At school, Rob never stood out for good behaviour, but he excelled in his studies. He was praised for his grades but often scolded for his antics. Handsome and charming, girls flocked to him, and he took advantage of it, moving from one to the next without a second thought.
Emily had been in his class since Year One. By Year Six, she suddenly became painfully aware of her weight—always teased as “Chubby Em.” Though she’d grown used to the jibes, the older she got, the more they stung. Especially now, when girls whispered about boys at break—who liked whom, who’d tugged a braid or shared a secret. No one pulled Emily’s hair. No boy spared her a second glance. Just the same old nickname, tossed carelessly her way. At home, she cried into her pillow.
“Mum, why am I so fat? Why am I the only one?” she sobbed.
“Sweetheart, don’t upset yourself so much. You’re still growing—you’ll change,” her mother soothed, though she knew full well Emily carried more weight than most girls her age.
Rob was the worst. Handsome and cocky, by secondary school, he’d paired up with the cruel and haughty Charlotte. He egged her on when she mocked Emily, maybe to impress her. They teased her relentlessly, and Emily endured it silently, tears streaking her round cheeks.
Time passed. School ended. Their paths diverged—Rob studied architecture, Charlotte went to college, Emily to university. Years slipped by without a single reunion.
One evening, Rob returned from the lake at the edge of the park, laughing with friends after celebrating a work bonus. His gaze caught on a woman standing alone by the water, feeding ducks. When she looked up, he was lost—her blue eyes warm, hypnotic. He broke away from the group and approached her, grinning.
“Rob. And what’s your name, lovely stranger? Fancy a walk? Or shall we just skip to the wedding? Here’s my card.” He held it out. She hesitated, staring at him oddly before finally taking it—then turned and walked away.
He jogged after her. “Wait—if I offended you, I’m sorry. Had a bit too much with the lads. Let me make it up to you. Call me? I’ll wait.”
The next day, Rob couldn’t stop checking his phone. A message arrived after lunch—Emily! His heart leapt. He replied with thanks and asked her out that evening. Standing with flowers in hand, he worried she wouldn’t come—but then she appeared, smiling. Their date was perfect.
Over the next months, Rob discovered Emily’s kindness, her wit, her love of books and knitting, her passion for tennis. He fell hard—though at twenty-eight, he’d had his share of women, even a two-year live-in relationship that fizzled out. He’d thought he wasn’t ready for marriage.
But Emily was different. At twenty-eight, she looked younger—mid-twenties, maybe. Everything about her enchanted him—except one thing. She was devout. Church twice a month. He tiptoed around the subject, unsure how to broach it.
“Maybe she’s carrying some past hurt,” he mused. “Her socials are locked, she’s shy about photos. But she’ll open up in time.”
Six months in, he asked her to move in.
“I’m sorry, Rob, but it’s too soon,” she said gently. “And—you know I’m a believer. Not fanatical, but I hold to certain values. I won’t live with a man unless we’re married. That’s just how I am.”
He respected her more for it. Then, after a project wrapped, he whisked her away for a weekend trip.
“Let’s go!” she agreed brightly. “About three hours by car?”
“Four, probably—I never speed.”
They chatted and laughed the whole way. Over coffee, he blurted out, “Marry me, Em. Let’s find a jeweller—I’ll buy you a ring.”
She frowned slightly. “I told you—I’m a believer. You’ve never even been to church. For something this serious, you’d need to confess, to repent. And ask my parents properly. It matters to me, Rob.”
“But you haven’t even introduced me to your parents,” he protested—then spotted the church spire. “Come on.” He tugged her toward it.
At the door, he whispered, “I’ll confess right now.”
The vicar was at the altar. Rob strode up, barely letting Emily speak. “I want to marry her. What do I need to do?”
The vicar sighed. “Marriage requires preparation. But if you wish to confess, I won’t refuse.”
The confession was brief—Rob muttered a few regrets, nothing specific. The vicar spoke of sincerity, faith, and absolution.
But Rob was undeterred. He turned to Emily. “Marry me. Say yes.”
She spun on her heel and walked out. He followed, bewildered.
“Emily, why—?”
“I can’t lie under the steeple,” she said softly. “Rob… you really don’t remember me, do you? I’m Emily Shaw. Your classmate.”
His stomach dropped. Memories flooded back—the teasing, the cruelty. He sank onto a bench.
“Now you know,” she said. “Minus forty kilos.”
He sat in silence, crushed by shame. He even recalled the day her father had cornered him at school, gripping his collar. “If you ever hurt my Emily again, you’ll answer to me.”
She continued, “I changed. Found faith. The vicar told me to forgive. So I tried—but today, in there, I realised I never truly forgave you. I thought I had… but I can’t be with you. Not after all of it.”
She walked away.
Rob lingered by the church until the vicar found him, listening as he poured out his heart. Later, under the stars, he prayed for the first time in earnest. “God, help her forgive me.”
At home, he called her—no answer. All he had left was hope.
