Anna had always been independent. Her parents worked long hours, leaving her to walk home from school, heat up soup, and finish her homework—sometimes even boiling pasta for herself. By sixth form, she was used to it.
That year, student teachers arrived for their placements. Among them was Mr. Daniels—tall, serious, in a crisp grey suit and glasses. At first, the lads mocked him, calling him a swot, but by the end of the first lesson, they were hooked. He taught history like no one else—asking questions, challenging them to rethink events. The boys’ eyes gleamed, thrilled to be heard. Anna, though, couldn’t take her eyes off him.
She devoured history books just to keep up—until the day she spoke up. “If reforms had gone your way,” he said, “we’d live in a different world.” His praise sent her heart racing. Then his placement ended, and history lost its spark.
One evening, she spotted him rushing toward her. “Anna!” He remembered her name. Her pulse spiked.
“Are you heading to school? Lessons ended ages ago.”
“No,” he admitted. “I came to see you.”
Her face burned.
He walked her home, asking about school, her plans. “Not studying history? I thought you loved it. I’ve got books—could lend you some.”
Her chest tightened. Was he inviting her over? Not glamorous Louise from class—just her, Anna Wright.
“Thanks, but I’m applying for economics,” she mumbled. “But I’d love to borrow them.”
“Next time, then.”
*Next time?* Her heart hammered.
“Will there be… a next time?”
His smile softened him, making him seem younger. “Call me Daniel. We’re not in school anymore.”
He texted days later. They met a few times before exams swallowed them both—hers for A-levels, his at uni.
They reunited after her graduation. She kept it secret at first, then confided in friends, who swooned. None of them dated older men.
At uni, they stayed together. When her mum found out, she insisted on meeting him. Daniel—serious, responsible, a teacher—won them over. Anna floated on cloud nine.
By third year, they married. Kids could wait. Daniel loved order: jars aligned, books stacked, towels hung straight. Gentle reminders became routine. Anna played along, eager to please.
Then one day, he found water droplets on the bathroom floor.
“Anna, I’ve asked you to wipe this up.”
“It’ll dry,” she said weakly.
“Now. Where’s the mop?”
His grey eyes drilled into her. He wasn’t wearing glasses—they were just for authority.
She mopped, hands shaking. He pointed at the crumpled towel. “Hang it properly.”
Under his glare, she obeyed, burning with shame. *He’s scolding me like a child.*
Plates had to be stacked by size. Laundry folded precise as origami. Kisses were rationed—daytime affection forbidden.
Anna realised she didn’t love him. She’d loved the idea—being envied, dating a teacher.
Finding out he got manicures was the final straw. *Men don’t do that.*
She couldn’t live under a ruler. But then she got pregnant. Hope flickered—maybe he’d change.
He got worse. Obsessed with her diet, he once raged over a pizza box in the bin. “You’re poisoning our child!” She ate junk food in secret.
With baby Tim, order was impossible. Daniel never yelled—just pointed at messes like a displeased headmaster. Even alone, she couldn’t relax, scrambling to tidy before he returned.
Her mum praised her new neatness, adored her son-in-law. But Anna was drowning.
The final straw? He checked her phone.
“You don’t trust me?” she sobbed.
She packed her things and left. He followed. Her mum took his side.
“He doesn’t drink, doesn’t cheat, provides. Millions would kill for this! You’re throwing it away?”
“I can’t live with him! He’s a robot—sex on schedule, lights off. I *hate* him!”
Her dad surprised her. “Let her stay. Look at her—she’s a shadow.”
Daniel visited, begging her back. Tim hid behind her. Her mum kept nagging.
Then—tyre trouble.
A blue BMW pulled up. A young man stepped out.
“Need help?”
He changed the wheel effortlessly. She offered money.
“Dinner instead?”
She hesitated. “I’m older. Married. A mum.”
He grinned. “Just dinner.”
Two days later, he called. She wore a simple dress, denying it was a date.
“You look stunning,” he said. “Husband’s okay with this?”
She laughed—freer than she’d felt in years.
Dinner led to dancing. No one cared. She didn’t either.
At home, her mum exploded. “Dating? At your age? Disgraceful!”
Daniel visited, stiff in a suit despite the heat. Tim clung to her.
Then—the knock.
“Mum, a man’s here.”
Her mum hissed, “He’s a *boy*.”
Anton brought a toy train. Tim’s eyes lit up. Her mum watched, lips pursed.
Outside, he kissed her. “I’m not letting you go.”
She pushed him away.
“I’ll move with you,” he said.
She fought it—but he kept coming. Tim adored him.
One night, she overheard her dad: “Let her be. She’s glowing.”
Anton’s mum was frosty. “I’ll tolerate you. Don’t make him regret this.”
Anna quit her job. Driving back, she stopped at the same café.
*A flat tyre. Again.*
Anton found her there, laughing. “A sign?”
“You *planned* this?”
They married despite the backlash. A year later, a daughter arrived.
Her mum took Tim on weekends. Anna waited for Anton to leave—but he stayed.
For once, she stopped waiting for disaster.
Let it come later. For now, she was happy.
