A Holiday for Happiness
We spend all year dreaming of a holiday, preparing for it, hoping it will leave us happy. But often, the opposite happens…
Back in May, James and Emily began planning their getaway. They debated destinations, accommodation—everything. Emily longed for the golden sands of Brighton, where the shallow water stretched for nearly a mile, warm and inviting. Perfect for little Tommy.
“You really want to bring the kid?” James asked flatly.
“You say that like he’s only mine. Yes, I do. What’s the problem? People travel with babies all the time.”
“Only if they have no one to leave them with. We do. Ask your mum to look after him—you know she won’t refuse. Otherwise, we’ll drag all the sleepless nights, nappies, and tantrums along. What kind of holiday would that be?”
Emily agreed with him, but she couldn’t imagine being apart from her son for ten whole days.
Her mum sided with James.
“Go alone, love. You’ll just tire yourselves out with him at this age, and he won’t even remember it.”
“Look at this hotel I found. And the view? You can see the sea from the higher floors,” James said, turning the laptop towards her.
“What does the view matter? You’re going to the seaside, not staring at it from a hotel window,” Emily replied. “It’s all pebbles there—no lounging about.”
“What do you think the sun loungers are for? At least we won’t be dragging sand back into the room.”
James always had a counterargument. And Emily always gave in because she loved him madly. What did it matter where they went, what the beach was like, as long as they were together? In their two and a half years of marriage, nothing had changed.
“I think flying’s best. More expensive, but quicker,” James said.
Emily, meanwhile, agonised over leaving Tommy. He was little but bright—he’d soon notice her absence, miss her, cry. Would her mum cope?
“So, shall I book it?” His voice snapped her out of it.
“Yes, of course.”
They saw everything differently, even family. James had lost his parents young, raised by his grandparents instead. His grandad passed just as he finished school; his nan followed two years later.
When they met, James had already been living alone. Emily moved in almost straight away, and they fixed up the flat together, building their nest. Everyone envied her.
“Lucky you, Em. Handsome bloke, and with his own place—no nightmare mother-in-law either. Don’t get too cocky, or someone’ll steal him,” her best mate teased.
“Oh, like you?” Emily laughed.
“Well, I’m not bad myself.”
The first disappointment came a month after the wedding, just before Emily’s birthday, when James flatly refused to invite her mum.
“Our friends are coming. She’d be bored.”
“It’s her day too. She gave birth to me, raised me. How am I supposed to tell her?”
“Invite her the next day. We’ll have tea and cake.”
Emily hated it but loved James too much to argue. Her mum never let on if she was hurt. She came the next day, bringing a beautiful tea set. James showered her in compliments, kissed her cheek, thanked her for raising Emily. Crisis averted.
And so it went—every celebration filled with James’s mates. Many still lived with their parents or in rented flats. Her mum wasn’t invited.
“If you love someone, you take them as they are. He grew up without parents; he doesn’t get family,” her mum said. “Don’t fight over me. It’s just a birthday. A wife must be patient. Start quarrelling, and it never ends well. You’ve got a son—he needs his dad. And raising a child alone is hard, trust me.”
Emily left Tommy with her mum and dashed around the shops. Post-pregnancy weight clung to her, dresses no longer fit, and she needed a new swimsuit. One day, she twirled in front of the mirror in a new sundress.
“Like it? Once I’ve tanned, it’ll look amazing.”
“Meh. It washes you out. Makes you look bigger,” James said, barely glancing up.
Ice shot through her. She turned back to the mirror, scrutinising herself. Pre-wedding, she’d been slim, light, bright. Breastfeeding had softened her.
“You used to love that my chest got bigger,” she muttered, already hating the dress.
“Don’t be sensitive. But the colour’s wrong.”
As the trip neared, Emily packed slowly, savouring every moment with Tommy. Regret gnawed at her—they should’ve waited, gone together next year. The sea would’ve been good for him. But soon, she told herself. When he’s older, James would teach him to swim. Unless…
She shoved the thought away. Where had that come from? They’d never even properly argued. They loved each other. “No what-ifs,” she ordered herself.
She ate less, checked the mirror daily. Even if she slimmed down, she’d never be the girl James fell for.
On the way to the airport, they dropped Tommy at her mum’s. James tapped his foot as Emily smothered the boy in kisses.
“Enough. You’re saying goodbye like it’s forever,” her mum said, taking him. “Look, he’s getting upset—he senses it. Go, before he starts crying.”
James beamed like a child. On the plane, he flirted with the stewardesses. Emily had noticed it before—any attractive woman nearby, and he turned on the charm. Married barely any time, and already his eyes wandered. What next?
“Em, want juice? Em!” he called.
“No.”
“Stop moping. Tommy’s fine with your mum. We’ll bring him seashells…”
She forced a smile, pushing the gloom aside.
The hotel room was small but comfortable, air-conditioned, the sea just steps away.
“Freedom!” James cheered, sweeping her up, spinning her, dropping her onto the bed. “Right, let’s hit the beach!” He bounced up.
“Sure. Just let me change…”
The beach was packed, bodies bronzed dark. Emily hesitated before stripping down to her swimsuit.
“Come on. The faster you tan,” James said, peeling off his jeans. His pale legs almost glowed, but he didn’t care—or pretended not to. She undressed, grateful for the high-waisted swimsuit hiding her belly. She envied the long-legged girls with perfect figures.
The sea was warm, gentle. Children splashed in rubber sandals. “Tommy would struggle here…” she thought.
Of course, she burned fast. James barely left the sand. She felt guilty. At lunch, his eyes trailed every passing girl. That night, he pulled her close, kissing her.
“Careful—it hurts,” she whispered.
His touch burned. He rolled away, staring at the ceiling.
“James, it’s not my fault—”
He turned sharply to the wall.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. We’ll lose the sunbeds again,” he whispered the next morning.
The argument seemed forgotten. But her skin screamed—she needed a break. Too scared to say so, she covered up with a long skirt and thin blouse.
On the beach, she slathered on sunscreen, but the sun scorched through. Chills prickled her skin.
“James, let’s go back. I’m burning.”
“We didn’t come here to sit inside. Shouldn’t have baked yesterday,” he snapped.
“I wanted to tan faster. I’m leaving. Stay if you want.”
He wasn’t listening—his eyes locked onto two girls in skimpy bikinis and sunhats.
“I’m going.” She lingered, hoping he’d follow. When he didn’t, she stumbled over the pebbles alone.
He returned two hours later, grinning.
“Starving. Quick shower, then dinner.”
She brightened, dressing carefully—even fabric hurt.
At the restaurant, the bikini girls were there. James kept glancing over.
“They’re pretty,” Emily said.
“What?”
“The girls. Pretty. I need a hat—my nose is fried.”
She pictured the scene: her husband ogling strangers. Appetite gone. She felt awful.
“I’ll go. Think I’ve got a fever.”
He chased her outside.
“What’s this stunt?”
“You really don’t see it?” She stopped. “You’re making me feel like trash. Yes, they’re slim. For now. After kids, they’ll look like me—or worse. And you stared right in front of me.”
“Don’t make a scene,” he hissed.
Silence all the way back. In the room, he flopped onto the bed, arms behind his head.
She cracked. “I’m jealous.”
“You’re right—we should’ve stayed home,” he said, standing.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.She watched him walk away, knowing this holiday had broken something between them forever.
