Where is the Love?
Emily was a lively, magnetic, and pretty girl, always surrounded by suitors. She took her time choosing, but as she grew older, her standards rose.
Raised by a single mother, Emily understood the pinch of every penny. She lacked the luxuries her friends took for granted. Determined never to struggle again, she vowed to marry a man of means.
Then she met him—the man of her dreams: clever, handsome, successful, with money, a flat in London, and a sleek car. What more could she want? A prince, in every sense. Of course, she fell in love. Emily was beautiful, but she had nothing to offer but herself. Youth and beauty were commodities, though she didn’t yet realise it.
How could she not love him? He doted on her, fulfilled her every whim, and everyone envied her.
She brought him home to meet her mum, certain he’d impress her. What mother wouldn’t want the best for her daughter? And what could be better than this? A life of luxury, a husband to be envied. But when he left, her mother’s reaction wasn’t what she expected.
“He’s a fine catch,” her mum said carefully. “But what does he see in you? You’re young and pretty, but so are a thousand others. Why you? Oh, love, I’d rather you picked someone simpler—someone from your own world. He’s older, bound to have been married before, maybe even children. Don’t roll your eyes. You think none of that matters now, but mark my words, happiness won’t last.”
“We’ll see about that,” Emily replied, chin lifted. “He divorced years ago. His son lives abroad.”
“You’ll bend over backwards to measure up. Remember Cinderella? The prince fell for her at the ball, dressed in finery. Fairy tales don’t show the mornings after, when she’s scrubbing floors and he’s ruling kingdoms. You’ll run out of things to say. Different circles, different lives. One day, he’ll choose someone from his own world—if not by choice, then by pressure. And then where will you be?”
“I never thought you’d be like this, Mum. Should I never marry? Live in fear?”
“I’m not against it, but—”
“But nothing. Marrying a working-class boy wouldn’t guarantee happiness either. I’ve made my choice. However long the joy lasts, I’ll take it. At least I won’t count pennies anymore.”
Her mother sighed. “Maybe you’re right. God grant it lasts.”
Emily basked in the envy—women gawping, colleagues craning necks when Richard picked her up in his Jaguar. He chose her. That meant love, didn’t it? And love smoothed all cracks.
Richard proposed with a diamond ring—seven carats, dazzling, obscenely expensive. Love and joy made her dizzy. It wouldn’t end like her mother feared. She was sure.
Then came the dress hunt. She’d dreamt of this, browsing bridal sites, but the prices terrified her. They planned to visit a boutique, but last minute, Richard was held up. He handed her his card. “Buy the one you love. Spare no expense.”
She didn’t bring her mum. Years of scrimping would make her gasp at every tag. No close friend to help either. So Emily went alone.
Rows of ivory gowns froze her—like stepping into a fairy tale. Her future felt like one. Then she saw the price of the first dress. Three months’ salary. An imposter’s flush crept up her neck.
The assistant’s approach startled her. A condescending smile. Emily stiffened, rattling off a description of her dream dress—something she’d sketched since childhood.
The assistant pulled gowns that stole her breath. Emily ignored price tags. Richard said not to. He’d be proud. Choosing was agony—each more stunning than the last. She tried them on, losing herself, until the assistant’s smile turned respectful.
Oh, the bliss of not counting pennies! If only Richard were here, sipping coffee like in films, watching her twirl in each masterpiece, nodding or frowning as the staff scrambled for better.
She chose one. A perfect fit. To keep it secret—from Richard’s scrutiny, her mother’s shock—she left it at the boutique. The dress hugged her like destiny, highlighting every curve.
The wedding was a lavish affair—a countryside manor, fireworks, a string quartet under the stars.
“Bloody hell, you’ve landed well,” her colleagues sighed. “A man like that!”
“Oh, him? Handsome? Rich? He’s so much more,” Emily laughed, floating on cloud nine.
Disillusionment struck fast. Before marriage, they dined out daily. Now Richard barely left home. Work calls, endless emails. She wandered their echoing flat, bored.
“Dinner out tonight?” she’d ask hopefully.
“Too tired. Your cooking’s splendid.”
She missed dressing up for him, feeling desired. Now? Home from work, apron on, at the stove.
When cooking grew tedious, she ordered in. No ulcers—Richard ate heartily, thanking her with a smile.
His attentions returned when she fell pregnant. He offered a housekeeper. She refused, glowing, cradling her bump—the happiest time of her life.
The birth was smooth, the baby healthy. Emily softened, absorbed in motherhood.
Richard frowned at her shapeless robe.
“Easier for feeding,” she muttered.
His disapproving glances multiplied. He worked later. Meetings, emergencies.
“You’ve lost interest since the baby,” she accused.
“I offered help,” he said flatly.
“There’s someone else.”
“You said it, not me. But yes. You’ve let yourself go. I give you enough to stay presentable.”
“I thought our son mattered more than my waistline. Breastfeeding means no diets. I barely glance in mirrors anymore.”
But it worsened. Arguments piled up. Richard vanished more. She lay awake, seething, and resolved to leave. She packed hastily, called her mum.
“Mum, can I stay awhile?”
“Why? Renovations?”
“Something like that.”
“Of course, love.”
Richard came home to silence. He called—pleading, then threatening.
“Fine. The flat’s mine. You’ll get nothing but child support.” Click.
Emily wept. Was this the marriage she’d dreamed of? Where had love gone? Had it ever been real?
Her mother’s cramped flat felt stifling.
“Oh, love. I warned you… But we’ll manage,” her mother sighed.
Then the letter arrived—divorce papers. No summons, no court. Just a stamp.
Time passed. Her son started nursery. Emily returned to work, slimmed down, herself again. Men flocked, but she ignored them. A broken heart needed mending.
Her mother nagged—her mistake, her son’s lost father.
Emily threw herself into work. No love life? Then a career. Sharp, independent, she climbed swiftly. Two years later, she bought a flat.
“All well and good, but you’re alone. Your boy needs a dad. Must work consume you?” her mother fretted.
“There’s no one, Mum. Men see me as a meal ticket. I won’t settle for that. Where is the love?”
A new hire joined her firm—Daniel, charming, bright, educated abroad. He pursued her. She laughed. A boy, really.
But nature couldn’t be denied. Colleagues warned him—Emily Blake turned everyone away.
“We’ll see,” Daniel said.
One rainy evening, umbrella forgotten, he offered a lift. She accepted. At her door, he kissed her. She trembled—long-unfelt desire. Young still, burnt but hungry. She wouldn’t commit, she warned. Spread rumors, and she’d sack him. Then invited him for coffee. Her son was at her mother’s.
They met occasionally. Emily fought her growing fondness.
Then, at a restaurant, Daniel waved someone over.
“Look, my dad. You’ll like him.”
Before she could protest, he was gone. His father? Just what she needed.
“Emily, this is my dad, Richard Hughes. Dad, this is—”
She looked up. Richard. Older, but still handsome. Recognition flashed.
“You?! Vengeance now?” Richard snapped.
“Dad, what? You know each other?” Daniel gaped.
“You never mentioned a son,” Emily said coldly.
“First marriage. Young, foolish. Divorced long ago.” Richard glared. “He’s just a boy. Leave him be.”
“Don’t you want to ask about your other son?” Her voice steadied.
“You have a son?” Daniel stared.
“Your brother,” she said, eyes locked on Richard. “Nearly ten. With my mum now. I gained weight, and your father lost interest. Another woman. He showed me the door. Sent divorce papers by post. Never once visited his son.”
“Look at you now,” Richard sneered. “You and my son—surely you see how wrong this is?”
“Why? I’m nothing to you.She turned away, walking into the rain, knowing love would find her again—but next time, on her own terms.
