You Just Don’t Know What Happiness Is — Half a million? — Karen stared at the notification on her phone, reading it three times before the number sank in. — Did you take out a loan for half a million pounds? Dylan was sitting on the sofa, glued to his own smartphone, not even looking up. — Oh, that… Yeah, it’s nothing. Just for Mum’s house repairs. You know her plumbing’s leaking, the floorboards are warped, the wallpaper is mouldy… — Wait. — Karen sank onto the armchair, her legs refusing to hold her up. — You got a loan. For half a million. And gave it all to your mother. Without even telling me? Dylan finally looked up. His face showed genuine confusion, as if his wife was asking something utterly obvious. — Karen, it’s Mum. She lives alone, her pension’s tiny. Who else can help her? — But you didn’t even discuss it with me? — Karen’s voice rose, but she couldn’t stop. — You didn’t ask what I thought or warn me at all? — You’d have just argued — Dylan shrugged. — Mum needed it right away. Four years. Four years enduring this woman: nightly calls to check what Dylan had eaten, surprise visits with criticism on cleanliness, family dinners with Karen seated at the far end of the table. — Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill — Dylan kept his calm tone. — We’ll manage. We’ll pay it back quickly; it’s not a big sum. It’s just family. The tears came hot and furious. Karen wiped them away with the back of her hand, smudging mascara across her cheeks. — Family? Am I family? Or just an accessory? Remember when your mother decided we needed a new car and you sold ours without asking? When she threw my things out of the guest room because she “couldn’t sleep among someone else’s clutter”? How on my birthday you and she went to choose her a new fridge? — That’s all trivial — Dylan dismissed. — You’re just tired, you need a break. Karen looked at him — tall, soft features, dimples she once found charming. Now he just looked like a thirty-year-old boy who couldn’t cut the apron strings. — We’ll get through this — he repeated like a mantra. — Love conquers all. Karen silently walked to the bedroom. Two large sports bags sat in the closet, the ones she brought when she first moved in. She pulled them out, dumped them on the bed, and started opening drawers. Dylan appeared in the doorway twenty minutes later, the first bag packed to the brim. — What are you doing? Karen, this is silly. You can’t be serious. She didn’t answer. Carefully folded jumpers, jeans, underwear. Took down her jewellery box — gifts from family and friends. Nothing from him. — Where will you go? To your mum’s? She’s up in Manchester! She zipped the second bag, checked her handbag — passport, bank card, keys to her mother’s flat, just in case. — Karen, say something! You can’t just leave me. I love you! She gave him a long, silent look, then picked up her bags and walked out. … The next morning, Karen stood in line at the registry office, gripping the signed divorce application. Rain dotted the windows, grey clouds hung low, but inside, there was a strange calm. The decision was made. The first call came at half past two in the morning. Karen sat bolt upright on her friend Lisa’s sofa, momentarily lost. — We have to talk — Dylan’s breathing was ragged, words scattered. — I get it now, I’ll change. Give me one chance. She let the call go. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. — Karen, I can’t live without you. You’re my whole world. By morning, forty-three messages had arrived. Each long, tearful, desperate — full of promises and threats. “If you don’t come back, I don’t know what I’ll do.” “Mum says you’re just being difficult.” “I’ll wait for you forever.” A week later, he started appearing at her office. Karen left for lunch — there he was by the sandwich shop. Walked to the tube station after work — saw him across the road. — Just passing by — Dylan grinned when Karen demanded an explanation. — Wanted to see you. One evening, the doorbell rang at Lisa’s flat. Karen answered without checking — expecting the pizza delivery. Dylan stood outside, clutching red roses. — Just one chance — he whispered. — I won’t ask for more. Karen shut the door silently. He stood outside for two hours, until neighbours threatened to call the police. She learned to live with it — as one adjusts to chronic pain. Not reading messages, blocking unknown numbers, not looking over her shoulder. Changed jobs to remote work, moved to a suburb where Dylan couldn’t just bump into her. The divorce went through after three months. Karen stepped out of the courthouse with the official paper in hand, crying at the steps — out of relief, not grief. The first months of freedom were scary in their emptiness. Karen had always checked every decision with someone — even when that someone did what they pleased anyway. Now she could buy any yoghurt she liked, regardless of whether Mrs Evans approved. Watch any film, without hearing “decent women don’t watch things like that.” She could breathe. She signed up for English classes — a dream Dylan called “a waste of money.” Began morning yoga, before sunrise, when the city was still quiet. Took a solo weekend trip to Brighton, wandered the lanes, sampling fudge and admiring the seaside. After half a year, the calls stopped. The messages too. Karen braced herself for a catch, then another month passed, and she realised she could finally relax. She landed a job at a marketing agency — bright office, young team, exciting projects. Life was looking up. …She met Andrew at a company party — her colleague Marie dragged her along. — He’s our top programmer — Marie introduced the tall man in slim glasses. — Andrew, meet Karen from marketing. He shook her hand — firm, gentle. Smiled — easily, without posturing. — You’ve escaped karaoke too? — he nodded toward the stage, where finance was butchering “Wonderwall.” — Protecting my nerves — Karen grinned. They talked all evening — about books, travel, how odd life is. Andrew listened more than spoke, asking questions and waiting for her answers. Never lecturing, never telling her how to live. When he learned she was divorced, he just nodded, then changed the subject. …Six months later, they moved in together, picking a small, bright flat in the city centre with high windows facing a quiet courtyard. — Are you sure you like this place? — Karen asked at the last viewing. — Should we see more? — Do you like it? — Andrew turned to her. — Yes, I really do. — Then let’s take it. Little things — having her opinion matter — meant far more than any flowery speeches. He proposed on their rooftop at sunset, with the sky painted in pinks and golds. Took out a small box, opened it — inside shone a diamond ring. — I’m rubbish at speeches — Andrew confessed. — But I want to wake up beside you every day. If you can put up with my snoring and bad coffee. Karen laughed through her tears and nodded… …That May evening began like any other. Andrew was working late — urgent deadline, code bug. Karen cooked pasta, humming along to the radio, when the doorbell rang: sharp, persistent, demanding. She looked through the spyhole and recoiled. Dylan stood in the hallway — pale, eyes sunken, shirt crumpled. Two years, two years of silence — then he was here. — Karen, open up! — his fist hammered on the door. — I know you’re there! We need to talk! She snatched her phone, dialled Andrew. Engaged. — We love each other! — Dylan shouted. — You can’t be with someone else! It’s not right! The door shook as he threw himself against it, trying to barge in. Karen pressed her back to the door, braced her feet. — Leave! — she screamed. — I’ll call the police! — You’re my wife! — his voice turned shrill. — You were mine, you always will be! Two years I’ve been waiting for you to see sense! Two years! — We’re divorced! It’s over! — It’s not over! — he shoved the door again, and she barely kept it closed. — I’ve changed! Mum says you just don’t understand your own happiness! Open up, let’s talk! She glimpsed his face in the spyhole — twisted, obsessed. No longer the man she’d once shared a bed with. Karen dialled 999. — Dylan! One call — the police will be here. Leave. Now. Dylan froze. A few seconds of silence. Then he spun round and stormed toward the stairs. Down below, the front door crashed. Karen slid down against the wall, ears ringing. Only after half an hour did she stand and call Andrew. The police accepted the report next day. The officer — an older man with a moustache — wrote everything down, listened, nodded. — We’ll sort it. We’ll have a word. Whatever he said to Dylan, Karen never knew. But her ex never showed up again. No calls, no messages, no accidental run-ins. …The wedding took place at a country restaurant in early June — just twenty friends. No fuss, no groom’s relatives insisting on tradition. Karen stood opposite Andrew in her simple white dress, hands clasped in his. Through the window, birch trees whispered, the air smelled of blossoms and freshly cut grass. — Do you take… — the officiant began. — I do — Karen replied before he finished, and laughter filled the room. Andrew slid a slim gold ring onto her finger — engraved inside were three words: “Always with you.” Karen looked up at the man who would now be her husband. Not a mummy’s boy, not an obsessed pursuer. Just a man, who knew how to listen, respect, and love. Ahead, awaited a life where her voice truly mattered…

You just dont know what happiness is

Half a hundred thousand? Clara stared at the notification in disbelief, reading the numbers three times before they made any sense. You took out a loan for fifty thousand pounds?

Daniel sat on the sofa, glued to his mobile, not even glancing up.

Oh, that. Yes, only a small thing, for mums renovations. You know her plumbings busted, parquets lifting, wallpapers mouldy

Wait. Clara sank onto the edge of the armchair; her legs wouldn’t hold her any longer. You actually got a loan. For fifty grand. And gave all of it to your mother. Without even a word to me?

Daniel finally looked up, his face genuinely bewildered as if the question was just plain silly.

Clara, its my mum. She lives on her own, her pensions small. Who else will help her?

And talk to me about it? Clara couldnt stop herself from shouting. Ask my opinion? At least mention it first?

Youd only argue, Daniel shrugged. And mum needed it urgently.

Four years. Four years Clara had put up with this womancalling every evening to ask what Daniel had for dinner, dropping by unexpectedly and picking at the flats cleanliness, always seating Clara at the far end of the table during family lunches.

Dont make a mountain out of a molehill, Daniel carried on, still calm. Well manage. Pay it back quick enough, its not much money if you think about it. Its family.

The tears came, hot and angry. Clara wiped them away with the back of her hand, smearing makeup across her cheeks.

Family? Am I family? Or am I just an accessory? Remember when your mum decided we needed a new car and you sold ours without asking me? Or when she threw all my things out of the spare room because it was uncomfortable to sleep surrounded by someone elses clutter? Or how on my birthday you and she went off to pick her a new fridge?

Thats just nothing, Daniel dismissed with a wave. Youre just tired. You need a break.

Clara watched hima tall man, gentle features, dimples in his cheeks shed once found adorable. Now all she saw was a thirty-year-old child, unable to cut the apron strings.

Well get through this, he repeated, almost chanting. Love conquers all.

She silently stood and left for the bedroom. The two big holdalls shed used to move in sat on top of the wardrobe. She pulled them down, tossed them on the bed, and began opening cupboard doors.

Daniel appeared in the doorway twenty minutes later, just as the first bag was stuffed full.

What are you doing? Clara, this is ridiculous. Youre not serious, are you?

She didnt reply. She folded her jumpers, jeans, underwear with care. Took the box of jewellery from the shelfgifts from her parents and friends, nothing from him.

Where will you go? To your mum? Shes all the way in Manchester!

She zipped up the second bag, checked her handbagpassport, card, keys to her mums flat which she carried just in case.

Clara, please say something! You cant just leave. I love youI really do!

She met his gaze steadily. Then took the holdalls and walked out.

The next morning, Clara joined the queue at the registry office, gripping her completed divorce paperwork. Drizzle misted the windowpanes, grey clouds weighed heavy above rooftops, but inside she felt a strange peace. The decision was made.

The first call came at half two in the morning. Clara, startled awake on her friend Laurens sofa, forgot where she was at first.

We need to talk, Daniels voice trembled down the line, breathless, scattered words. I get it now. Ill change. Please, give me a chance.

She hung up. Twenty minutes later, he rang again.

Clara, I cant live without you. Youre everything to me.

By morning, forty-three messages had arrived, each one longer than the last, some begging, some threatening, each overflowing with drama.

If you dont come back, I dont know what Ill do.

Mum says youre just fussing.

Ill wait for you. Always.

The next week, he started lurking outside her office. Clara would go for lunch and spot him by the sandwich shop next door; leave for the Tube after work and see him on the opposite pavement.

Just passing by, he smiled when Clara demanded an explanation. Wanted to see you, thats all.

One evening, the doorbell rang at Laurens flat. Expecting her pizza delivery, Clara opened it without checking.

Daniel stood there clutching a bouquet of red roses.

One chance, he whispered. Just one. Thats all Im asking.

Clara closed the door in silence. He waited outside for two hours, loud enough that neighbours threatened to call the police.

She learned to live with itlike people learn to live with chronic pain. Not reading texts, not answering calls from unknown numbers, not looking over her shoulder in the street. She changed jobs to remote work at another company, moved to a quieter neighbourhood where she knew Daniel wouldnt just wander by.

Three months later, the divorce was final. Clara left the courthouse with the papers clutched in her hands, crying at the stepsnot for loss, but for relief.

The first months of freedom were terrifying in their emptiness. Clara had grown used to second-guessing every choice, even if the other person would always do as they pleased. Now she could buy any yoghurt in the shop without wondering if Elaine would approve. Watch any film, without being told, Real women dont watch that sort of thing. Breathe, finally.

She signed up for English classesa lifelong dream, but Daniel always called it a waste of money. Began morning yoga, starting before sunrise as the city woke. Took a weekend trip to Brighton alone, no plan, just wandering and sampling fudge.

Six months passed; the calls stopped. The texts, too. Clara waited for trouble for another month, then another, finally believing she could really relax. She found work at a marketing agencya lively office, young team, interesting projects. Life fell back into place.

She met Andrew at a company party, dragged along by her colleague Martha.

Hes our lead developer, Martha introduced the tall guy in slim glasses. Andrew, meet Clara from marketing.

He shook Claras hand firmly but kindly. Smiled in an easy way, not trying to impress.

Escaped the karaoke too, did you? he nodded towards the stage, where the finance director bungled an Elvis tune.

Protecting my nerves, Clara grinned.

They talked the whole eveningbooks, travel, the weird twists and turns of life. Andrew listened more than he spoke, asked questions and waited for real answers. Never tried to lecture, never told her how to live. When he learned she was divorced, he simply nodded and changed topics.

Six months later, they moved in togetherchoosing a small, bright flat in Woolwich, with high ceilings, overlooking a peaceful courtyard.

Youre sure you like this place? Clara asked as they toured before signing the lease. Want to see any others?

Do you like it? Andrew turned to her.

Yes. Very much.

Then its settled.

Little thingsthe right to an opinion that actually matteredturned out more precious than any declarations of love.

He proposed on their rooftop as the sun set, sky awash in pink and gold. Produced a small boxa ring, shining diamond inside.

Im useless at speeches, Andrew confessed. But I want to wake up next to you every day. If you can cope with my snoring and revolting coffee habit

Clara laughed through fresh tears and nodded

On an ordinary May evening, Andrew was stuck at worka blazing deadline, urgent bug in the code. Clara prepared pasta in the kitchen, humming along to the radio, when the doorbell rang, sharp and insistent.

She checked the spyholeand recoiled.

Daniel was on the landing, pale, dark circles beneath his eyes, shirt creased and tired. Two quiet yearsand yet, here he was.

Clara, open up! he hammered the door. I know youre in there! We need to talk!

She grabbed her mobile, dialled Andrews numberbusy.

We love each other! Daniel yelled through the door. You cant be with someone else! Its wrong!

He rattled the door, pushing against it as if trying to force it open. Clara braced her back against the door, feet planted on the floor.

Go away! Ill call the police!

Youre my wife! his voice broke with desperation. You were mine and you will be again! I waited two years for you to come to your senses! Two years!

Were divorced! Its over!

Its not over! he shoved harder, and Clara barely kept the door shut. Ive changed! Mum says you just dont understand your own happiness! Open up, lets talk!

In the peephole she could see his facetwisted and obsessed, nothing like the man shed once shared a bed with.

Clara pulled out her phone and dialled 999.

Daniel! One call and the police will be here. Leave. Now.

Daniel froze. After a tense moment, he spun round and stormed off down the stairs. The door slammed below.

Clara slid down to the floor, heart pounding. Only half an hour later did she feel steady enough to ring Andrew.

The police accepted her statement the next day. The officera grey-moustached old genttook the details, listened, nodded.

Well sort it. Hell get a warning.

What he told Daniel, Clara never knew, but after that her ex-husband vanished. No calls, no messages, no accidental encounters.

The wedding was in early June, at a little country restauranttwenty guests, close friends only. No fuss, no grooms relatives insisting on tradition.

Clara stood across from Andrew in a simple white dress, holding his warm hands in hers. The birch trees whispered outside, the scent of flowers and freshly cut grass filled the room.

Do you? the registrar began.

I do, Clara interrupted, making the guests laugh.

Andrew slipped a slender gold ring onto her finger, engraved inside with three words: Forever with you.

Clara looked up at the man who would be her husband. Not a mummys boy, not a determined stalker. Just someone who could listen, respect, and love. And ahead lay a life where her voice finally mattered.