**Hard-Won Happiness**
Friday, and Margaret, the head accountant, arrived at work in her finest dress, clutching a bottle of expensive wine, a cake, and a platter of cold cuts.
“Ladies, don’t rush off after work tonight. Let’s stay a bit and celebrate my birthday,” she announced.
Immediately, the office erupted with hugs and congratulations. Emily joined in too. She’d started at the firm green as grass, bearing the brunt of every mistake, but she genuinely saw Margaret as her mentor. Margaret squeezed her hand and whispered,
“I won’t be here much longer. I’m putting you forward for my position. You’ve got the discipline for it.”
Before Emily could thank her, another colleague swept in with well-wishes.
Work wrapped up early, and they cleared the clutter from Margaret’s desk, draping it with a paper tablecloth and setting out whatever they could scrounge from the office fridge. The director and other department heads arrived, presenting Margaret with roses and a gift. The room buzzed again, but Emily slipped out unnoticed.
“Where are you off to? We’ve only just sat down,” her friend Helen caught her in the hallway.
“I’ve got to go. Dad’s alone at home.”
“Stay half an hour—nothing’s going to happen to him,” Helen urged.
“No. He’ll worry, his blood pressure spikes. At his age, that’s dangerous.”
“What age? How old is he?”
“Seventy-one,” Emily sighed.
“That’s nothing! Men that年纪 can still fall in love, remarry—”
“Honestly, I have to go. Apologize for me.” She turned to leave, but Helen grabbed her wrist.
“You’ve boxed yourself in. You’re young! No life of your own. Is that normal? Doesn’t your father want you to have a family? Grandchildren?”
“What grandchildren? I’m forty-two.”
“So what? You’ve written yourself off too soon. At this rate, you’ll outlive him—Oh, sorry.” Helen faltered under Emily’s sharp look. “But who else will tell you the truth? Is he ill?”
“No. Just afraid of dying alone.”
“I don’t get you, Em. Your mother spent her life dancing around him. Where’s she now? And now you—”
“Enough. It’s my life.” Emily pulled free and hurried to collect her things.
Outside, spring was in the air—most of the snow had melted, and soon the trees would bud. On her way home, Emily stopped at the supermarket. The queue was long. She checked her watch—still early. She’d left work ahead of time, and home was only ten minutes away. She’d make it.
At home, she made noise in the hallway so her father would hear. She carried the groceries to the kitchen, then peered into the living room. Her dad was sprawled on the sofa, glued to the telly.
“Dad, I’m home. What’re you watching?”
His tense stare at the screen told her he was displeased. When was he ever pleased?
“How’re you feeling?” she asked patiently.
“Took your time, didn’t you? Too busy gallivanting. Meanwhile, my blood pressure’s through the roof. I’ll drop dead here alone, and you won’t even know,” he grumbled.
“Gallivanting? I only stopped at the shops for five minutes. Here.” She fetched the blood pressure monitor.
“Give me your arm.”
He didn’t budge.
“Don’t be childish. Stop sulking.”
With a huff, he extended his arm. She strapped on the cuff, squeezed the bulb.
“Perfectly normal. You’re fine.”
“You don’t know how to use that thing. I *feel* the pressure,” he muttered.
She knew he wasn’t young—he’d worked construction his whole life—but that didn’t excuse lying around all day.
“Should I call the doctor tomorrow?”
“What do they know? Just hand out pills. Useless.”
She put the monitor away and retreated to her room to change. As she cooked dinner, she carried on a silent argument with him.
*I deserve a break too. Staring at screens all day—my eyes hurt. I could be with my colleagues, drinking wine, eating cake. They’re offering me a promotion, and I bolted. What if Margaret’s offended?*
*I’m a grown woman. Sick of being controlled, criticized. Couldn’t you at least pop to the corner shop? Helen’s right—I’ll fall apart next. No energy left…*
She cut herself off. It wasn’t right, thinking like this, even if he couldn’t hear. Who knew how she’d act at his age? Maybe worse. But who’d be there for her?
Her mother had done everything—cleaning, cooking, hauling heavy bags. Her father refused to lift a finger. “Not a man’s job,” he’d say, especially with two women in the house. Never mind that the second “woman” was a child.
Emily couldn’t recall her mother ever lounging. She was always sewing, knitting, cooking… As Emily grew older, she pitched in.
“Go play, Emily. You’ll have plenty of time for work once you’re married,” her mother would say.
When Emily brought home her fiancé, David, her father subjected him to a withering inspection before declaring, “No deadbeats in my house. I earned everything myself. Don’t expect handouts.”
David barely stayed. He refused to live with parents, so they rented a flat after marrying. Emily still visited often, helping her ailing mother. David grew jealous, accused her of lying about her visits. They fought. Then her mother died of a stroke, and Emily moved in with her father full-time. David left.
She’d tried rebelling, but it always ended the same—her father feigned heart attacks, demanded ambulances. She’d burn with shame as paramedics scolded her for false alarms.
If she stayed late, he’d berate her. Men had shown interest, but she never dared bring one home. So she stayed—no family, no children.
After dinner, she washed up, mopped the hall. Fresh mud clung to her father’s boots—proof he went out while she worked. She said nothing, just retreated to her room, tuning out the blaring TV.
One day, Helen snapped. “I won’t watch you throw your life away.” She bought train tickets—they were going to Brighton in June. No arguments.
“But what about Dad?”
“He’s healthier than you. Cook meals, ask a neighbor to check on him. Ten days won’t kill him.”
Emily agreed. She’d only seen the sea once, on her honeymoon. As the trip neared, she wavered—until the night before, when she told her father.
Predictably, he erupted. “You want me dead!”
This time, she cut him off. “Even servants get holidays. You won’t die in ten days. There’s food, and Mrs. Wilkins next door will check on you. Keys are with her—I know you’d ignore the door. And stop pretending about your blood pressure. I *know* you go out. The shop’s next door—you can manage. Your pills are labeled.”
He gaped, stunned by her defiance. She locked herself in her room till Helen and her husband arrived. Their train left at midnight.
On the journey, Emily fretted, but the sea washed her worries away. By day three, she’d tanned, glowing with youth.
“There’s the Emily I remember,” Helen teased. “Men can’t take their eyes off you.”
“Where?” Emily turned—and saw a tall, fit man watching her. His face was familiar. When he smiled and approached, calling her name, she recognized him—James, her uni classmate.
“James! Here on holiday? With family?”
“Wife passed. My daughter insisted I take a break. You’re with David?”
“You remember him?”
“Course. I fancied you rotten. He waited for you outside lectures every day.”
Back then, she’d been too smitten with David to notice anyone else.
“We divorced. I live with Dad now.”
“That doesn’t sound happy.”
“His temper’s… difficult. Helen dragged me here.”
“Fate,” James said.
They spent every day together, Helen conveniently vanishing.
“Emily, you’re alone, I’m alone… We could make a go of it,” he said the night before she left. “My daughter’s marrying soon—she’d be thrilled. What do you say?”
“I don’t know. Dad… David couldn’t handle him.”
“I’m not David. I don’t need a maid. My wife and I shared everything—ask my daughter. Seeing you now… I never stopped…”
“Let me talk to Dad first,” she conceded.
James stayed behind—no tickets to swap. On the train, Helen drilled into her: “Don’t let your father guilt you. You deserve this.”
“Give him time.When she returned home to find her father cheerful, holding groceries, and Mrs. Wilkins smiling beside him, Emily finally understood—sometimes love means letting go, for both their sakes.
