His Dearest Dream
“Zachary, you’ve come home from school with your trousers torn again,” scolded his mother. “Fighting, I suppose? And with Michael, no doubt? How much longer will you two keep this up? You’re classmates, for goodness’ sake!”
“Yes, Mum, it was Michael again, but I beat him this time,” the boy replied earnestly, squaring his shoulders. “Though, if you must know, he started it. He keeps saying that Claire only likes him. We’ll see about that,” muttered the thirteen-year-old, shaking his fist at the window.
Michael had certainly got what was coming to him this time, though last week, he’d caught Zachary off guard, tripping him when he wasn’t looking. The moment Zachary had stumbled, Michael had pounced. Ever since they were little, the boys had been at each other’s throats over Claire, the prettiest girl in their class.
Claire herself walked in shortly after, fuming.
“Honestly, Zachary’s gone and fought with Michael again,” she huffed in response to her mother’s questioning look. “Now Michael’s got a black eye, and Zachary’s torn his trousers. Serves him right—his mum will give him an earful. Why does he always pick on Michael? And why does Michael have to fight at all? I don’t even like Zachary!”
“Darling, that’s just how it’s always been,” her mother said with a sigh. “Boys will be boys—they settle things with their fists. And sooner or later, a girl has to make a choice. Whoever she likes best.”
“But Mum, I don’t like Zachary! I’ve told him a hundred times. He’s just some scrawny boy with glasses. Michael’s better—funnier, handsomer. I’ll never like Zachary, never!”
“Oh, sweetheart,” her mother said, shaking her head. “Never say never. Life has a funny way of surprising us. You never know what fate has in store.”
“Mum, what’s fate got to do with it? I just like Michael more—it’s as simple as that!”
As their school years passed, Claire continued seeing Michael, while Zachary suffered in silence. He knew he couldn’t compete with his rival’s looks, and though their fights had stopped, the message was clear—Claire had made her choice.
One evening, as Claire and Michael walked together, she sighed dreamily.
“Michael, when we’re married, I want a big family—a huge dining table where everyone can fit. And I’ll teach at school—you know I’m going to university for it. And in summer, we’ll all go to the seaside!”
Michael listened quietly before shrugging.
“Sounds nice, but with a big family, I’d have to work day and night to keep us afloat. When would I ever rest? Forget the seaside.”
“But I’ll work too! Between our wages, we’d manage just fine,” Claire insisted.
Michael scoffed.
“No chance. You’ll stay home, raise the kids, and wait for me after work. That’s how it’s meant to be. The man’s in charge—that’s final.”
Claire bristled at this and stormed off without another word.
As she reached her doorstep, she found Zachary waiting with a red rose.
“Hello. This is for you.”
Claire scoffed.
“Zachary, not you again! What do you want? Why can’t you just leave me alone? Haven’t you figured out I chose Michael?”
“Because I like you,” he said simply. “Just as much as he does. Take the rose.”
She didn’t—but the next morning, she found it on the step and, despite herself, picked it up.
“It’s beautiful,” she thought.
From then on, Zachary never approached her again—but roses kept appearing on her step. She never admitted it, but deep down, the quiet gesture warmed her.
After school, Claire and Michael married. She enrolled in university, while he waited for his army call-up. At the wedding, Zachary sat quietly at the back, never drinking, never taking his eyes off the bride. He left unnoticed.
Soon after, Michael was called to serve.
“Oh, Michael, how will I manage without you?” Claire wept.
“Don’t worry, love. Time will fly,” he assured her.
And it did. Before Claire had even finished her third semester, Michael returned—and at first, their love burned brighter than ever. They had a son, Nicholas, and planned for more. Michael was the perfect husband, the doting father. Everyone envied Claire.
But happiness never lasts.
One evening, Claire waited anxiously for Michael to return, watching for signs of drunkenness. Three years into their marriage, something had changed—or perhaps the real Michael had finally shown himself.
“Shut that boy up!” he’d snap. “I work all day—I don’t need this. If you can’t keep him quiet, I’ll leave!”
He started disappearing to his mother’s, returning only when he pleased.
“What’s happened to you?” Claire begged.
“Drunk or sober, I don’t care,” he’d sneer. “And remember—I’m the man of this house. What I say goes.”
Nerves frayed, Claire grew bitter, snapping at Michael and Nicholas. Then Michael raised his hand to her.
Again. And again.
She threw him out, forgave him, threw him out again.
Then her mother saw the bruises.
“Claire, what’s this?”
“I thought Michael would be the perfect husband,” she sobbed.
“Pack your things. We’re leaving.”
Claire filed for divorce. Michael begged, threatened, brought flowers—but she stood firm.
Three years later, at their school reunion, old classmates gathered by the gates. Claire, softer now, her beauty still striking, stood among them.
“Look who’s here!” someone gasped.
A tall, broad-shouldered man approached—confident, well-dressed, no trace of the lanky boy he’d once been.
Zachary’s eyes lit up when he saw her.
“Claire!” He swept her into a spin. “You’re even more beautiful!”
She laughed, breathless, as their friends cheered.
All evening, he stayed by her side—and for the first time, Claire saw him differently.
The next day, he pulled out a velvet box.
“I bought this years ago,” he said. “I’ve loved you all this time. And I’ll wait however long it takes for you to love me too.”
She didn’t tell him there was no one left to fight for her.
Zachary visited every day during his leave. Nicholas adored him, rushing into his arms. Soon, Claire and Zachary filed for marriage.
With him, she felt safe, cherished—as if she’d stepped into a new life. How had she ever thought Michael was the better choice?
Years flew by. Claire and Zachary had three children—Nicholas, now studying medicine, and two little girls. They lived in a countryside home, content.
Sometimes, watching her children, Claire would whisper the same prayer:
“Let them choose wisely. Let them never make my mistakes.”
