Mark, Im sorry to call at this hour, but Ive just lost my wife in a crash, I heard him slur, his breath reeking of whisky. The words hit me like a cold splash of water. Id invited him in despite the fact wed been at each others throats for a month. All our petty arguments melted away in the face of his grief, and I felt an ache of responsibilityafter all, wed been lovers, and Id shared a bed with him on more than one occasion.
He didnt say a thing, just shoved me onto the sofa and sat down beside me, his eyes swollen and darting. I didnt fight; I wanted to soothe him, to hold him, to let him forget the world for a moment. I swallowed the bitter taste of his arrogance, his selfishness, his cowardice. The night stretched on, restless and bitter. When dawn finally crept through the curtains, I roused him with a gentle shake. He stared at me, bewildered.
Emma, why am I here? Weve been, he began, his voice trembling with confusion.
I kept silent about the purpose of his midnight visit, guessing that his drunken ramblings about a late night accident were nothing more than a foggy lie. As he reached for his phone, the screen lit up with the name Jewelthe nickname he always used for his wife. He dropped the call, his gaze lingering on me, as if a fragment of memory was trying to surface.
You buried her yesterday, didnt you? I snapped. How could you joke about that? Get out, you wretched man! I shoved him toward the door and never saw him again.
Id been on my own since I was twenty, after my parents died one after another. I never rushed into marriage; suitors came and went like bees to honeycheap ones, generous ones, even married ones. Mark was the longestlasting of them all, simply because Id fallen deeply for him, despite knowing he already had a family. Soon I realized Mark was a born actor; lies, fantasies, and threehour stories were as easy to him as breathing. He still showered me with lavish roses, extravagant presents, wild nights, yet he never forgot his Jewel. I wouldnt have been shocked to learn he kept a handful of mistresses; his appetite for affection was insatiable. He was a smoothtalking cad, nothing more.
While my friends settled down, had children, and built stable lives, I kept seeing Mark, fully aware that there was no future with him. He would never leave his family, and our arguments grew sharper, more frequent, until finally his last reckless move slammed a final, heavy period over our shaky liaison. I was free again, searching for a sliver of happiness.
Thats when James appeared. He lived in a small town but worked in the city. We met on the commuter trainme heading to my aunts, him returning from work. He sat close, we struck up conversation, swapped numbers, and there was a spark. The crucial detail: he wasnt married. We started dating.
If I were to compare James with Mark, itd be night and day. James was frugal, rough around the edges, not particularly tender. Yet Id already learned to accept imperfections; why should I turn away now? He invited me to his cottage, saying, Mum wants to meet you. I was already pregnant, wedding plans fluttering in my mind, veil ready to be smoothed.
We arrived at his family home; the table groaned under a spread of hearty country fare. I could barely look at it; nausea seized me. My future motherinlaw, eyeing me disapprovingly, barked at James, Son, take the guest out onto the veranda, let her sit on the bench, then come back to the table. Her stare stripped any lingering hope.
The next morning James silently escorted me back to the train and disappeared into the house where his mother evidently found me unbearable. I hurried the wedding, but fate had other plans. Before I could even step through my front door, I was rushed to the hospital. A miscarriage. The doctor, seeing my tearstreaked face, offered cold comfort: Dont worry, love. If the babys not right, its better this way than to suffer a sick child later.
I thought, perhaps its for the bestJames and his mother will manage just fine. I ended the relationship with a calm detachment, feeling no regret.
Among my past lovers was a schoolmate, Edward. Hed been tracking me since we were teenagers, always a backup plan. He proposed marriage, but I kept silent. Years later, after hed married a woman with a child, the son was born, and a decade after that, Edward resurfaced, apologetic and pleading, Emma, I rushed into marriage too quickly; I want a divorce. He lingered at my door for coffee, stayed until dawn, complained about his wifes temperament, the clash of personalities, the dissonance in his life. I listened, nodded, offered a comforting touch. One evening, beaming like a freshly buttered toast, he announced, Emma, Ive just had a second son! Celebrate! I could barely hold back a sob, Congratulations but go, Edward, never return. That night I wept into my pillow, the tears bitter as bile.
My best friend, Rachel, seemed to have it allhusband, daughter, comfortable home. I envied her. When she confessed, Emma, Ive fallen for someone else. Hes married, two kids, Ive lost my mind, I warned, Dont ruin yours or his family. Youre chasing a fantasy, lovedrunk fool. She sobbed, I cant live without Darren, Ill throw everything away and fly to him! I tried to steer her back, but she turned away, and we drifted apart. She never called again.
One day, out of the blue, DarrenRachels husbandknocked on my door. Hey, Emma. Hows life? Still single? He sighed, Rachel left me. We talked through the night, and eventually, we slept together. He stayed for six months, and I tasted what I thought was happiness. Yet he never proposed; he left as abruptly as hed arrived, marrying an older colleague with a teenage daughter. Twenty years later, theyre still together, and Rachel is married to Darren, allegedly in a love story worthy of a novel. I cant swallow the notion that stolen happiness goes unpunished; two families suffered because of it.
I havent seen Rachel in over two decades. Ask me how Im faring? Ive spent my years mending broken, bruised wings, nursing the wounded, only to watch the men I cared for flap back to their own wives as time mercilessly slipped by. My grandmother used to say, Every girl has her seasonwhen its over, she fades. My season has come and gone. The carousel of my life has screeched to a halt. No princes wait at my window any longer. Ive adopted a pedigreed cat for company, a lone woman without children, a life that never quite fell into place.
