**The Loving Heart**
Tom stood by the window, gazing at the sunlit courtyard below. Next door was a Tesco Express, and people often cut through the yard to save time. But Tom paid them no mind. He was waiting for only one person—Ellen.
For as long as he had lived in that house, he had been in love with her. Ellen was two years older and lived two floors down. She was just an ordinary girl, one of millions, but to Tom, she was extraordinary. The heart wants what it wants—there was no reasoning with it.
She was finishing her A-levels, preparing to study nursing. Soon, he wouldn’t see her in the school corridors or during breaks. All that remained was to keep watch by the window, hoping for a glimpse.
Ellen barely noticed him. To her, Tom was just a boy, a neighbour. So he kept his feelings hidden, afraid she would push him away if she knew. He waited, biding his time until he finished school, until he was old enough to confess. Then, just as he received his A-level results and prepared for university, Ellen ran off to get married—quite literally.
From his window, Tom saw the ribbon-festooned silver Audi pull up, the tall man in a navy suit fidgeting by the car, glancing impatiently at the second-floor windows. Then Ellen burst out in a cloud of white lace, tripped on the steps, and fell straight into her groom’s arms. He settled her into the car, then examined her broken heel as her mother rushed out with a pair of white trainers. That was how Ellen got married—in trainers.
The whole street talked about it, whispering that it was a bad omen, that the marriage wouldn’t last.
For two days after the wedding, Tom lay on his bed, turned to the wall. His mother nearly called the doctor, convinced he was ill. On the third day, he returned to his post by the window. But Ellen had vanished. His mother said she’d gone to Cornwall with her new husband. Tom feared she’d moved away for good—but two weeks later, she returned, sun-kissed and glowing. His heart nearly leapt from his chest.
Her mother moved in with her eldest son, who’d just had a baby, leaving Ellen and her husband to settle into married life. Against all predictions, they seemed happy—until, six months later, they divorced.
Tom’s mother broke the news over dinner. The omen had come true. Rumor had it the groom’s ex-wife had visited Ellen—they had a young son together. He’d married Ellen in a moment of anger but still saw his son, and things had mended with his ex. He couldn’t bring himself to confess, so his ex-wife did it for him.
“Make your own choice,” she’d told Ellen. “He loves his son. I’ve forgiven him. Let him go—you’ll find happiness again.”
And Ellen did let go. Tom imagined he could hear her crying through the walls, though it was impossible. He waited by the window for three days, but she never appeared. What if she’d done something foolish? The thought chilled him, and he ran to her flat, taking the stairs two at a time.
She answered, red-eyed and dishevelled but with a flicker of hope in her swollen eyes. Then she collapsed onto the sofa and sobbed. Tom hesitated before stepping inside, crouching beside her to stroke her back.
Gradually, her breathing steadied. She turned her tear-streaked face to him, and in that moment, he loved her more than ever—messy, broken, and utterly defenceless.
“Don’t cry,” he murmured. “Wait for me. Once I finish uni, I’ll marry you.”
He did go to university. He’d see Ellen sometimes, trudging home from work, eyes downcast. His heart ached for her. He’d carry her shopping, tell her jokes. She’d take the bags back at her door but never invite him in.
Then his mother delivered fresh gossip—Ellen was seeing someone. A doctor, married, twice her age, with a daughter Ellen’s own age.
Tom burned with jealousy. But at least she wouldn’t marry *him*.
Winter came, the courtyard dusted with snow, fairy lights twinkling in every window. Then, one evening, Ellen knocked on his door. His mother wasn’t home.
“Have you got an onion?” she asked, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
Disappointed, he fetched one. She hesitated, then asked for another.
“Expecting company?” he ventured.
She didn’t answer, just thanked him and left.
Tom glued himself to the window. He knew everyone in the building by their walk, their silhouette—so he spotted the stranger immediately. A man in a long coat and fur hat, stepping out of a red Volvo.
His stomach twisted. He paced like a caged animal before returning to the window. The car was dusted with snow. Then, far too soon, the man emerged and drove away.
Relief flooded him. He hurried downstairs and rang her bell.
Ellen answered, her eyes dull.
“Are you alone? Can I come in?”
She let him pass. The table was set for two—wine poured, candles lit but extinguished.
“Let’s drink,” she said flatly.
After a glass, courage loosened his tongue. “Your doctor left quickly.”
“He came to say he won’t leave his wife.” Her voice cracked. “Why doesn’t anyone love me?”
“I love you,” Tom blurted. “I have since Year 6.” And it all spilled out—the years of watching, waiting, the jealousy when she married, the joy when she returned.
Ellen listened, then took his hand and led him to the bedroom. She unbuttoned her blouse, revealing a lace bra that sent heat rushing to his face. When she reached for her skirt, he caught her wrist.
“Don’t.”
She froze. He draped her blouse over her shoulders, and she sank onto the bed, tears staining her lap.
He sat beside her, wiped his clammy hands on his jeans, and whispered, “You’re the best. I promised my mum I wouldn’t marry before graduating. She raised me alone—I can’t disappoint her. But will you marry me?”
Ellen looked up, and for a heart-stopping moment, he thought she’d laugh. Instead, she smiled.
“Yes.”
He couldn’t believe it.
Just then, the doorbell rang. His mother stood there, lips pressed thin.
“Come home. Now.”
Later, she hissed, “Why her? There are so many girls your age!”
“I love her. We’ll marry after uni. And if you interfere, I’ll move in with her today.”
His mother deflated. He’d won.
Time passed. He took Ellen to the cinema, made her laugh. He graduated, got a job, and one day arrived at her door with red roses.
Her mother let him in, the flat smelling of fresh baking. Ellen’s eyes widened when she saw him.
“Remember my promise?” He pulled out a ring. “Marry me.”
She took the box. “Yes.”
People talked, of course. Some pitied him; others shrugged. But on the day they walked down the stairs, arm in arm, Tom was the happiest man alive. At the bottom, he swept her into his arms—so she wouldn’t trip, so nothing could spoil their long, happy life together.
Nothing did.
A year later, Tom pushed a pram around the courtyard while Ellen waved from the window, beaming.
