**THE HEART BEATS AGAIN**
Emily had given birth to her little girl, Lily, without ever knowing the father. A slippery moment before marriage, as they say.
True, a certain young man had courted her ardently—never proposed, though. But he was dazzlingly handsome, polished, the sort who made heads turn. Emily would take his arm and stride proudly past the pensioners—those sunflower-faced ladies by the block of flats—who twisted their necks after every passerby, tracking them like flowers chasing the sun.
The man never worked. Preferring to flutter through life like a butterfly, he let Emily feed him, clothe him, tuck him in at night. She’d have laid herself down as a floral carpet beneath his feet.
Then one fine day, he declared her unbearable, unappreciative. “If you really loved me,” he sighed, “you’d have taken me to the seaside at least once.”
Emily wept for a week. Then she tore up his pictures, burned them. For a month, she suffered alone. Then she met Victor.
…One morning, running late for work, she stood fidgeting at the bus stop when a cab pulled up. The driver swung the door open and offered her a lift. Without hesitation, she jumped in.
As they drove, he chatted. Emily sized him up—middle-aged, well-groomed, crisp shirt, clean-shaven. She was charmed by his old-world courtesy. The careful touch of a woman lingered in his polished shoes, his ironed collar. She decided it must be his mother’s hand behind it all.
Victor (his name, as he introduced himself) was the opposite of her first mistake. Emily handed him her number without a second thought. That was the one and only time she ever took a free cab ride.
…They began dating. Victor showered her with flowers, gifts, tender affection.
One spring day, strolling through the woods, they gathered snowdrops. Laughing, Emily tucked her bouquet into the car. Victor carefully placed his own on the backseat. The thought struck her—*For his wife.* She didn’t dare ask. What if he was married? She’d grown too fond of him these past six months. So she swallowed the bitter pill and stayed silent.
But soon, Victor’s wife appeared at Emily’s door, two small children in tow. “Here, love,” the woman said. “You raise them. They adore their dad.”
Stunned, Emily barely choked out: “Forgive me. I didn’t know he was married. I won’t wreck your home. No nest-building under another’s roof.” That very night, she sent the husband packing.
…Next came Mamuka.
A whirlwind of a man, Georgian by birth, he swept into Emily’s life and vanished just as fast. They’d met at a friend’s birthday. Mamuka charmed her with his broad smile, his endless energy. She didn’t resist.
For a year, he carried her in his arms, filling her days with laughter, dances, reckless joy. Then, just as suddenly, he left—back to Georgia. Maybe the weather didn’t suit him. Maybe his ailing mother called. Either way, Emily was left hollow, swearing off love forever. “Alone is better than heartbroken.”
But fate had other plans. Soon, she discovered new life growing inside her. *Whose child? How will I manage? How do I stay sane?*
…Lily was born. The spitting image of Mamuka—dark curls, bright eyes, the same disarming grin. It soothed Emily somehow, as if his ghost still lingered in her daughter’s laughter.
Sure, sometimes she wailed with envy at her married friends. But raising Lily left no time for tears.
…First day of school. Lily was seated beside a boy named Daniel. They hated each other on sight. He called her a “curly-headed twit.” Fights erupted daily.
When Emily marched to the school demanding answers, the teacher, flustered, gave her Daniel’s address. “Talk to his parents.”
Emily knocked. A man answered, wiping his hands on a tea towel. “Come in, please,” he said. “I’ll fix you coffee. Just need to feed my little terror first.”
The flat was a bachelor’s mess—dust, scattered laundry, the stale tang of cigarettes. She cringed.
He returned with steaming mugs. The aroma clung to the air, unforgettable.
“To what do I owe this visit?” he asked.
“I’m Lily’s mum.”
“Ah,” he grinned. “Daniel’s smitten with your girl.”
“So smitten he scratches her?”
His smile faltered. “I’ll sort him out,” he promised.
That night, Emily couldn’t sleep. His face haunted her—a man so domestic, so unlike the princes she’d given up on. That coffee… No one had ever offered her just coffee before. Just champagne, wine, cocktails.
She caught herself daydreaming—tidying his flat, fluffing pillows, ruffling Daniel’s hair.
By morning, she’d told Lily to be nicer to Daniel.
Weeks later, at parents’ evening, she saw him again. No mother present. Just him.
Afterwards, he offered to walk them home. December gloom swallowed the streets.
“Yes,” she said.
“Alex,” he introduced himself.
“Emily.”
He asked her to spend New Year’s together. What did she have to lose?
Later, he’d confess—his wife had left him years ago, married his best friend. He’d fought to keep Daniel.
He hadn’t stopped thinking of Emily since that first meeting.
She moved in with him, Lily in tow. The children grumbled but agreed.
Life bloomed. Alex worked tirelessly, bought them a proper home. Emily tended the house, the children. Daniel became hers.
…Years melted. Lily and Daniel grew up. Married, even.
Alex and Emily blessed it. The newlyweds jetted to Paris for their honeymoon. Emily coaxed Alex to the seaside—*”Just us.”*
He resisted. “Spend the money on yourself.”
“Alex, please. We’ve earned this.”
He relented.
One golden week. Endless joy. He doted on her—flowers, kisses, whispered love.
On their last morning, at an empty beach, he held her close. “I love you, Emily. So much.”
A quick dip, he said. Then he was gone.
The sea was calm. No waves. No body found.
…Emily returned alone. Numb. Why him? He swam like a fish. Why widow her at fifty-five? Why hadn’t she said *I love you* back?
Had he known?
Grief gnawed at her. She hated the sea. The world greyed. No grave to visit.
Now, years later, she clutches her grandchildren’s hands—little Katie and Max. Autumn leaves crunch underfoot. Their tradition: ice cream for them, coffee for her.
That same coffee. The smell wraps around her, dizzying. She closes her eyes. *Alex is here. He knows.*
…After the unbearable pain, the years of quiet acceptance, she thanks fate for Alex. For twenty-five years of love.
Life ends. Love doesn’t.
