**When Everything Falls Into Place: Emily Chooses Herself**
*— Mum, I’ll be late tonight—Lena’s birthday. We’re off to the cinema,* Tom called over his shoulder before disappearing into the loo, his carefree hum mingling with the rush of tap water.
Emily lingered by the window, listening to life hum around her again. Tom was happy. Light. Free. Everything she’d never quite been.
Once, at eighteen, she’d believed in simple happiness too. Simon had seemed the man of her dreams—brave, handsome, self-assured. They fell in love, married, started fresh. But within a few years, her life narrowed to chores, silence, and loneliness.
Simon stayed late “at work” more often, returning sullen and distant. Then came the baby food jar in his bag. The nappies. They etched into her memory like proof.
*— It’s not what you think,* he’d muttered.
*— Then what is it, Simon? What?!* she’d screamed, clutching the jar like a lifeline.
After that, everything crumbled. It was hard, but she endured. She raised Tom alone—no help, just her mother-in-law sticking by her.
Tom grew up clever, kind, grown. She was proud. But sometimes… the emptiness crept back. Like now.
Sinking into her armchair, she grabbed her phone—and froze at the notification: *Paul has sent you a friend request.* Paul… Her school crush. The boy who’d waited by the gates with daisies. She hadn’t realised she still remembered his smile. But her heart clenched.
*— Liz, you’ll never guess,* she rang her best friend. *Paul—yes, that Paul from Year 11—found me on Facebook!*
*— Blimey! The one who was head over heels for you? Simon used to grind his teeth at the sight of him. Accept it! He’s doing well now, heard he’s recently divorced.*
She did. Then—the whirlwind. Messages. Jokes. Shared nostalgia. Flirty banter that left her cheeks burning. Paul was attentive, polite, genuine. She felt alive again.
*— Tom, I’d like you to meet someone,* she ventured one evening.
*— Paul?* He grinned. *Mum, I’ve noticed. And I’m chuffed for you.*
She glowed. For the first time in years. But it didn’t last. Paul’s replies grew sparse. Then curt. Then came the message that choked her:
*Emily, sorry. There’s someone else. You chose Simon once—it hurt. Now you know how it feels.*
Stunned, she stared at the screen. A man in his fifties… holding a grudge? Had it all been a game? Payback for teenage heartache?
*— Absolute tosser,* Liz sighed when she heard. *Write back. With dignity.*
They crafted it together—wry, poised, sharp:
*Dear Paul, Thank you. Truly. I’d forgotten how it felt to laugh, flirt, feel like a woman again. You gave me back my youth—like shedding twenty years. Hope your new love appreciates your theatrics. Best of luck. X (platonically), Emily.*
His reply was instant—a torrent of bile. But Emily was already laughing. Properly, for the first time in ages.
A week later, a blonde cornered her outside Tesco:
*— You! Home-wrecker! You ruined me and Paul!*
Emily paused—then smirked:
*— Wrong address, love. The real wrecker’s Jeanne. 15 Forest Road. Took my husband and now Paul. Quite the CV.*
The woman gaped. Emily walked off, stifling giggles.
Sunlight brushed her face. And suddenly, she knew—she was happy. Without men. Without drama. Without proof.
Tom’s text chimed:
*Mum, Lena and I are giving living together a go. We’ll see.*
Emily smiled. *This* was real joy—watching her child choose wisely.
And her? Well… she’d finally chosen herself.
**Lesson learnt: Sometimes the greatest freedom isn’t in being loved, but in loving yourself enough to walk away—and laugh about it after.**
