Happiness in Her Hands
Emily studied her reflection—the elongated face, sharp nose, thin lips, and those cold, steel-gray eyes. She was cursed with this face. The only thing she liked was her hair—jet-black and thick, with a long fringe hanging over her eyes.
“You take after your father. He was handsome, or I wouldn’t have fallen for him. British blood,” her mother would soothe. “You’ll understand when you’re older—you have refined beauty. Not everyone sees it.”
Emily barely remembered her father. He left before she turned two. But Uncle James—loud, red-faced, always laughing—she remembered well. He used to toss her in the air and bring sweets or cheap toys. She loved crawling onto his lap as a child, breathing in his scent—expensive cologne and fine whiskey, her mother later told her. Back then, her mother had seemed happy. That scent still lingered in Emily’s mind, the smell of a real man.
When she was older, she asked why they never married.
“He had a wife. A son,” her mother replied, voice thick with sorrow even years later.
Then came Uncle Michael. Emily despised him. He smelled of motor oil and stale socks—short, wiry, with a bulbous nose, sagging lips that never quite closed, and eyes that drooped mournfully. He rarely smiled, always arriving with a bottle of wine or whiskey and a bar of chocolate.
“Can’t have dinner without a drink. Helps unwind after a hard day’s work,” he’d say, ignoring Emily’s glare.
Her mother drank little at first, then more. Soon, she bought her own bottles. If Michael didn’t visit, she’d drink alone, crying in the kitchen. Emily wasn’t a child—she knew where this was heading.
One day, when her mother was out, she confronted him.
“Uncle Michael, are you married?”
He blinked rapidly, startled. “How did you know?”
“Leave. Now,” Emily demanded.
“Who do you think you are, ordering me about?” he snapped. “I came for your mother, not you.”
“Then you came for me too. And I don’t like you. Leave, or I’ll tell your wife everything,” she said coldly.
Whether he feared her or not, he never returned. Her mother wept, drank, and waited.
“That’s enough. If you don’t stop, I’ll walk out. Understand?” Emily snatched the bottle and poured it down the sink.
Her mother sobbed, blaming her for ruining her chance at love. But she stopped drinking. Once a striking redhead, her beauty had faded with age, her hair thinning and gray. Men stopped visiting—much to Emily’s relief—until none came at all.
After school, Emily enrolled in teacher training.
“With your looks, it’s a safe choice,” her mother once said bitterly.
She met Daniel at a university festival. He was kind, steady, never pushing for more than she was ready to give. When he proposed in their second year, she hesitated.
“It’s too soon. We’re students—how will we live?”
“Foolish girl,” her mother sighed. “With your looks and temper, you’ll struggle to find better. He’s decent, doesn’t drink, from a good family. What more do you want?”
So Emily agreed. They married quietly and moved into Daniel’s tiny flat—cramped kitchen, narrow hall, paper-thin walls. His father had died of a heart attack two years prior, and he refused to leave his mother alone.
At night, Emily lay stiff, knowing his mother slept just beyond the wall, hearing everything. They moved quickly, silently. Children were out of the question. Mornings were filled with awkward silence.
His mother ruled the kitchen, insisting Emily didn’t need to help. “Plenty of time for cooking later. Let me take care of you both.”
Money was tight. Daniel took a night job as a warehouse guard—two nights on, two off. Emily dreamt of moving to London after graduation, like so many others. But Daniel refused, afraid to leave his mother.
Even when his mother visited her sister, their habits didn’t change—rushed, quiet.
“Let’s get a mortgage,” Emily pleaded. “We could still visit your mother daily, but live on our own.”
“And give all my wages to the bank? Be patient. We’ll make it work.”
Then came the teaching conference in Liverpool. A break from lessons, Daniel, the suffocating flat. Few men attended, and the women flirted shamelessly—especially with handsome Professor Adrian Langley. Emily, one of the youngest, watched with amusement.
One dull lecture in, she slipped out to the lobby. Adrian followed.
“Dreadful, isn’t it? Fancy a walk instead? You can’t leave without seeing the city.”
She agreed. April sleet pattered against the Mersey, the sky shifting between fog and blinding sun.
“Liverpool weather—fickle as a woman’s mood,” Adrian quipped.
They skipped the conference, touring the city in his car. In a quiet backstreet, cramped and stifling, it happened. She stayed the night.
“Leave that misery behind,” Adrian urged when she confessed her marriage.
He was divorced—his ex-wife had remarried and moved to Canada with their daughter.
“Why me?” Emily asked.
“Why not? You’re extraordinary. Like an exotic bird in a flock of rulebooks. You should be in films.”
“I can’t just walk away… but I’ll think about it.”
All the way home, she wrestled with his offer. The flat felt claustrophobic now. Daniel was reserved but relieved she’d returned. That night, she braced for him to reach for her—but he left for work. For the first time in days, she slept soundly.
Adrian’s spacious Liverpool flat haunted her. She broached the mortgage again. Again, Daniel asked for patience.
“I can’t live like this anymore. We’re like siblings. We’ll never have our own place. Never. How could we even think of children? Soon, I won’t be able to—”
“I knew this was coming,” Daniel said quietly. “You came back different. I don’t blame you.”
The next day, Emily took unpaid leave and returned to Adrian. He was thrilled—until she moved in. He was affectionate, but she missed Daniel’s quiet jokes, their easy talks. Adrian scoffed at her worry over a “loser ex.” Nights were worse. She couldn’t sleep beside him, missing Daniel’s warmth.
And she couldn’t cook. Her potatoes burned; her pasta turned to mush. Adrian skipped breakfast, lunched at work, took her to restaurants or friends’ homes. It only deepened her regret.
One sleepless night, as she weighed guilt against suffocation, her phone rang.
“Mum? What’s wrong?”
“Ran off, did you? Abandoned your husband? I expected as much. You’re your father’s daughter.”
“You called at this hour to lecture me?”
“I couldn’t wait. Daniel’s in hospital. Robbers hit the warehouse. He hit the alarm, but they shot him.”
“He’s alive?” Emily screamed, startling Adrian awake.
“For now. Coma. First General.”
Adrian rubbed his eyes. “Your mother? What’s wrong?”
“I have to go home. Now.”
“Wait till morning. I’ll drive—”
“No. Call me a cab.”
She flew out at dawn, took a train to the hospital. They barred her at first—too early. She begged, wept, until a nurse relented.
Daniel lay pale, bandaged, wires snaking to machines. She clutched his limp hand, pressing her cheek to it.
“I’m here. I’m sorry. Just live. Please.”
Staff tried pulling her away, gave up when she swore to stay quiet. Exhausted, she fell asleep against his arm.
“Em?”
Her head shot up. “Danny! You’re awake—Doctor! Now!”
His mother arrived later, tearful, apologizing—no blame, just fear for her son.
After discharge, Emily visited her own mother—and found Uncle James there.
“Your mum and I… I’ve finally divorced,” he said, beaming.
His ex-wife had left for Scotland, keeping the house. “It’s yours, if you want it,” her mother said.
Emily hugged her, stunned. They spoke softly, like mother and daughter for once. James promised to help redecorate.
Life mended slowly. The bullet had grazed Daniel’s lung, narrowly missing his heart. At James’ house, Emily fussed over him.
“I made dinner myself. Mrs. Wilkins taught me.”
When his mother left, Emily hesitated. “You rest. I’ll take the sofa.”
“It doesn’t hurt. I’m just ashamed you’re doing everything…”
“Will you forgive me?” she whispered.
“Will you?” He pulled her close.
Happiness was like that. You chased it, only to find it had been in your hands all along.
Three months later, Emily was pregnant. She tormented the doctor—could it be Adrian’sThe doctor smiled gently and said, “No, the dates don’t match—this child is entirely Daniel’s, and I suggest you start believing in second chances.”
