**A Choice Unavoidable**
Emily flinched at the sharp shout:
“Oi, you little mongrel!” Victor raised a heavy shopping bag over the puppy, then rounded on her. “Have you lost your mind? Feeding strays with my food?”
One spring day, Emily had been struck by a sudden, aching loneliness. She stood before the mirror, studying her reflection pensively. “How time flies,” she sighed. “Feels like only yesterday I was young as a daisy, and now? Well, more like a late-blooming rose. Still lovely, but with autumn’s touch. Winter will come soon, and then—best take life by the reins!”
Thirty-seven—old enough for wisdom, young enough for beauty. A perfect time for bold steps. But where to find love? Her office was all women, strangers on the street weren’t her style, and the internet seemed untrustworthy.
Still, they say fortune favours the bold.
Then luck smiled: a new colleague joined HR—William Carter. Tall, a touch portly, with a kind smile and stern glasses. About her age. Emily noticed his calm demeanour at once.
The competition was fierce. Just look at Gemma, the junior HR assistant—young as a fawn, with long legs, plush lips, and eyelashes that could summon a storm with a blink.
At first, Emily despaired. How could she, plain and homely, rival such dazzle? Surely William wouldn’t spare her a glance, falling instead at Gemma’s feet, bewitched by her youth.
She was wrong. Gemma preened around him, flashing cleavage and slender ankles, but William remained unmoved.
“Gemma, did you need something? I’ll help when I’m done.”
He looked her straight in the eye, ignoring her antics.
But when Emily brought her famous apple pie to work, William brightened.
“Emily, you’re a witch! This tastes just like my gran’s. Takes me right back.”
A strange compliment. She hadn’t meant to remind a grown man of his grandmother. She wanted a partner, not a boy lost in nostalgia. Still, it was a start. Better than silence.
Then she realised—William adored home cooking. And she loved to cook, though it cost her waistline. So she baked more: treats for the office, less for herself.
Through pies and stews, Emily won his heart. Simple, clichéd, but effective. Soon, flowers and sweet nothings followed.
“It’s funny,” she admitted once. “I’d just begun longing for love, and there you were. So… real. And I’ll confess—I thought I stood no chance against Gemma.”
“Gemma? Blimey, she’s a dime a dozen—fake lashes, talon nails, legs always on display. Thinks men live for that. Not me. A woman should be warm, kind—a homemaker. Like you, Em.”
“My luck’s turned!” she rejoiced. “Late, but here at last!”
William seemed flawless. But perfection doesn’t exist.
Their romance bloomed for six months, nearing marriage—until a grim November evening.
The weather had turned vicious: rain, sleet, biting wind. Emily and William hurried home under an umbrella.
“Look, a kitten!” she cried, stopping.
Under a streetlamp, shivering, sat a tiny black kitten—drenched, filthy, pitiful.
“Leave it, Em! I’m freezing and starving,” William tugged her sleeve.
“Just a moment.” She knelt. “Come here, little one.”
“Are you serious? I’m soaked, and you’re fussing over strays?”
“We’re taking him,” she said firmly, tucking the kitten into her coat.
“Bloody mad cat lady,” he muttered, storming ahead.
At home, William’s patience vanished.
“Feed it and chuck it out!”
“Out? In this weather? He’s defenceless!”
“Your heart’s too soft. Can’t save every stray. I’m hungry—get rid of it!”
“No. I won’t abandon him.”
William’s face hardened.
“I hate cats. Pets should be useful—livestock, at least. These furry parasites? Not in my home!”
Emily saw him anew—cold, selfish, callous.
“First, it’s *my* home. Second—did you pick me for *usefulness*?”
“Well, a wife should keep house! What’s wrong with that?”
“So I’m just… convenient. Gemma’s too vain for you, but I’ll do. Leave, William.”
“No dinner, then? Fine. Enjoy dying alone with your cats.”
He left, expecting her to relent. She didn’t.
New Year’s Eve found Emily with the kitten, now named Soot. He’d grown sleek and proud, a miniature panther. When sorrow weighed on her, he’d curl in her lap, purring comfort.
Spring came. Hope had nearly faded—until her new neighbour, Thomas, moved in.
Thomas was William’s opposite: stocky, balding, gruff.
“Need a hand?” he’d grunt.
At first, she refused. But when her kettle broke—
“Can you fix this?”
“Piece of cake!”
An hour of muttered curses later, it worked. Grateful, she cooked him dinner. A romance began.
“You’re a fine cook,” he praised. “I’m no slouch either. My ex never appreciated it.”
*So I’m more than a maid*, she thought. Better still, Thomas adored Soot.
“Proper little gent, this one,” he’d say, scratching the cat’s ears.
Emily watched, wary. They were different—but opposites attract, don’t they?
Then, waiting outside Tesco, she spotted a ginger pup, eyeing her shyly. She broke off a bit of sausage.
“Here, boy.”
As the pup crept close, Thomas stormed out.
“Filthy mutt!” He swung his bag, then glowered at Emily. “Are you daft? Feeding strays with my food? It’ll bite you—rabid, probably!”
The pup cowered under a bench. Emily stood, clutching the sausage.
“You like Soot—why scream at this pup?”
“Soot’s *yours*. This thing’s vermin! Ought to be put down!”
Rage surged. She shoved the sausage into Thomas’s gaping mouth.
“Here’s your food. And I’m done. I won’t live with a brute.”
The pup didn’t flee as she scooped him up.
“Let’s go home. You’ll like Soot.”
Thomas ranted behind her. She ignored him.
Now they were three: Emily, Soot, and the pup—Biscuit, for his golden curls. Thomas tried to apologise, failed, called her a fool, and vanished.
“Bad luck,” she sometimes sighed to Soot and Biscuit. “Though…”
William was selfish—Soot revealed that. Thomas was cruel—Biscuit showed his true colours.
“Our poor mum,” Biscuit whined.
“Don’t fret,” Soot purred. “She’ll find the right one.”
“How d’you know?”
“I’m a cat. I know things.”
He was right. Next spring, Emily met a man who loved her—and animals—without shadows. What lay ahead? Something good, surely. But that’s another tale.
**Lesson learned: Love reveals itself not in grand gestures, but in small kindnesses—especially to those who can give nothing in return.**
