Emma Thompson was left on her own far too early. Her father had died years before, and while she was in her final year at university her mother slipped away. It was a rough patch thesis deadline looming and grief hanging over her like a soggy blanket. The only steady hand she had was Jamess parents, the Smiths, who had become her defacto family.
Emma and James had been classmates since the third year, and the Smiths Margaret and Peter always treated her like one of their own, with a warm smile and a cup of tea. Everyone was counting down to graduation and the day theyd tie the knot.
The wedding was modest, and Lucy as Emmas closest friend liked to call her was heartbroken that her mum hadnt lived to see the ceremony. She also remembered her mothers parting words: Before you walk down the aisle, darling, get a proper health checkup.
Emma knew exactly why her mother had warned her. As a child shed taken a nasty tumble down an icy slide, ending up with a serious injury that doctors feared might affect her future ladyparts. They kept an eye on her, but nobody could give a definitive answer. Not exactly comforting.
True to her mothers advice, Emma underwent another checkup before the wedding. While overall she was on the mend, the question of whether she could ever have a child remained unresolved.
She first broached the topic with Margaret. After a moment of thought she said, If theres even the tiniest chance, dont lose hope now. Ill have a word with James.
After the stagnight, a slightly tipsy James dropped by, eyes glum. Lucy, I really want kids, you understand? What if we cant? Would that still be a family? he blurted.
Tears welled up in Emmas eyes and she replied that the decision was his, but they could at least try. The doctors left a sliver of hope, and James was the only man shed ever truly loved.
The first year of marriage brought no baby news. Margaret, who had taken to Emma like a daughter, worried just as much. The couple threw every ounce of effort into keeping their marriage afloat and even enrolled Emma in the Brighton Womens Shield programme, a treatment that had helped many others.
Unfortunately, the programme didnt work either. Two years in, the reality set in: hope was fading. Emma felt desperate. James did what he could to support her, but tension crept into the house. He didnt blame her, yet he couldnt quite accept a childfree life either. Emma floated the idea of adoption: Lets take a little one in and raise them as our own.
James shut his mouth tight. I cant call a strangers child mine. I dont think I could love him the way a father should. He begged her to understand.
Strangely enough, the Smiths backed James. They knew how much he longed for a child and felt it would be cruel to let a baby grow up unloved.
Emma herself hinted at divorce, though she still loved James. Lets part ways, love. Youre young, youll find another wife and have kids. James didnt bite immediately, but when he met Olivia, a bright new colleague who had just started at the office, he felt a spark.
The talk with Emma was painful for him; he saw it as betrayal, leaving her to the whims of fate. She answered, We each have our own destiny, James. You deserve a happier one. Dont blame yourself. That very evening, James packed his things and left the house. The Smiths dropped by, apologising for not steering James better, recalling the nights hed come home drunk and upset. They promised theyd never turn their backs on Emma, that shed always be like a daughter to them.
Emma thanked them, cried herself to sleep, and signed the papers. They split the assets quickly, and she stayed in the family flat shed shared with James. James remarried soon after.
Emma didnt stay single long. A charming, wellmeaning man named Paul entered her life, showering her with care. The catch? She simply didnt love him. Her exhusband haunted her dreams, looking sorrowful, his eyes sad, his hands reaching out but never quite touching. She fought the thoughts of James, yearning for a fresh start.
One winter, Emma fell seriously ill. After a dinner at Pauls, she felt a sudden weakness and by nightfall her temperature spiked. Paul called an ambulance and tended to her through the night. The next morning he was unusually quiet, caring for her without a word. When she finally felt better, he confessed, I barely left your side that night. You muttered his name, grabbed my hand, called him Jas, begged me not to go. Do you still love him?
Emma didnt sugarcoat. Yes. I think Im a oneheart sort of woman. Its hard, Paul. I cant build a relationship without love. She walked out, and Paul didnt argue.
A few weeks later Emma learned that James and Olivia had welcomed a longawaited son. That news punched her like a fresh winter wind. For three years she drifted in a fog, occasionally visited by the Smiths, who kept her spirits up. She held no grudge against them or James.
One day she saw James playing with his son in a park. He didnt notice her, and tears rolled down her cheeks a mix of unrequited love and bitter fate.
Gradually, Emma began to pull herself together. The best part was that James seemed genuinely happy. The Smiths spoke of his caring wife, though they kept a polite distance. They adored his little boy, Eddie, and asked Emma not to bear any ill will.
Yes, I hold no anger, Emma told them. He never lied to me. He loved in his own way. Im the one who pushed for the divorce.
On her birthday, James called out of the blue, just as a friendly old mate would. He congratulated her, asked about her life, and wished her happiness. She laughed it off as the Smiths clever nudging, though the call tipped her off balance again. She decided it was better not to keep in touch.
A year later tragedy struck: Olivia fell ill. Margaret phoned, sobbing, saying there was little hope left. She mourned Jamess son and grandson, and Emma, though not close, felt a pang of sorrow.
At the cemetery, Emma lingered behind the crowd, not quite sure why shed come. The former motherinlaw approached, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and whispered, Thank you, love. No malice in you, no glee at misfortune. James never noticed her then.
Months later James rang again, brief and tentative, asking if he could drop by. Emma, though weary, let him in he seemed aged beyond his years, his youthful vigor faded. They sat down to a modest meal and chatted about life.
Why havent you married again? he asked. Emma replied simply, I still love you. I dont need anyone else. Jamess eyes welled up a rare sight.
Lets swing by my parents; Eddies there, I need to pick him up. Then maybe we could take a walk, if youre up for it. The boy was a sweet, shy lad, understandably withdrawn after losing his mother so young. Emma tried to stay neutral, not crowding him, while he stared at her with curiosity.
Their meetings turned into a regular weekend ritual no strings, no promises, just two people easing each others loneliness.
Then Margaret called, saying James was thinking of asking Emma to come back. He was still wrestling with his feelings, and Eddie was suffering too. Emma rang James straight away and said, Im in. There was no one else shed rather be with. They moved back together, though it wasnt smooth. James remained distant, hard to read, and Emma had to learn how to love a child not her own.
One of Emmas birthdays, little Eddie handed her a crayon drawing of the three of them under a sunny sky, with a childsized hand scribbling Mum above her head. She burst into tears, hugging the boy, and said, Your mum watches over you from above, proud of the wonderful lad youre becoming. I love you too. Youre my son now.
They live together happily. James thawed, accepted Emmas love, and returned to his former, caring self. Emma finally found the happiness shed chased for years in solitude.
She never was deeply religious, but occasionally shed pop into a church and light a candle for the woman whod left this world, yet given her a beloved son and a caring husband.
