**A Hard-Won Happiness**
Last Friday, our head accountant, Margaret Buchanan, arrived at work looking glamorous, carrying a bottle of expensive wine, a cake, and a platter of fine meats.
“Ladies, don’t leave straight after work—we’ll stay a little while to celebrate my birthday,” she announced.
Immediately, everyone rushed to hug and congratulate her. So did Emily. She’d joined the company with no experience, taking the full brunt of criticism for her mistakes, but she genuinely saw Margaret as her mentor. Margaret embraced her and whispered,
“Just a bit longer, then I’ll retire. You, my dear, are who I want to recommend for my position. You’re disciplined, reliable…”
Emily barely had time to thank her before another colleague came forward with congratulations.
They finished early, cleared a large table in the accounts office, covered it with a makeshift tablecloth, and laid out everything from the fridge. The managing director and department heads arrived with a grand bouquet of roses and a gift. The room buzzed again. Emily slipped out unnoticed.
“Where are you off to? We’ve only just sat down!” Her friend and colleague, Jane, caught up in the hallway.
“I have to go. My father’s alone at home.”
“Stay just half an hour—nothing will happen to him in that time.”
“Please, don’t argue. He hates when I’m late—works himself into a state, his blood pressure spikes. At his age, it’s dangerous.”
“What age? How old is he?”
“Seventy-one,” Emily sighed.
“That’s no age! Some men his age still fall in love and remarry!”
“Really, Jane, I have to go. Apologise for me.” She turned to leave, but Jane caught her wrist.
“You’ve backed yourself into a corner. 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 just to— Oh, sorry,” Jane cut herself off, seeing Emily’s glare. “But who’ll tell you the truth if not me? Is he ill?”
“No, just getting older. Terrified of dying alone.”
“I don’t understand, Em. Your mother spent her life dancing around him. And where is she now? Now you—”
“Enough. This is my life.” Emily pulled her hand free and hurried to her office for her coat.
Outside, spring was in the air—most of the snow had melted, buds ready to burst on the trees. On her way home, Emily stopped at the shop. The queue snaked long. She checked her watch—she’d left early, ten minutes to the house, she’d make it.
At home, she made noise in the hallway so her father would hear. She put the shopping away and entered the lounge. He lay on the sofa, eyes fixed on the telly.
“Dad, I’m back. What are you watching?”
His tense stare at the screen told her he was displeased. When had he ever been pleased?
“How are you feeling?” she asked patiently.
“Couldn’t rush home, could you? Too busy gallivanting. My blood pressure’s up. I’ll die alone, and you won’t even notice,” he grumbled, glaring.
“What gallivanting? I just stopped at the shop! Here—” She fetched the blood pressure monitor.
“Give me your arm.”
He didn’t move.
“Don’t be childish. Let’s check.”
Reluctantly, he extended his arm. The reading was perfect.
“You don’t know how to measure. I can feel it,” he muttered.
She knew he wasn’t young—a lifetime on construction sites, now needing care. But that didn’t justify lying on the sofa all day.
“Shall I call the doctor tomorrow?”
“What do doctors know? Pills, that’s all. Useless.”
She put the monitor away and changed. Cooking dinner, she argued with him silently.
*I deserve rest too. Staring at screens all day, my eyes ache. I could be with colleagues, eating cake, drinking wine. They’re offering me a promotion, and I ran. What if Margaret’s offended?*
*I’m an adult. Sick of being controlled, criticised. You could at least walk to the corner shop. Jane’s right—I’ll make myself ill. No energy left…*
She cut the thought short—wrong to resent him, even in her head. Who knew how she’d behave at his age? Might be worse. But to whom?
Her mother had done everything—cleaning, cooking, lugging heavy bags. “Not a man’s job,” her father had said, especially with two women at home. Never mind that the second “woman” had been a child.
She didn’t remember her mother idle—always sewing, knitting… “Go play, Emily,” she’d say. “You’ll work enough once married.”
When Emily brought home her fiancé, Daniel, her father scrutinised him, then declared, “No freeloaders in my house. I earned everything. Don’t expect a handout.”
Daniel barely stayed. “I won’t live with parents,” he’d said. They rented after marrying. She visited often, helping her mother, whose blood pressure was always high.
Daniel grew jealous, accused her of lying. They fought. When her mother died of a stroke, Emily began daily visits. Daniel left, filed for divorce. Tried returning, but by then, she’d moved back.
She’d rebelled—always the same. He’d fake a heart attack, demand an ambulance. She’d burn with shame as paramedics scolded her for false alarms.
If she stayed late, he’d greet her with abuse. Men had shown interest, but she dared neither leave nor bring one home. So she stayed—no family, no children.
After dinner, she washed up, mopped the hall. Fresh mud on his shoes—so he *did* go out while she worked. She said nothing, retreated to her room, blocking out the blaring telly.
Once, Jane snapped. “I can’t watch you waste your life.” She bought tickets—early June, they’d go to Brighton. “No excuses. I’ll drag you if I must.”
“But Dad—”
“He’s healthier than you. Cook ahead, ask a neighbour to check on him. Ten days. You need rest.”
Emily couldn’t refuse. She’d only been south once, on honeymoon. As the trip neared, she wavered. Only the night before did she tell him.
Predictably, he raged, accused her of wanting him dead. For once, she snapped back.
“Even maids get holidays. You won’t die in ten days. There’s food. Mrs. Wilkins next door will check in. I’m leaving her keys—you’d never open the door. And stop faking high blood pressure—I know you go out.”
He gaped, stunned by her defiance. She locked herself in until Jane and her husband collected her. The train left at 2 AM.
On the journey, she fretted, but the sea washed it all away. Within days, she’d tanned, glowed—looked younger.
“There’s my Emily again,” Jane said. “Men can’t take their eyes off you.”
“Where?” She turned, spotting a tall, fit man watching her. Familiar, somehow. When he smiled and approached, she gasped—James, her university classmate.
“James!” she beamed. “On holiday? With family?”
“Wife passed. Ill for years. My daughter sent me to recharge. You look amazing. Here with Daniel?”
“You remember him?”
“Of course. I was sweet on you—he waited outside lectures every day.”
Back then, she’d been so smitten, she’d noticed nothing else.
“We divorced. I live with Dad now.”
“You say that like it’s a life sentence.”
“He’s… difficult. Jane practically kidnapped me here. Fancy meeting you, of all people.”
“Fate,” he said.
They spent days together. Jane conveniently vanished. On their last evening, James took her hand.
“You’re alone, so am I. We could… My daughter’s marrying soon—she’d be thrilled. What do you say?”
“I don’t know. Dad… Daniel couldn’t handle him.”
“I’m not Daniel. Think I want a maid? My wife and I shared everything. Try me—you won’t regret it.”
“Alright. But I need to prepare Dad.”
James stayed longer—no train tickets left. On the way home, Jane insisted Emily stand firm.
“He adores you—anyone can see. You’re radiant together. You could still have children.”
Emily hadn’t dared dream. She felt lighter, younger. But how would her father react?
The flat was spotless, silent. His phone lay on the table. Panicked, she rushed to Mrs. Wilkins—only to meet them on the stairs, chatting animatedHe was carrying groceries, his face brighter than she’d seen in years, and the moment their eyes met, she knew her life—and his—would never be the same again.
