was married.
Later, stepping out to lock the shed, she turned and nearly collided with him.
“Blimey, what are you doing here?”
“Admiring the moon,” he teased.
“Hardly. Just securing the hens.”
“No, I followed you,” Ian admitted. “Fancy you, Emily. Fell for you the moment I saw you. You must’ve noticed.”
“Ian, have you had one too many?” Her cheeks burned—thank God for the dark.
“Dead serious. Two weeks I’ve thought of nothing but you—”
“Emily?” Edward’s voice cut through. She stepped back.
“Just locking up. Hens’ll scatter at dawn.”
“You here too?” Edward frowned at Ian.
“Just asking Emily where a bloke can…” He laughed. She gestured vaguely toward the fence.
Playing the dutiful wife, Emily reeled. Could Edward have guessed? She barely slept, scolding herself.
*Why am I even thinking of him? City flirt, probably. My marriage means nothing to him.*
Next afternoon, Ian arrived—knowing Edward was at work.
“Hello,” he smiled, stepping inside. “Came for a visit.”
“Edward’s not here.”
“I know, love,” Ian’s grin was dazzling. “Missed you. Can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Ian, I thought last night was just—”
“Jokes? No. I’m in love. Life’s not the same.”
She faltered. His hands found hers, and suddenly, she wanted to be reckless. Yes, she fancied him too—flattered by his attention.
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, lips at her ear, arms wrapping around her.
What followed left her breathless, heart pounding. Later, Ian sat at the table, devouring pie.
“Always wanted a wife like you—perfect cook, stunning. A proper catch.”
“Right, better dash. See you tonight.”
After he left, Emily floated. Even autumn’s melancholy seemed golden. But guilt gnawed.
*Should’ve waited before marrying Edward. Maybe Ian’s my true match.*
When Edward returned, reality crashed down. Suppertime felt hollow.
Their secret meetings continued. Ian’s sweet words dizzying her. No man had ever made her feel this way.
“Em, my leave’s ending. I’ll have to go back soon.” They were at his cottage.
“Couldn’t you move here?”
“You’d want that?”
“Yes! You could commute. You’re the boss—flexible hours.”
“Now I can’t live without you,” she confessed.
“But I must go. Two weeks, then I’ll return. Everything’ll be perfect.”
“What about Edward?”
“Doesn’t matter. Not when you’re here.”
Ian left. Emily ached. Her leave ended. She couldn’t face Edward—life without Ian seemed barren. She packed a bag, fled to her divorced friend Lisa’s.
“Em, sure about this? What did you tell Edward?”
“Left a note: *‘Edward, six years—we’ve run our course. I’ve fallen for someone else. You’ll understand soon.’* Ian’s coming back. We’ll live here.”
Edward never came for her. Weeks passed. Rain replaced sunshine. Emily waited. She’d even forgotten to get Ian’s number—love had addled her.
Three weeks later, she saw his cottage light on and ran, heart soaring. No more hiding—she’d left Edward! Bursting in, she beamed.
“Hello! I left Edward! I’m free now!”
“Why?” Ian’s voice was ice.
“What? To be with you! You said—”
“Never said I’d marry you. Got a fiancée in the city. Edward’s a good man—where’d you find another? And why would I want you? Just a wag of my finger, and you drop your husband. Besides, I’m not coming back. Wedding’s soon.”
Calm. Smug. It cut deeper than anger.
She walked out numb. Lisa saw her face, didn’t ask. Later, Emily cracked.
“He said I was unfaithful. That he’s engaged. And he’s *right*, Lisa.”
Two weeks later, still at Lisa’s, guilt ate her. Digging through her bag, she found the unsent note to Edward.
“Lisa—I never gave it to him! It was here all along. Maybe… maybe he doesn’t know?”
Walking home from work, she bumped into Edward outside the shop.
“Hello,” he smiled faintly. “How’ve you been?”
“Alright.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Emily, come home. Lisa said you’ve been poorly—some virus. Let’s get
