*”We didn’t waste time, we just took the long road to happiness,”* said Emily, nestling closer to Daniel.
Emily opened her eyes and stretched lazily. It was Sunday—no rush, no worries.
When her husband died, friends and coworkers expected her to fall apart, drowned in weeping grief. So she played the part—the picture of devastated widowhood. Work gave her leave to mourn properly.
To outsiders, they looked like the perfect couple. What skeletons hid in their closet? Nobody’s business. Of course, she’d felt a pang of pity for Kevin—anyone gone too soon deserved that. But not as a beloved husband.
Emily glanced at the framed photo on the shelf. Time to put it away. She’d kept it out before because visitors would glance around, expecting to see the late husband’s portrait.
Waking up every morning to his smug, self-satisfied face—like a cat who’d stolen the cream—was too much. She threw off the duvet, marched to the bookshelf, and plucked the photo up. For a moment, she studied his well-groomed, confident smirk. How many women had fallen for that? Emily scoffed.
*”Well? Had your fun? Think I’m pining for you? Keep dreaming. Goodbye.”* She wedged the frame between books. *”There. That’s your place now—not in my life.”* She dusted off invisible lint and headed to the bathroom.
***
When Emily left the exam hall after her last test, the corridor was empty. She’d been the last to finish. Out of nowhere, a perfectly ordinary, unremarkable bloke appeared—Daniel, who’d applied to the same uni.
*”Well? How’d it go?”* he asked.
*”A first!”* She couldn’t hide her grin.
*”Guess we’re studying together, then.”* He smiled too.
*”We’ll see when the lists go up…”* she started, though she knew she’d made it.
*”Formality. You’ve aced it. Fancy celebrating?”* His heart hammered as he waited.
Her parents were at work, no more revision—why not?
*”Let’s go,”* she said.
They wandered the city, ate ice cream, then caught a film.
They ended up in different seminar groups. Emily couldn’t care less, but Daniel sulked. Now they only saw each other between lectures, where he always sat beside her.
Once, Daniel ran late, and his seat was taken by Kevin Dobson, who slipped in at the last second. Emily almost said it was taken—but then the professor strode in. Rumour had it he was ruthless; cross him, and you’d never score above a C.
One lecture apart wouldn’t kill them.
*”Daniel’s jealous. I can feel him boring holes into my back,”* Kevin muttered, smirking.
She glanced back. Daniel sat at the rear, watching them like a kicked puppy.
*”Gentlemen—and young lady—if you’re not interested, you may leave,”* the professor snapped.
The entire hall turned. Emily ducked her head over her notes.
*”Brilliant. Now we’re on his blacklist,”* Kevin whispered. They stifled giggles.
The professor ejected them. They loitered in the corridor, then Kevin suggested the canteen. No point wasting time.
Kevin was clever, charming, effortlessly confident. Even lecturers respected his wit.
*”Be careful with him, Em. He’s a proper ladies’ man,”* Daniel warned afterward.
*”Jealous?”*
*”What if I am?”*
*”Dan, there’s nothing between me and Kevin. We just sat together.”*
But one lecture turned into more. Emily fell hard—she couldn’t go a day without Kevin. Soon, everyone called them a couple. Her parents treated him like their future son-in-law. Smooth-talking Kevin charmed even her mum. Women of any age melted for him.
They agreed not to rush marriage—until Emily got pregnant. Kevin took it oddly well.
*”Dad, eh? Bit mad. But—money? Uni? Maybe… hold off a bit?”*
She agreed. There was time. But morning sickness struck at the worst moments. Exhausted, she had an abortion. Kids and studies didn’t mix. They loved each other, had plans.
And Daniel? Just a friend. He lent her notes when she skipped class. Quiet, always there.
After fourth year, they married. Kevin’s father, a big shot in Manchester, hired them both. Kevin climbed the ranks fast. Emily didn’t resent it—he was the golden boy. She was just the wife.
Once, popping into his office at lunch, she found him wrapped around his secretary—some bold, pretty young thing. The girl smirked, unashamed, as if Emily had intruded.
At home, Emily exploded.
*”It’s nothing! Blokes have flings. If you think otherwise, you’re naïve. You’re my wife. I love you. She’s just… forget her.”*
He sacked the secretary, hired a plain one. Emily simmered down.
Leave Kevin? For what? The next bloke might be worse. So they played the perfect couple.
Then a “well-wisher” called: Kevin had a child. Emily raged, threatened divorce.
*”Em, calm down. A kid changes nothing. I love you. I’m not leaving you.”*
She should’ve walked out then. But she was scared. She still loved him. Kevin always got his way; Emily never had the spine to fight. Maybe that’s why he kept her. Two strong men wouldn’t have lasted. He never blamed her for their childlessness.
Kevin came home on time, gave her freedom she never used. He booked solo holidays for her—Malta, Spain. By then, his father retired, and Kevin took over.
Resorts teemed with men hunting flings. Emily knew most were married, spinning tales of loneliness. Their attention grew cloying. She’d return relieved—to Kevin, their posh flat.
He’d sigh, *”Wish I could lounge on beaches like you,”* while she knew exactly how he’d spent his time.
Outsiders still saw the ideal couple. Emily envied ordinary families in parks, pushing prams.
*”Every marriage has issues,”* she consoled herself. They were civil. Like flatmates. Most couples ended up that way.
Then, two months ago, police called. They’d found Kevin at the cottage.
*”Found? What d’you mean?”*
The “well-wishers” had stopped calling. Maybe he’d stopped cheating—or got sneakier. Emily pretended all was well. Easier that way.
*”Heart attack. His… companion called an ambulance, then vanished. I’m sorry.”*
Sympathy poured in. Emily wore the grieving widow mask. Kevin’s father hushed it up—no tabloid scandals about the pop star he’d died with.
The thought revolted her. She grieved only in public, and barely.
***
Emily freshened up, sipped her morning coffee. Spring sunshine poured through the windows. She was free! Free of Kevin, his lies, the charade of a perfect wife.
The doorbell rang. Another sympathy visit, she assumed—until she saw the man on her step. Familiar, but—
*”You don’t recognise me,”* he fake-pouted. *”Daniel. Daniel Whitworth.”* He smiled. *”Your birthday’s soon. I’m in town for work, thought I’d pop by. Is Kevin in?”*
Now she knew him—older, glasses, professorial. Because he *was* one, lecturing at Durham.
*”Come in. Kevin died two months ago.”*
*”What?!”*
*”Heart attack. Sit down. It’s good to see you.”*
*”You’re holding up well. Kids must be grown now—”*
*”We didn’t have any. Abortion, back in uni. Kevin had two—by two different women.”*
*”You’re so calm about it?”*
*”Everyone thought we were perfect. Maybe we were. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”*
*”He cheated, and you stayed?”*
*”That’s life.”*
*”No, it’s not. Bloody madness.”*
*”Oh, please. You’d have been better?”*
*”No. If I were, you’d have married me.”*
She studied him.
He started visiting often—*”work trips.”* Emily suspected otherwise. Once, he proposed.
*”We’re not kids. I’ve always fancied you. Back then, I stepped aside. Now you’re free.”*
*”Dan, I don’t want more drama. I like my peace.”*
He dropped it—but kept visiting.
A year passed.
Emily hadn’t been to the cottage since Kevin’s death. Now, she went to check its state before selling.
No signs of police orAs the years passed, Emily often thought how funny life was—how it had taken losing the wrong man to find the right one, and how happiness had been quietly waiting for her all along.
