“It’s All Because of You…”
The July heat was unbearable. The air hung thick, heavy with humidity and dust. Emma took deep breaths, her nostrils flaring. Her heart pounded from exhaustion, begging for rest and cool relief.
Her mother-in-law’s birthday was on Saturday, so she and her husband would visit their cottage in the countryside. Emma missed her son dearly, but he was happier there than in the city. She pictured herself sitting in the shade of sprawling apple trees, sipping cool spring water, breathing fresh air… But she still had to make it through the week. The heat mocked her, refusing to relent. Wishing for summer? Dreaming of sunshine? Here you go—now don’t complain.
The rush-hour buses were packed with sweaty, sticky bodies, the cramped space above them like an unexploded bomb—one spark, and the tension would erupt. Walking was just as exhausting, but at least she could duck into shops along the way, cooling off under the air conditioning before mustering the strength for the next push home.
Up ahead, the shopping centre came into view. Emma quickened her pace, desperate for the chill of artificial cool air. Finally inside, she inhaled deeply. Her heartbeat steadied in gratitude.
She wandered slowly between the shops, occasionally stopping to browse for a gift. Her mother-in-law always insisted she had everything, that material things didn’t matter—just the thought. But Emma noticed the pleased glimmer in her eyes whenever she received something unique.
Finding nothing, Emma turned toward the exit when she spotted a small open stall selling everything from pens to gold trinkets. She paused, trying to prolong the comfort of the cool air before stepping back into the scorching street. Her gaze slid over the costume jewelry, then caught on an unusual vase—long and narrow-necked, decorated like a mosaic. She had never seen anything like it.
“May I see?” Emma asked the young girl behind the counter.
The vase was surprisingly heavy, made of metal, with thick threads dividing its surface into irregular, enamel-filled sections. The colors were muted, as if dusted over, giving it an antique feel. Among the garish trinkets, it stood out—elegant, expensive, distinctive.
“How much?” Emma asked.
The price made her blink.
“Handmade. There aren’t any others like it,” the girl said proudly.
“Is it part of a collection? Where’s it from?”
“Made by a disabled man. Beautiful, but pricey—not many buyers.”
“I’ll take it,” Emma said on impulse, imagining a single rose standing tall inside, elegant in any room. Her mother-in-law loved the unusual—she’d appreciate this.
“Could you wrap it nicely?”
The girl rummaged under the counter while Emma studied the trinkets in the display. Then a pale, exhausted-looking woman approached.
“Hello, Sophie. Someone bought the vase?”
“Yeah.” The girl straightened, side-eyeing Emma, but the woman didn’t notice. “I’ll transfer the money once I finish my shift,” the girl said.
“Good. I’ll bring more tomorrow, then.” The woman turned away.
Emma frowned—she knew her. Not just in passing. Something tugged at her memory. *Alice…* That was Alice!
“Is this alright?” the girl asked, sliding a neatly wrapped package with a red bow across the counter. “Extra twenty pounds, though.”
Emma tapped her card, grabbed the gift, and without waiting for the receipt, hurried after the woman.
Alice walked slowly, head down, lost in thought.
“Alice!” Emma called.
She turned, and for a beat, they just stared.
“You don’t recognize me? It’s Emma.”
“Of course I do,” Alice said flatly. “You haven’t changed. Unlike me.” Her smile was bitter. “You bought the vase?” She nodded at the package.
“Yes. It’s stunning. My mother-in-law’s birthday’s on Saturday—thought she’d love it. The girl said a disabled man makes them.”
“My husband,” Alice replied.
They walked, Emma matching Alice’s slow pace. “I thought it was antique. Is your husband an artist?”
“Among other things. Don’t pretend you don’t know. Where’ve you been—living under a rock?” She sighed. “It’s Tom. He makes them.”
“Tom? But she said—”
“He is disabled. After the accident, he couldn’t walk. Never will. This pays for bread, at least. We have to live.” She glanced at the exit, then changed her mind. “Let’s sit. I’m not ready to face the heat yet.”
They took the only free table by the café door, crowded with people steeling themselves for the outside world. A waitress handed them menus, but Alice waved them off. “Green tea and ice cream for two, please.”
“Funny—I’ve been thinking about you lately. Then I see you buying Tom’s vase,” Alice muttered, staring past Emma.
“You recognized me. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Alice shrugged. “What’s there to say? My life’s nothing to boast about. You, though—living well, spending on pretty things. Husband loaded?”
“It’s not just a ‘pretty thing.’ It’s art.”
Alice scoffed. “I’m sick of ‘art.’ Our flat’s a workshop now. He tinkers all day—paints, carves. Can’t breathe in there. Tired of cleaning. But better than drinking. After the accident, this bloke in the hospital taught him. Crude at first, but he got better. Pays pennies.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“‘Sorry’ doesn’t cover it. I’m his maid, nurse, cook—all in one. Some life. And it’s all because of you.” Alice’s glare sharpened.
“How?”
“Still playing innocent. Always seeing the good in everything. All the girls wanted Tom. But he chose *you*.”
She exhaled sharply. “I hate you, but it’s my own fault. I was jealous. Thought, ‘Who is she? Nothing special, yet she’s got him.’ So I made sure he’d never be yours.”
Emma stared.
“You didn’t know, did you? Remember when you went home that weekend? He came to the dorm. I got him drunk, took him to my bed. Then I got pregnant. And the universe laughed—baby was stillborn.”
Alice’s voice cracked. “I stole him, but happiness? None. No love, no child. Full punishment.”
Emma was speechless. The tea cooled, the ice cream melted. Alice needed to confess; Emma needed time to process.
“I used to think—if he’d married you, the accident never would’ve happened. I’d have found some bloke, had babies, been happy. But no rewinding.”
Alice’s bitterness twisted. “At first, I gloated. ‘He’s mine now. Needs me. Won’t stray.’”
Emma reached for Alice’s hand, but she yanked it back.
“Don’t pity me. He’s *mine*.”
“Alice, maybe we can help? My husband’s a doctor—”
Alice stood abruptly, chair screeching. Heads turned.
“Live your life—but stay out of mine. Or come see him. See what’s left of the man whose voice ‘made you shiver.’ Remember saying that? Maybe I’ll even let you have him back. You’d make a great nurse.”
“Why are you like this?”
“Piss off with your sympathy.” Alice stormed out.
Emma paid for the untouched order, nearly forgetting the vase, then walked home numb, memories flooding back—uni days, shared dorm rooms…
*Flashback.*
“Still studying? Come on—Maggie and Liz have Tom over. He’s brought his guitar. Sings like an angel. Should be on stage, not studying chemistry,” Alice said, swapping her robe for a dress.
“Can’t he do both?”
“You wouldn’t get it. Ever heard him sing?”
“No.”
“Then come. But don’t get ideas—every girl’s mad for him.”
Emma followed.
“Wait—you’re going in that? Change.”
Emma pulled on jeans and a black jumper, her blonde hair in a ponytail. No makeup—her mother’s strict upbringing kept her studious, avoiding clubs and cigarettes.
Tom sat on a bed, guitar in hand, singing as the girls gazed adoringly. When he finished, he smirked at Emma.
“Liked it?”
“Amazing. Your own song?”
Alice snorted. Tom grinned. “Ever heard Dylan or Bowie?”
“Of course. But that wasn’t them.”
He faltered, then laughed. “Sharp. What about this one?” He played again, eyes locked on hers.
Her heart raced—she was smitten.
Could he feel the same?
Later, Alice flirted shamelessly. “Write me a song!”
“Can’t force inspiration,” he said, glancing at Emma.
The next day, Tom waited outside her lecture hall, turning heads as they walked together. She barely touched her cake at the café, too nervous.
ThenThen she understood—some paths lead to happiness, while others teach us to cherish the one we’re on.
