THE HEART BEATS AGAIN
Emily had her little Lily by some nameless man. Slipped up before marriage, you might say.
Oh, there’d been a young man courting her ardently. Never proposed, though. But he was dazzlingly handsome, impeccably polite. Emily would loop her arm through his and stride past the pensioners—those sunflower-headed old ladies perched by the entryway, turning like flowers tracking the sun after every passing soul.
This young man didn’t work. Preferred to flutter through life like a butterfly. Emily fed him, housed him, tucked him into bed. Would’ve laid herself down as a floral carpet under his feet if he’d asked.
Then one bright morning, he announced Emily bored him stiff—that she didn’t cherish him properly. Honestly, if she loved him, she might’ve taken him to the seaside just once…
Emily wept for a week. Then tore up the photos of her “unloved” and burned them. A month of solitary misery passed before she met William.
…One rushed morning, Emily was late for work, fretting at the bus stop when a cab pulled up beside her. The driver swung the door open and offered her a ride. Without hesitation, she leapt in.
He struck up conversation. Emily sized him up immediately—a man in his forties, neatly shaved, sharply dressed, ironed crisp. But it was his old-fashioned chivalry that charmed her most. His entire bearing whispered a woman’s attentive touch—his mother’s, Emily guessed.
William (as he introduced himself) was the opposite of her first mistake. She gave him her number without a second thought. Wanted to see him again. The only time she ever rode a cab for free.
…They began courting. William showered her with flowers, gifts, tender affection.
One spring afternoon, strolling through the woods, Emily gathered snowdrops. William, amused by her delight, joined in. Their bounty collected, Emily settled into the car with her little bouquet.
William placed his own armful carefully in the backseat. “For his wife,” Emily thought. Didn’t dare ask. What if he was married? Half a year with this gentleman had grown on her. So she chose sweet delusion. Said nothing…
Until William’s wife appeared at her doorstep with two toddlers in tow.
“There you are, love—raise these,” the woman said brightly. “They do adore their dad!”
Stunned, Emily could only whisper, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’ve no wish to break up a family. Won’t nest under another’s roof.”
That evening, she sent the “married man” packing.
…Next came Irakli. A Georgian whirlwind. His romance with Emily was fleeting—swept in like a storm, vanished just as fast.
They’d met at a friend’s birthday party. Irakli charmed the quiet girl effortlessly. Emily surrendered to his charisma.
He won her with his boundless generosity, that relentless optimism. With him, gloom had no place—endless outings, relentless cheer. Emily would’ve followed him anywhere. But alas…
For a year, Irakli carried Emily in his arms. Then left for Georgia. Never took to England—climate didn’t suit him, or his ailing mother called him back…
Emily felt discarded. Unwanted. “Enough tears. I’ll live alone.”
Just as she resigned herself to solitude, she learned new life grew within her. The news staggered her! Whose child was this? How would she manage? How not lose her mind?
…A girl was born. Emily named her Veronica. The child became her world. Veronica favored Irakli—same dark curls, same enchanting smile. Oddly, this comforted Emily. Perhaps because she’d loved him like no other. Gazing at Lily, she recalled those carefree days.
Sometimes despair clawed at her—envy toward wedded friends. But raising Lily left no time for weeping.
…On Lily’s first day of school, she was seated beside a boy named Oliver. Instant dislike. He called her “curly dunce.”
Their feud forced the teacher to separate them. Yet at every break, scuffles erupted.
Emily marched to school, demanding why her daughter came home scratched.
Flustered, the teacher gave Oliver’s address. “Sort it with his parents.”
Emily stormed over at once.
…A man answered, drying his hands on a towel slung round his neck.
“Here for me? Come in—coffee’s brewing. Just need to feed my little demon,” he chuckled, darting to the kitchen.
Emily stepped into a cramped flat. Clearly no woman’s touch—clutter everywhere, dust thick as fog, tobacco stench lingering.
“Good lord,” she thought.
He returned with a tray. Two steaming cups.
(That aroma would haunt her forever.)
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked.
“I’m Lily’s mother,” Emily began.
“Ah! Oliver’s smitten with your girl,” he grinned.
“And that’s why she’s scratched raw?” Emily countered.
“Wait—what?” Genuine confusion.
“I’ll leave you to sort your son. Thanks for the coffee.” She rose to leave.
“Count on it,” he assured.
Oliver sat silent in the kitchen.
That night, Emily couldn’t sleep. Something about that domestic man clung to her—that unforgettable coffee! Not one suitor had ever brewed her a cup. Champagne, wine, cocktails flowed aplenty. But coffee? Never. She yearned to know more.
Without realizing, Emily began redecorating his dismal flat in her mind—flinging open windows, arranging furniture, placing flowers on sills… Even that “little demon” seemed due a gentle head-pat.
Next morning, she urged Lily to play nice with Oliver.
Weeks passed…
At parents’ evening, she saw him again—confirmed no mother existed for Oliver. Why else would Dad attend?
This emboldened her.
Afterward, he offered to walk them home. December darkness fell early.
“Yes,” Emily said at once.
“James,” he introduced himself.
“Emily,” she replied, pulse quickening.
Clearly smitten, James proposed they ring in the New Year together.
Emily decided she’d nothing left to lose. Prince Charming had long stopped knocking.
“Once burned, twice shy” only lasts so long. Seven solitary years made her say yes.
Later, James confessed—divorced years prior. His ex had married his best friend. He’d kept Oliver.
Neither had guessed how desperately James would crave a woman’s warmth, how Oliver would ache for a mother. In time, James admitted he’d loved Emily since that first meeting.
He saw in her a devoted wife, a doting mother for his boy.
Emily and Lily moved in—but only after securing the children’s reluctant nods.
Life bloomed. James, overjoyed, moved mountains. They bought a spacious home. Emily tended house and children.
Lily and Oliver thrived. She cherished both equally. James adored Lily—treasured his girls fiercely.
…Years later, Lily and Oliver… married.
Emily and James blessed the unlikely union. The newlyweds jetted to Paris for their honeymoon. Emily suggested she and James escape to the coast.
He resisted.
“Buy yourself something nice instead, love.”
“James, we’ll finally be alone! Let’s taste freedom, just once!”
He relented.
A week in a seaside town—endless, cloudless joy. James outdid himself—flowers, sweet nothings, vows of eternal love…
On their last morning, they strolled the deserted beach at dawn. James kissed her softly.
“Emily, I love you. So much…”
“Just a quick dip before we go.”
She never saw him again.
Drowned.
Rescuers found nothing—the sea had been glass-calm.
…Emily returned hollow. The absurd tragedy upended her.
Why James? He swam like a fish. Why widowed at fifty-five? Why hadn’t she said “I love you too” on that beach?
Had he been saying goodbye? She hadn’t understood.
Endless “whys” hurled at the sky.
Emily shut down. Hated the sea. The world grayed. No grave to visit—just endless aching.
Better burn seven times than widow once. They say time heals. Lies. At best, it numbs. Scratch the surface—agony surges fresh. Memory won’t release its grip.
…Years on, Emily held two tiny hands—her grandchildren, Sophie and Henry. They ambled through autumn leaves, pausing at their usual café. Ice cream for the children. For her—that same coffee.
Its aroma spun her head gently. She could almost feel James beside her—watching, knowing.
…After decades of grief, acceptance came. She thanked fate for those twenty-five years of happiness.
Life ends. Love doesn’t.
