**Guarded by Love**
The meeting of Emily and William was written in the stars.
William had never seen his father. Raised by his mother and grandmother, he grew up with stories that never quite added up. When he was small and asked about his dad, his mother would murmur something vague—that his father was a geologist, always off on expeditions searching for precious minerals. Once, in frustration, she snapped, “William, you never had a father to begin with!”
As a child, he accepted these explanations without question, trusting his mother completely. But as he grew older, the mystery gnawed at him. He couldn’t have just appeared out of thin air, could he? Eventually, his grandmother confided the truth—that his mother had returned from a business trip pregnant with him. William was oddly relieved. At least he hadn’t been found in a cabbage patch. From that moment, he vowed to find his father one day, whether the man wanted it or not. “I’m his son, not some stranger,” he thought. And along with that, he made another promise to himself: “I’ll have a real family—one wife, and plenty of children.”
Emily, too, had never known her father’s love. Her mother had left him when she was barely two. A stepfather filled the void—a decent man, but still… He never missed an opportunity to compare her to his own children from a previous marriage, which stung. Emily’s only unconditional love came from her mother.
So, when she grew up, she decided: “If I ever marry, it’ll be once—and forever. If only I could find the right man.”
And then she did.
It was Christmas Eve. Frost clung to the windows, the air sharp with winter. In a bookshop, Emily and William stood in line at the till, each holding a volume of Shakespeare. Their eyes met. And just like that, William was smitten. He showered her with compliments, asked careful, respectful questions—he couldn’t let her walk away. She *had* to be his wife. It had to be her.
Emily, usually reserved, felt strangely at ease with this persistent young man. It was as if she’d known him forever. Still, she was a proper girl—one didn’t just exchange numbers with a stranger in a bookshop. William admired her modesty and suggested they swap contacts. She took his number but refused to give hers. “I’ll call after the holidays,” she said vaguely.
William wasn’t about to let this gift from heaven slip away. They parted ways—but he discreetly followed her home.
The winter holidays passed in a daze for William. He’d found his true love, his *swan*, and he’d cherish her forever. But when the festive cheer faded, Emily still hadn’t called. Panic set in. He had to act.
He slipped the copy of Shakespeare he’d bought that night into her mailbox. Surely she’d guess it was from him? That evening, his phone rang.
“William! Why didn’t you call? I was waiting!” Emily scolded.
“Emily, I *never* had your number! You never gave it to me.” His heart soared.
“Well, you found me somehow!” she huffed.
*Typical woman’s logic,* William thought, grinning. She *did* care.
They didn’t wait. They married quickly—how could they not? They had too much in common. A love so deep it felt divine, a longing for a house full of children, and a shared passion for Shakespeare. Wasn’t that enough?
On that solid foundation, they built their life. Emily taught English literature at university; William was a brilliant software engineer.
Soon enough, little Charlotte arrived. Two years later, James came along. Life unfolded perfectly.
Still, William couldn’t shake the thought of his father. The internet led him through endless shared surnames—until he found him. They exchanged letters. His father lived in London and invited him to visit.
The reunion was tender. His father’s own family was his world, but he’d never forgotten William. “I’m glad you found me, son,” he said, pulling him into a hug. William proudly listed his own family—two grandchildren already, and more to come.
His father was a renowned medical professor.
William returned home elated. His father was warm, sincere—everything he’d hoped. But life got in the way, and their meetings dwindled to nothing.
Charlotte and James grew. Emily decided to pursue her PhD—her mother and grandmother had been scholars, and she refused to lag behind. Naturally, she chose Shakespeare as her thesis topic. For three years, she researched tirelessly, supported by William, who took on more at home. Then, just as she neared completion, little Margaret was born.
The PhD was postponed.
Once Margaret started nursery, Emily returned to her studies. The degree was within reach…
Then, disaster struck.
William fell ill—something unknown, something deadly. Doctors were baffled. Treatment failed. Emily was gently told to prepare for the worst. William was only forty.
The grief was unbearable. William, weak but clear-headed, apologised for leaving her with three children.
Emily wept in secret. She couldn’t tell him—not now—that she was pregnant again.
“William, you *will* get better. You won’t leave me. I won’t let you,” she sobbed by his bedside.
In desperation, she called his father—the medical genius. The professor examined William, then drew her aside.
“Official medicine has no answers,” he admitted. “But I know a herbalist—a man who saved *me* once. Try him.”
The next morning, Emily met the old healer. He glanced at William’s charts, handed her bottles of greenish liquid, and said, “Follow this exactly. And bring your husband back in ten days.”
“Bring him? He can’t *walk*—”
“I said what I said. He *will* stand.”
Emily nearly tore the prescription up. *Herbs? Nonsense.* But she had no other choice.
Ten days later, William *walked* into the herbalist’s office. A month later, he was back at work. A miracle? The healer never named the illness. His only advice: “Forgive everyone. Envy no one.”
Soon, Emily gave birth to Henry.
Charlotte, James, Margaret, Henry—straight out of a Brontë novel.
William and Emily guard their love fiercely. They know happiness is fleeting, while sorrow strides with endless steps.
And the unfinished PhD? Emily closed that chapter.
Family is the true thesis of her life.
