The Perfect Family
“Oh, I’m scared,” Emily stopped in front of the apartment building.
“Of what? My parents?” asked William, taking her hand.
“That they won’t like me,” Emily admitted, looking up at him with guilt and fear.
“Don’t worry. You’ll see, everything will be fine. I love you. And I’m the one marrying you, not my parents. Come on.” William tugged her gently toward the entrance.
“Mum’s name is Victoria Margaret. Got it?” he instructed.
Emily repeated it slowly.
“I’ll forget or mix it up, I just know it,” she confessed.
“And Dad’s…”
“Richard Edward,” Emily blurted out happily. “At least your dad’s name is simple. Where did your mum get that middle name? Is your grandad German?”
“What makes you say that?”
They stepped inside, and William called the lift.
“Her father—my grandad—named her after his wife. Said she was a radiant woman, an actress. Shame I never met her; she passed young. His family had English roots.”
The lift dinged and opened invitingly. They stepped in.
“Don’t stress. I’m right here,” William said, pulling her close.
A petite woman with a neat bob answered the door. Emily thought she looked too young to be William’s mother. She smiled warmly and gestured them inside.
She wore wide, flowing beige silk trousers and a crisp white blouse. Under the hallway light, Emily spotted faint wrinkles that betrayed her age.
“Hello,” Emily said, glancing at William for reassurance. But he stayed silent, leaving her to fend for herself. Afraid of slipping up, she avoided using his mother’s name and looked down.
“Come in, dear. No need to be shy. Everyone stumbles over my name at first,” she said understandingly, and Emily smiled gratefully.
“Keep your shoes on, don’t worry. Richard! Where are you?” Victoria called out.
Soon, a broad-shouldered, handsome man strode in. He reminded Emily of Cary Grant—not in looks, but in presence. Beside him, Victoria seemed delicate, almost childlike. *What must he have looked like in his youth?* Emily wondered.
“Richard Edward,” he introduced himself, offering his hand.
She placed her slender fingers in his wide palm. His grip was brief, warm, and dry.
“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Victoria directed.
“William, take care of Emily,” Richard said, pouring wine from an already opened bottle.
Victoria asked Emily gentle questions, avoiding prying, then shared stories about their family. Whether it was the wine or the relaxed atmosphere, Emily felt the tension melt away.
“Your parents needn’t worry about a thing. We’ll handle the wedding,” Victoria said finally, smiling kindly.
William’s family seemed perfect to Emily. Hers was different. Her mum fussed over feeding everyone, while her dad drank too much, topping up his glass without waiting. Drunk, he’d ramble, dispensing unheeded advice, snapping at her mum if she tried to rein him in.
Emily had always been ashamed of him. Part of her wanted to exclude her parents from the wedding, but they’d be hurt. If only she had parents like William’s. And why had she agreed to marry him? They came from different worlds… Lost in thought, she missed what William said.
“What was that?” she asked.
“I said they like you.”
“Your parents are wonderful. I’d love us to have a marriage like theirs. You can tell they love each other. And you. But mine… I dread how they’ll behave at the wedding.”
“Don’t overthink it. They won’t let you down. We argue too, just not as loud or often. Anyway, have you picked a dress yet? I want you to be the most beautiful bride.” William stopped and kissed her.
Emily didn’t want to go dress shopping alone, and William couldn’t see the gown beforehand. Her mum was too practical, always pinching pennies—no, she wouldn’t ask her. That left her friend Lucy.
Back home, Emily called her.
Lucy squealed into the phone, bombarding her with questions and chatter without pause. Finally, after spilling all her news, she asked, “So why’d you call?”
“I need help choosing a wedding dress.”
“You’re getting married? Brilliant! Congrats! Of course—” Lucy launched into tales of mutual friends’ weddings. Emily tuned out.
“Will you help?” she cut in.
“Obviously! When?”
They arranged to meet the next day at a café near the bridal shop.
*Lucy’s so loud*, Emily sighed after hanging up. But she had no one else.
At the café, Emily arrived early. A waiter brought a menu, but she waved him off. “Later, I’m waiting for someone.”
He nodded and vanished. Lucy, ever late, kept her waiting. Emily scanned the room—then froze. At a nearby table sat Richard, oblivious to her, his eyes fixed on a young blonde. She giggled flirtatiously.
Emily looked away. *Where is Lucy? I’ll leave soon.* Her gaze kept drifting back. Richard held the blonde’s hands, speaking intently. That wasn’t how a man looked at a casual acquaintance.
Then he leaned in and kissed her.
A date? An affair? Did William know? Did Victoria? She should leave before he noticed her—this was spying. Richard wouldn’t appreciate it.
But she stayed rooted, afraid to draw attention. *So much for the perfect family.* Though, really, who wouldn’t fall for a man like that?
“Em! Over here!” Lucy’s voice carried across the room as she wove between tables, drawing stares with her fiery hair and boisterous energy.
She plopped down, breathless. “Sorry! Got stuck in traffic. Then I nearly snapped my heel tripping outside—”
Richard could’ve spotted Lucy—and by extension, Emily. But she didn’t check.
“Lucy, lower your voice,” Emily hissed.
“Who cares?” Lucy glanced around.
“Listen, I need to go. Let’s reschedule the dress shopping.” She stood abruptly.
Lucy chased her outside. “You invited me, and now you’re ditching? What’s wrong?”
“Just a headache. I forgot an errand. Sorry.” Emily hurried off.
“I can drive you!” Lucy called after her, but Emily didn’t look back.
Cooling off, she called William for Victoria’s number.
“Smart move. Mum’s got great taste,” he said.
“Emily dear, what’s wrong?” Victoria answered promptly.
“Victoria Margaret,” Emily fumbled. “Could you help me pick a dress?”
“Of course. Tomorrow works.”
Victoria was a natural. The boutique staff deferred to her, sensing her authority. She narrowed it down to three dresses, sending Emily to try them on. Each time, Victoria frowned and motioned for the next. Finally, they found the one. Shoes took another two hours.
“Exhausted. Let’s grab coffee,” Victoria said, loading packages into her car.
They returned to the same café. Emily scanned the room—no Richard or blonde. She relaxed.
“Victoria Margaret, how have you stayed married to a man like Richard? I’d die of jealousy,” Emily blurted.
Victoria smiled indulgently. “I love him. It’s amusing watching women fawn over him. I used to be jealous. Then I got used to it. People think I’m not good enough for him. You too?”
“Of course not!” Emily rushed.
“He’s hopeless at home—can’t even find his own socks. At work, he’s a charmer, but here, he’s a child. Every morning, I set out his clothes where he’ll ‘find’ them himself.”
“Remember, dear—a wise wife lets her husband think he’s in charge. Advice should feel like his idea. That’s the secret.”
*And yet he chose a mistress. Should I tell her?* Emily decided against it. Maybe it hadn’t gone beyond a kiss. She’d only make trouble.
But weeks later, she spotted them again—leaving a jewellery shop.
She hinted to William his family wasn’t so perfect.
“What do you mean?”
Emily confessed: his dad, a blonde, the kiss.
“You must be mistaken. Dad loves Mum,” William said, troubled.
“I didn’t mistake him. He’s too distinctive. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“He’d never cheat,” William snapped.
Their first near-fight. Emily backtracked.
At Richard’s birthday planning, Victoria invited them to discuss gifts. William stepped out to fetch something, leaving Emily alone with her.
“You’ve been fidgeting. What’s on your mind?” Victoria asked.
“I think I saw your husband with a blonde,” Emily admitted.
Victoria’s face didn’t budge—only her eyes saddened, wrinkles deepening.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You think I don’t know?”
“You… know?”
“He’s cheated for years. Women always know.”
“And you’She looked at Emily with quiet resignation and said, “Love isn’t about perfection—it’s about choosing what you can live with,” before turning to pour the tea and end the conversation.
