Eleanor Whitmore gently lifted her daughters wedding dress from the cedar wardrobe and smoothed its ivory silk. A sheen of tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. It had been only three months since the grand celebration in London, and Emilynow without husband, without smile, without any faith in happinesshad trudged back through the front door.
Mother, may I come live with you again? Emily asked, voice trembling, a pair of battered suitcases at her feet.
Eleanor wrapped her arms around the girl, helped her set the bags down, and held the question at bay. Something in her daughters life had shattered beyond repair.
Now that Emily was back at her clerical job, Eleanor could not escape the bitter recollections. Everything had begun so beautifully.
Emily had met Andrew at a New Years office party at the firms Manchester branch. A colleague had coaxed her there so she wouldnt spend the holiday alone. She had resisted at first, but finally yielded.
A tall, darkhaired man with warm hazel eyes had captivated her instantly. He courted her with fresh roses, crafted intimate evenings, and showered her with gentle attentions. Unable to resist such fervor, Emily fell in love. Six months later, Andrew lowered himself to one knee in the middle of The Rose restaurant, before the entire assembly.
Emily, will you be my wife? he asked, his voice earnest, extending a velvet box that cradled a modest sapphire.
She blushed, a shy smile flitting across her face. She had never imagined a proposal, though she sometimes allowed herself to dream. The room hushed, and she whispered, Yes.
Thus began the whirlwind preparations for the wedding. Andrew was insistent on a lavish affair.
My love, a wedding only comes once. Lets make it perfect, he urged, eyes alight.
Emily would have preferred a modest gathering, yet she yielded to his wishes. He demanded an expensive venue, invited scores of his friends and colleaguesmost of whom Emily had never met.
Eleanor recalled a quiet kitchen conversation.
Darling, arent you rushing? Youve known him barely a while, she had asked gently.
Dont worry, Mum. Im twentyeight; why wait? Andrew is so attentive, I could not ask for a better husband, Emily had replied, bright with optimism.
Now she returned home with a dimmed gaze. What had gone wrong?
Andrew moved into Emilys onebedroom flat the night after the ceremony, claiming he no longer needed to pay rent because his wife already owned a home.
My dear, Ive started saving for our own house. Well endure this cramped space a while longer, then buy something spacious, he said, planting a kiss on her temple.
Emily, unwilling to begin their marriage with money talks, agreed. Soon she learned that Andrew had lost his job before the wedding.
Why didnt you tell me? Emily demanded, hearing the news from a mutual acquaintance.
I didnt want to ruin the wedding mood, he shrugged. Im still hunting for work, dont worry.
Weeks passed and Andrew made no effort. He rose late, spent most days at a laptop pretending to send out résumés, and spent evenings out with mates. Emily worked long hours in the accounts department, returning home exhausted, the bulk of household chores falling to her.
Perhaps you could take a temporary job while you look for something permanent? she suggested cautiously.
You expect me to be a delivery boy or a porter? he snapped. I have a degree and experience; I wont lower myself to such work.
One evening Emily arrived home early. From the hallway she saw a silhouette behind the curtains. She climbed the stairs, heard raucous laughter, and opened the door with her key to find a boisterous crowd in her modest flatempty bottles, greasy snacks, blaring music.
Emily! We were just having a few drinks with the lads, Andrew grinned, trying to embrace her.
The smell of alcohol hung heavy. Emily scanned the mess, the dirty dishes, and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door and weeping. What had become of her life?
The next morning, after the guests had stumbled out and Andrew lay snoring, Emily discovered her gold earringsgift from her parents on her eighteenth birthdaymissing from the little jewellery box. She roused Andrew.
Where are my earrings? she demanded.
What earrings? he muttered groggily.
The golden pair that were in the box.
Andrew winced, sitting up.
Theyre I borrowed them. I needed a quick loan from an old jeweller friend, planned to repay immediately.
You sold my earrings? she gasped.
Not sold pawned! We need money, I was going to get it back.
Wheres the money? Emily pressed.
We went to the pub with the boys, he replied, turning away.
Emily sank onto a chair, realizing her husband had squandered family funds and even mortgaged her personal belongings to keep drinking. She had been saving for a new sofa.
The problems snowballed. It emerged that Andrew had taken out several loans before the wedding, never mentioned to Emily, leaving her to shoulder the repayments. He offered endless excuses for his unemployment and began insinuating that she should work harder.
Andrew, this cant go on, Emily said one night. We need to talk seriously.
What about? he snapped, eyes still glued to his phone.
My life. I work from dawn till dusk, pay the rent, buy groceries, and you she faltered.
Speak, then, he growled, his tone turning threatening.
You make no effort to improve our situation, she finished quietly.
Andrew sprang up, throwing his phone aside.
Youre accusing me over a slice of bread? Do you expect me to work for pennies, be humiliated, and be called a wife? he roared. The argument left the air thick with tension.
Afterward Emily lingered longer at work, trying to shrink the time she spent under his roof. She regretted the haste of their marriage.
Andrew grew increasingly irritable, shouting over the slightest mishap. One afternoon, when Emily forgot his favourite orange juice, he erupted.
You never think of me! I asked for a simple juice, is that too much to remember? he bellowed, pacing the room.
Im exhausted, Im sorry, Emily whispered, a chill crawling up her spine. She had never seen him so ferocious.
Everyone ignores my requests! he slammed his fist on the table, causing Emily to flinch. A call from his friends wife quickly softened his mood; he smiled, took the handset, and stepped onto the balcony.
Day by day the situation worsened. Money seemed to evaporate faster. One night Emily checked her bank statement and saw a large sum withdrawn at a nightclubthe very night Andrew claimed to have spent at a mates flat.
Why are you tracking me? he snapped when she confronted him with the record.
What money are you spending it on? Emily asked softly.
Does it matter? Were a family, everythings shared, he retorted.
Something finally cracked inside Emily. She realised the man she had fallen for was a façade crafted during the courting months; the real Andrew was lazy, irresponsible, perhaps even deceitful.
The last straw arrived with her mothers heirloom ring. Eleanor had given Emily a rubyset family ring, passed down through generations of women. Emily kept it in a tiny velvet box. When she intended to wear it for her aunts jubilee, the box lay empty.
Her heart stopped. Andrew, have you seen Mums ring? she demanded.
He avoided her gaze, muttering, I needed cash urgently. A friend fell into trouble; I couldnt refuse. Ill repay, I promise.
Emily sank into a chair. The truth was plain: there was no friend, no job hunt. He had simply used her, lived off her money, sold her possessions.
I want a divorce, she whispered.
Andrews face twisted.
You cant do that to me! Im your husband! We swore to stand together in sorrow and joy!
Sorrow was plenty, Emily replied bitterly. Joy I never tasted.
Youll regret this! he threatened.
Fear seized her. That evening, while Andrew was out with his mates, she packed the essentials and fled to her parents home, breaking down as she recounted the entire nightmare to her mother.
Why didnt I listen to you, Mum? You warned me not to rush, she sobbed.
Eleanor stroked her daughters hair, soothing, Itll be alright, love. Youll find happiness again, I promise.
A week later, when Emily returned for the remaining belongings, a shocking scene awaited. The flat was turned upside downappliances gone, jewellery vanished, even some clothing missing. Andrew had stripped anything of value and vanished.
Emily sank onto the floor amid the wreckage and, absurdly, laugheda harsh, bitter chuckle. Her marriage lay in ruins, as did the oncecozy home.
A month passed. Emily filed for divorce; Andrew never appeared in court, rumored to have fled to another town. She was left to repay the loans he had taken, forged signatures and all.
Eleanor carefully folded the wedding dress back into the wardrobe, wondering whether Emily might one day wear a white gown again, this time beside a worthy man. For now, that thought rested as a quiet reminder of a mistake not to repeat.
That evening, after Emilys long shift, Eleanor brewed a pot of tea and said, You know, dear, a wedding is just a single day. True happiness is built over years, with someone who deserves it.
Emily managed a faint smile. I understand now, Mum. Better to be alone than with someone who makes you miserable.
Each day she took small steps toward a new lifetaking a second job to clear the debts, enrolling in a nighttime accounting course, strolling through Hyde Park on weekends, meeting old friends she had abandoned during the marriage.
One afternoon, while leafing through an old photo album, she came upon the wedding pictures. There she stood, radiant in white, bouquet in hand, Andrew smiling beside her. She had once believed in a fairytale. Emily stared at the image, then tore it apart.
The act was symbolic; she shredded not only the photograph but also the illusion that happiness could be bought like a wedding cake. True contentment, she learned, must be built brick by brick, day by day, beginning with oneself.
That night, for the first time in many months, Emily fell asleep with a lighter heart. She did not know what the future held, but she vowed never again to live by others expectations or to rush into decisions. One day she might create a real, strong, happy family. For now, she was learning to be content alone, for happiness is not a stamp in a passport or a white dress; it is a state of the soul, independent of marital status. And she promised herself to walk that path, slowly but surely.
