Where Is the Love?
Emily was a lively, playful, and charming girl. Men always buzzed around her, but she took her time—choosing carefully. The older she got, the higher her standards became.
Her mother had raised her alone, and Emily knew all too well what it meant to count every penny. She didn’t have the luxuries her friends and classmates did, so she vowed to marry a man who could provide for her.
Then she met the man of her dreams—handsome, intelligent, successful, with money, a flat in London, and a sleek car. What more could she want? A prince, in every sense. Of course, she fell for him. Emily was pretty, but she had little else to offer except her youth and beauty—a commodity she didn’t yet realize was fleeting.
She was smitten. How could she not be? He doted on her, fulfilled her whims, and everyone around her watched with envy.
Confident he’d impress her mother, Emily brought him home. What mother wouldn’t want the best for her daughter? What could be better? She’d live in luxury, never worrying about money again. But once he left, her mother spoke her mind.
“He’s a catch, no doubt—but what does he see in you? You’re young and pretty, but so are countless others. Why you? Oh, love, I’d rather you chose a simpler man. You’re from different worlds. He’s much older, likely divorced with children. Don’t roll your eyes—happiness isn’t just about money. Mark my words, you won’t be happy with him.”
“We’ll see,” Emily snapped. “He divorced years ago. His son lives abroad.”
“You’ll bend over backward trying to match his expectations. Remember Cinderella? The prince fell for her at the ball when she was dazzling. That’s a fairytale. In reality, she’d be scrubbing floors while he discussed politics. You don’t speak the same language—interests, goals, backgrounds. One day, society will push him toward someone of his own class, and he’ll resent you. He’s playing with you. Soon, he’ll toss you aside.”
“I expected you to be happy for me. But you’re never satisfied. So what? Should I never marry, just because it might end?”
“I’m not against it, but—”
“If I marry a regular man, does that guarantee we won’t divorce? I’ve made up my mind. I’ll be happy as long as it lasts. At least I’ll know what it’s like not to worry about money.”
“Maybe you’re right,” her mother sighed. “I hope your happiness lasts.”
Emily savored the envious glances women gave her when David picked her up from work, his expensive car turning heads. He chose her—that meant love. Love smoothed out all cracks, didn’t it?
David proposed with a stunning diamond ring—seven carats, elegant and extravagant. Her head spun with love. No, their story wouldn’t end like her mother feared. Emily was sure of it.
When the time came to pick a wedding dress, she hesitated. The prices terrified her. They planned a boutique visit, but work held David up. He handed her his card—”Buy the best. Don’t hold back.”
She didn’t invite her mother. She’d gasp at every price tag. And without a close friend to advise her, Emily went alone.
Rows of ivory gowns dazzled her—like stepping into a fairytale. But the first price tag made her stomach twist. Three months’ salary. She felt like an imposter.
When the saleswoman approached, smirking, Emily stiffened. The woman saw right through her. Gathering herself, she described her dream dress—the one she’d sketched since childhood.
The assistant showed her breathtaking designs. Emily ignored the prices. David said not to scrimp. But choosing was agonizing—each more perfect than the last. She lost herself in the fittings, the staff’s smiles warming from condescending to admiring.
How liberating—spending without counting. If only David were here, sipping coffee like in the films, nodding as she modeled each dress.
She finally chose one—flawless, hugging her curves. To spare her mother shock—and keep David from peeking—she left it at the boutique until the wedding.
The ceremony was lavish—a countryside manor, fireworks, a live orchestra under the stars.
“Lucky girl,” coworkers cooed. “Such a husband!”
“Lucky? Handsome? Wealthy? He’s so much more,” Emily laughed, floating on cloud nine.
Disillusionment struck fast. Before, they dined out nightly. Now David barely left home.
“Work is exhausting,” he’d grumble, glued to his laptop.
Emily missed dressing up, being desired. Now she donned an apron, cooking while he worked.
When she ordered takeaway, he ate heartily—never guessing, never complaining.
His attentions only returned when she got pregnant. He offered a maid. She refused, glowing with pride.
After a smooth birth, she poured herself into motherhood, her body softening. David grimaced at her worn robe.
“Easier for breastfeeding,” she mumbled.
His lingering glances grew cold. He worked later.
“You lost interest after the baby,” she accused.
“I offered help,” he said flatly.
“There’s someone else.”
His silence confirmed it. “You’ve let yourself go. I give you plenty—why not take care of yourself?”
“Our son matters more than my waistline!”
Arguments multiplied. David vanished more often. Emily, seething with jealousy, finally packed her bags and called her mother.
“Can I stay with you?”
“Why? Renovations?”
“Something like that.”
“Of course.”
David came home to emptiness. He called—pleading, then threatening.
“The flat’s mine. You’ll get nothing but child support.” He hung up.
Emily sobbed. Was this the marriage she wanted? Where had love gone? Had it ever existed?
Her mother’s cramped flat felt stifling.
“I warned you… We’ll manage,” she sighed.
A divorce notice arrived by post. No court, no warning.
Time passed. Her son started nursery. Emily returned to work, slimming back into her old self. Men circled, but she ignored them. Her heart needed mending.
Her mother lamented her “mistake,” chiding her for depriving her son of a father.
Emily threw herself into work. No love life? Fine. She climbed the ladder—strict, independent. Within two years, she bought her own flat.
“This isn’t right,” her mother fretted. “A boy needs a father. You’re too focused on work.”
“There’s no one worth marrying. They see me as a meal ticket, not a woman. Where is the love?”
Then James joined the company—young, handsome, Oxford-educated. He pursued her relentlessly. She laughed him off. A boy? No.
But nature won’t be denied. Colleagues warned him—”She rejects everyone.”
“We’ll see,” he said.
One rainy evening, he offered her a ride home. She agreed. At her door, he kissed her. She trembled—long-starved for affection. She warned him: no commitments, no gossip, or she’d sack him. Then she invited him for coffee—her son at her mother’s.
They met occasionally. Against her will, she fell for him.
One dinner, James waved at someone.
“Look—my dad. He’ll love you.”
Before she could protest, he was gone.
Her stomach dropped.
“Emily, this is my father, David Prescott. And this is my—”
Emily looked up. Older, but still striking. David paled.
“You? Here to torment me?”
“Dad, what?” James looked between them.
“You never mentioned a son,” Emily said coldly.
“From my first marriage. I was young, foolish. Divorced long ago.” David’s eyes bored into hers. “She’s my ex-wife. He’s just a boy. Leave him alone.”
“Don’t you want to ask about your other son?”
“You have a son?” James gaped.
“Your brother,” Emily said, glaring at David. “Almost ten. Your father left when I gained weight, took up with others. Mailed the divorce papers. Never visited. Never cared.”
James looked shattered. David scowled.
“You’ve changed. You and my son—you realize that’s impossible?”
“Why? You mean nothing to me. I’ll take what I want.” She stormed out.
David held James back. “She’ll destroy you.”
In the taxi, she wept. Fate’s cruel joke. She liked James—but David was right. It could never work.
The next day, David appeared at her door. Her mother had given the address. Seeing his son, he froze—the boy was his mirror. He’d brought a toy, expecting a toddler. The child took it politely and set it aside.
Then James arrived. The air thickened with tension.
The men argued until Emily shouted, “Both of you—out!”
Alone, she sorted her emotionsShe realized that love wasn’t found in wealth or revenge, but in letting go and choosing herself first.
