June 12th
Something feels heavy tonight. I cant shake these memoriesgraduation from Oxford, the sun outside, and that sudden rush to finally marry my first real love, Emily. Id loved her since we were spotty teenagers, muddling through sixth form with dreams bigger than our grasp. Emily was beautiful, but it was her kindness and quick wit that drew me in. She was finishing her dissertation, and we promised each other wed tie the knot as soon as we both handed in our work.
The day I told Mum about my intentions, she didnt take it well. It always stings a little, remembering her words, but she said, “Youll either wed Charlotte from next door or no one at all.” She demanded to know what mattered moremy future or my heart. Mum had always imagined Id be some great success, upstanding and respected.
Charlotte lived across the road in Cambridge, coming from old money, with family ties stretching through history. Mum thought that was worth more than anything else. Charlotte had liked me for years, but I was involved with Emily, whose family didnt have muchand her mothers reputation was hardly sterling, according to the neighbours. Mum always fretted about gossip. “I dont need another daughter-in-law, and you do as you please!” she snapped then.
I desperately tried to change her mind, but her resolve was iron, and then she said if I married Emily, shed never forgive me. In the end, I backed down. Emily and I saw each other for another six months, but the strain eroded what we had until everything just faded.
Eventually, I married Charlotte in a ceremony so quiet there was no wedding at all. I wanted to spare Emily the pain of seeing announcements in the local papers. We started our life together in her vast family home outside Cambridgea place I never truly felt was mine. Mums connections pulled me up the professional ladder, and I did well enough, but genuine happiness never stuck.
I never wanted children, and when Charlotte realised I wouldnt change my mind, she divorced me. I was forty-two, and she was thirty-eight. It was amicable enough; soon after, she had a child and finally found joy.
Since then, Ive often dreamed of finding Emily again. I searched, but she seemed to have disappeared. One day, an old friend told me shed married the first man she met after we split, but he turned out to be trouble.
So now I live alone, rattling around the old flat my parents left me in Cheltenham, my days blending together. Most nights, I pour scotch and stare at that old photo of Emily, wondering what mightve been. I can never forgive Mum for making me choose what to sacrifice.
