Where Is the Love?
Jenna was a lively, fun-loving, and pretty girl. Guys were always buzzing around her, but she took her time, picking and choosing. The older she got, the higher her standards became.
Her mum raised her alone, and Jenna knew exactly what it meant to count every penny. She didn’t have half the things her friends and classmates did, so she made up her mind—she’d only marry a man who was well-off.
Then one day, she met *the one*—smart, handsome, successful, with money, a flat in London, and a flash car. What more could she want? A prince, basically. Of course, she fell for him. Jenna was gorgeous, but she didn’t have much else to offer—just herself. Youth and beauty were assets too, though she didn’t quite grasp that yet.
It was easy to fall hard when he showered her with attention, spoiled her rotten, and everyone around them was green with envy.
She brought him home to meet her mum, certain he’d win her over. What mother wouldn’t want the best for her daughter? And this was as good as it got—she’d live in luxury!
But when he left, her mum surprised her.
*”He’s a catch, no doubt. But what does he see in you? You’re young and pretty, but there are plenty like you. Why you? Love, you’d be better off with a bloke closer to your own level. You’re from different worlds. Plus, he’s much older—bet he’s been married before, maybe even has kids. Don’t roll your eyes at me. These things matter, trust me. You won’t be happy with him.”*
*”We’ll see,”* Jenna shot back. *”He’s been divorced for ages. His son lives abroad.”*
*”You’ll have to bend over backwards just to keep up with him. Remember Cinderella? The prince fell for her at the ball when she was all dolled up. But in real life, would they even have a single conversation? You two are worlds apart. One day, he’ll tire of you and move on.”*
*”Didn’t expect this from you, Mum. Thought you’d be happy for me. But nothing’s ever good enough for you. So what—should I never marry? Live in fear he’ll leave me?”*
*”I just worry—”*
*”If I marry some ordinary bloke, does that guarantee we won’t split? I’ve made up my mind. I’ll take whatever happiness I can get—even if it’s just not worrying about money for once.”*
*”Maybe you’re right,”* her mum sighed. *”May that happiness last a good long while.”*
It flattered Jenna how other women ogled Richard, how jealous glances followed her when he picked her up from work in his Jaguar. *He chose me—that means he loves me.* And love smoothed over all the rough edges, didn’t it?
Richard proposed with a dazzling diamond ring—not some tiny speck, but a proper seven-carat stunner. Jenna’s head spun with love and joy. It *would* be different. Mum was wrong.
Then came wedding dress shopping. She’d dreamed of this, scouring websites, imagining herself in lace and silk. But the prices made her balk. They’d planned a trip to a bridal boutique, but last minute, Richard got tied up with work. He handed her his card. *”Buy the most beautiful one. Don’t skimp.”*
She didn’t invite her mum—too used to pinching pennies, she’d only gasp at the price tags. No close friend to help either. So Jenna went alone.
Rows of pristine white gowns stretched before her, like something from a fairy tale—just like the future she imagined. But the first price tag made her stomach drop. Three months’ salary. She felt like an impostor, like she didn’t belong here.
A saleswoman glided over, eyeing her with a condescending smile. Jenna’s cheeks burned—she’d been *seen*. But she straightened up, describing her dream dress with shaky confidence.
The gowns the woman brought out took her breath away. Jenna decided not to look at the tags—Richard had told her not to spare a thought for cost. He’d be proud of her. But choosing was agony—each one was stunning. Then she started trying them on… and forgot everything. The saleswoman’s smile shifted—respect, now.
Oh, the bliss of not counting pennies, of picking exactly what she wanted. If only Richard were here, sipping coffee like in the films, watching her twirl. He’d wrinkle his nose slightly, and they’d rush to fetch something *better*…
She found *the* dress—fitted like it was made for her. To keep it from prying eyes (and her mum from fainting at the price), she left it at the shop until the big day.
The wedding was straight out of a magazine—a posh country estate, fireworks, a live orchestra under the stars.
*”God, you’re lucky, Jen,”* her colleagues sighed. *”A husband like that!”*
*”Oh, because he’s rich? Handsome? He’s got plenty else going for him,”* she laughed, floating on cloud nine.
The first crack appeared almost straight after the honeymoon. Before, they went out almost every night. Now? Richard barely left the house. *”I’m tired. Need to work.”* Video calls with business partners. Jenna wandered their sprawling flat, bored.
*”Dinner out tonight?”* she’d ask hopefully.
*”Too knackered. Your cooking’s brilliant—why waste money eating out?”*
She missed dressing up for him, feeling desired. Now? Home from work, apron on, straight to the stove.
When cooking got old, she ordered in. Richard ate heartily, never suspecting (or choosing not to say).
He perked up when she got pregnant—offered to hire help. Jenna refused. She glowed, reveling in her bump. This was happiness.
The birth went smoothly. A healthy boy. But Jenna’s body changed—softened. She poured everything into their son.
Richard’s frown deepened whenever he came home to her in a baggy dressing gown.
*”Easy for breastfeeding,”* she’d murmur.
His disapproving glances multiplied. He stayed late at the office. *”Meetings. Work trouble.”*
*”You lost interest the second I gave birth,”* she accused one night.
*”I offered help,”* he muttered.
*”There’s someone else.”*
*”You said it, not me. But… yeah. You let yourself go. I give you more than enough to look after yourself.”*
*”I thought our son mattered more than my waistline! I’m breastfeeding—I can’t diet. I barely have time to look in the mirror!”*
It spiraled. Arguments. Richard barely home. Jenna stewing in jealousy. One sleepless night, she decided—*I’m leaving.*
Morning came. Bags packed. She called her mum.
*”Can I stay with you?”*
*”Why? Renovations?”*
*”Something like that.”*
Richard called the second he found the flat empty. First, pleading. Then threats.
*”Fine. The flat’s mine. You’ll get nothing but child support.”* Click.
Jenna sobbed. Was this the marriage she’d dreamed of? Where had the love gone? Had it ever been real?
Her mum’s cramped flat was a shock.
*”Oh, love. Told you so. But we’ll manage.”*
Then the divorce papers arrived in the post. No court date, no warning. Just… done.
Time passed. Her son started school. Jenna threw herself into work—shed the weight, became *her* again. Men noticed. But she ignored them. Her heart needed mending first.
Her mum nagged. *”A boy needs his father. You’re too wrapped up in your career.”*
Fine. No love life? She’d climb the ladder instead. Sharp, independent, she rose fast. Two years later, she bought her own flat.
*”That’s all well and good, but you’re still alone. Your boy needs—”*
*”There’s no one worth it, Mum. They don’t want *me*—just what I can give them. Where’s the love in that?”*
Then a new guy joined her company—young, handsome, Oxford-educated. He flirted relentlessly. Jenna laughed him off. *What would I want with a boy?*
But nature has its way. A rainy evening. Forgotten umbrella. Liam offered a lift. Then, at her doorstep—a kiss. Jenna trembled. She hadn’t felt that in years. She wasn’t naive—this wouldn’t be serious. But she wasn’t dead, either. Coffee at hers. Her son was at her mum’s.
They saw each other casually. Jenna fought her growing feelings.
One rainy evening years later, as she watched her son play in the garden with Liam—now her husband—and their little girl, Jenna finally understood that love wasn’t about fairy-tale beginnings, but about finding someone who stayed even after the sparkle faded.
