**A Choice Unavoidable**
Emma flinched at the sharp shout:
“Oi, you little pest!” Victor raised his heavy shopping bag over the puppy before rounding on her: “Have you lost your mind? Feeding stray dogs with my food?”
One spring day, Emma was struck by a sudden, aching longing for love.
She stood before the mirror, studying her reflection with quiet intensity. “Time flies so fast,” she sighed. “It feels like only yesterday I was young as a daisy, and now… well, more like an autumn chrysanthemum. Still lovely, but touched by the seasons. Winter’s coming, and then… it’s time to take control of my life!”
Thirty-seven—old enough to know better, young enough to still glow. Perfect for bold moves. But where to find love? At work, the office was all women; casual encounters weren’t her style, and online dating seemed dodgy at best.
But they say: seek, and you shall find.
Luck struck when HR hired someone new—Daniel Whitmore. Tall, slightly round, with a kind smile behind stern glasses. Around her age. Emma noticed his calm confidence straight away.
Competition, of course, was fierce. Take Sophie, the junior HR assistant—young as a fawn, with legs for days, pouty lips, and lashes that could summon a storm with a flutter.
At first, Emma despaired. How could someone quiet and cosy compete with such glamour? Surely Daniel would fall at Sophie’s feet, blinded by her youth and bold charm.
She was wrong. Sophie strutted around Daniel like a peacock, flashing cleavage and legs, but he remained unmoved:
“Sophie, do you need something? I’ll help once I’ve finished.”
His gaze stayed firmly on her eyes, ignoring every trick.
Then, one day, Emma brought her famous apple pie to work. Daniel brightened instantly:
“Emma, you’re a proper magician! My grandmother used to bake pies just like this. Takes me right back.”
An odd compliment. She hadn’t meant to remind him of his gran—she wanted a man, not a nostalgic boy. Still, it was a start. Better that than silence.
She also realised: Daniel was a sucker for home-cooked food. Lucky for him, she loved to cook—even if her waistline protested. Once a size 10, now comfortably a 14. So she kept baking—less for her, more for the office.
Through pies and roast dinners, Emma found her way to Daniel’s heart. Predictable, but effective. Soon, romance bloomed—flowers, sweet words, long talks.
“It’s funny, Daniel,” she admitted once. “I’d just started dreaming of love, and there you were. So… real. And I’ll confess, at first I thought I stood no chance. Not with Sophie fluttering about.”
“Sophie?” He looked genuinely baffled. “Blimey, no. There’s a million like her—false lashes, talon nails, legs always on display. Thinking blokes fall for that. Not my cup of tea. A woman should be genuine—kind, warm, homely. Like you, Em.”
*This is it,* Emma thought. *My happiness—late, but here at last.*
Daniel seemed perfect. But nobody’s flawless…
Six months in, wedding bells loomed. They might’ve rung, if not for that grim November evening.
The weather had turned vicious—rain, sleet, wind shifting like a game. Emma and Daniel huddled under an umbrella, rushing home.
“Look, a kitten!” Emma stopped abruptly.
Under a streetlamp, shivering, sat a tiny black kitten. Drenched, filthy, pitiful.
“Leave it, Em,” Daniel tugged her sleeve. “I’m freezing and starving.”
“Just a second.” Emma crouched. “Here, little one.”
“Seriously?” Daniel snapped. “Your fiancé’s soaked and hungry, and you’re fussing over strays?”
“We’re taking him,” she said firmly, tucking the kitten into her coat. “Don’t grumble—he’s worse off than us.”
“Mad cat woman,” he muttered, stomping ahead.
Emma hurried after, whispering to the kitten: “Don’t fret. He’s nice, just grouchy.”
But at home, Daniel’s kindness vanished.
“Feed it and chuck it out,” he ordered.
“*Chuck it out*? It’s freezing! He’s tiny, helpless!”
“Emma, don’t be daft. Streets are full of strays. You can’t adopt them all. Did your good deed—now bin it. I’m starving!”
“No, Daniel. I’m keeping him.”
He scoffed. “I can’t stand cats! Pets should be useful—meat, milk, wool. Yours are just freeloaders. Not in my house!”
Emma saw him anew—cold, selfish, calculating.
“First, it’s *my* house. Second… Daniel, did you pick me for *usefulness*?”
“Well, what’s wrong with that?” he hedged. “A wife should run a home, not just paint her nails. It’s normal!”
“Ah,” she said softly. “So I’m *useful*. Homely. Sophie’s too vain for you—you want everything revolving round you. Get out.”
“No dinner, then?” He smirked. “Fine. Enjoy dying alone with a house full of cats.”
“Out.”
He left, expecting her to cave. She didn’t.
New Year’s Eve, Emma celebrated with the kitten, now named Soot. He’d grown—fluffy, dignified, like a tiny panther. When sadness crept in, he’d curl on her lap, purring her calm.
Spring came. Hope dwindled—until new neighbour Greg arrived.
Greg was Daniel’s opposite—stocky, balding, gruff. Post-divorce, he’d moved in across the hall.
“Alright, love?” he’d grunt. “Need a hand? Jack of all trades.”
Emma declined, till her kettle broke:
“Any good with appliances?”
“Expert level,” he grinned. “What’s up?”
“Kettle’s dead.”
“Consider it revived.”
An hour (and many colourful words) later, it worked. Emma repaid him with dinner. A romance sparked.
“Proper cook, you are,” Greg praised. “But I’m no slouch—cook, clean, fix anything. Ex-wife never appreciated it…”
*So I’m not just a housemaid,* Emma thought. Better still, Greg liked Soot:
“Proper little gent, this one,” he’d say, scratching the cat’s ears.
She took it slow. They were opposites—but maybe that worked.
Then, waiting outside Tesco, Emma spotted a scruffy ginger pup sniffing nearby. She broke off a bit of sausage:
“Here, boy.”
The pup crept closer—just as Greg stormed out:
“Get lost, mutt!” He swung his bag, then scowled at Emma: “Have you lost it? Feeding strays with my food? It’ll bite you, then you’ll need rabies jabs!”
The pup cowered under a bench. Emma clenched the sausage:
“What’s wrong with you? You like Soot, but yell at this pup?”
“Are you thick?” Greg barked. “Soot’s yours—I respect that. This one’s a stray! Ought to be put down, not fed!”
Rage boiled over. Emma shoved the sausage into Greg’s mouth.
“Here’s your food. And I’m done. Won’t date an animal hater.”
She scooped up the pup—who didn’t resist. Greg ranted, but she tuned him out.
Now it was three: Emma, Soot, and the pup—named Biscuit for his golden fur and curly tail. Greg tried apologising, failed, called her a fool, and vanished.
“No luck with men,” she’d sigh to Soot and Biscuit. “But… Daniel was selfish, and I nearly married him. Soot showed his true colours. Greg was cruel, and I almost trusted him. Biscuit exposed him.”
“Poor mum,” Biscuit whined to Soot.
“Don’t fret,” Soot purred. “She’ll find the right one.”
“How d’you know?”
“I’m a cat. We know things.”
He was right. Next spring, Emma met someone who loved her—and animals—without hidden edges. What next? Surely something good. But that’s another tale…
