A Getaway for Happiness
We spend all year dreaming of a holiday, preparing for it, hoping we’ll return happy. But often, the opposite happens…
Back in May, James and Emily had started planning their trip—choosing the destination, the hotel. Emily longed for the sandy beaches of Brighton, the shallow water stretching for what felt like miles, the warmth. Perfect for little Alfie.
“So you *want* to bring him?” James asked flatly.
“You say that like he’s only *my* child. Yes, I do. What’s wrong with that? People take babies all the time!”
“Only when they’ve got no one to leave them with. But we do—my mum would take him in a heartbeat. Do you really want sleepless nights, nappies, tantrums on holiday? Who relaxes like that?”
Emily knew he was right. But she couldn’t fathom leaving Alfie for ten whole days.
James’s mother agreed with him.
“Go alone, enjoy yourselves. He’s too young to remember. You’d just exhaust yourselves.”
“Look at this hotel I found. The view!” James swivelled his laptop toward her.
“What does the *view* matter? You’re going for the sea, not to stare at it through a window,” Emily shot back. “Plus, pebble beaches. Not exactly comfortable.”
“That’s what loungers are for. Better than dragging sand into the room.”
James always had an answer. And Emily always gave in because she adored him. Who cared where they went, what the beach was like? As long as they were together. Two and a half years married, and nothing had changed.
“Flying’s best—expensive, but faster,” James declared.
Emily was lost in thought—imagining Alfie’s confusion when she wasn’t there, his tears. Would his grandma cope?
“So, should I book it?” James snapped her back.
“Yes. Go ahead.”
They saw everything differently—even family. James had lost his parents young, raised by grandparents. His granddad passed just as he finished school; his gran held on two years longer.
When they met, James was already living alone. Emily moved in almost at once, helping renovate, shaping their future nest. Everyone envied her.
“Lucky you, Em! Gorgeous fiancé, *and* he’s got his own place—no nightmare mother-in-law. Don’t get too smug, or someone might steal him,” her friend teased.
“Oh, like you?” Emily laughed.
“Well, I *am* pretty.”
The first disappointment came a month after the wedding, just before Emily’s birthday, when James flatly refused to invite her mum.
“Friends are coming. She’d just be bored.”
“It’s *her* day too—she birthed me then, raised me. How do I tell her not to come?”
“Invite her the next day. Tea and cake, just us.”
Emily hated it but loved James too much to fight. Her mum hid any hurt, arriving the following day with a delicate teacup set. James laid on the charm, kissing her cheek, thanking her for raising Emily. Crisis averted.
That set the pattern: holidays, birthdays—James’s mates always took priority. Most still lived with parents or in rentals. Her mum? Never invited.
“If you love someone, you take them as they are,” her mum said. “He grew up without parents—family’s not his language. Don’t fight over me. A wise wife is patient. Start bickering, and it never ends. You’ve got Alfie—he needs his dad. Trust me, raising a child alone is hard.”
Emily left Alfie with her mum, shopping for holiday clothes. Post-baby weight clung to her; dresses strained, swimsuits gaped. One day, she spun before the mirror in a new sundress.
“Like it? Once I’ve tanned, it’ll look amazing.”
“Eh. Washes you out. Makes you look heavier,” James muttered, barely glancing up.
Ice water drenched her heart. She scrutinised her reflection—once slim, now softened by motherhood.
“You used to *love* that my chest got bigger,” she said quietly, folding the dress away.
“Don’t take it personally. The colour’s just wrong,” he backpedalled.
As departure neared, Emily packed slowly, savouring Alfie’s presence. Regret gnawed at her—they should’ve postponed the trip. The sea would’ve strengthened him. Next year, maybe—James could teach him to swim. *If they…*
She shoved the thought away. Where had *that* come from? They never *really* fought. They loved each other. “*No ‘ifs,’*” she ordered herself.
She ate less, eyed the mirror daily. Even if she slimmed down, she’d never be the girl James fell for.
On the way to the airport, they dropped Alfie at her mum’s. James fidgeted as Emily smothered him in kisses.
“Enough. You’re saying goodbye like it’s forever,” her mum chided, scooping Alfie up. “Look, he’s getting upset—he *knows*. Go, before he starts crying.”
James was giddy, flirting with flight attendants. Emily had noticed before—any pretty woman nearby, and he turned on the charm. Married barely any time, and already his eyes wandered. What next?
“Em, want juice? *Em!*”
“No thanks.”
“Stop moping. Alfie’s fine. We’ll bring him seashells…” She forced a smile.
The hotel room was small but tidy, air-conditioned. The sea glinted beyond the window.
“Freedom!” James spun her, tossed her onto the bed. “Beach now?” He bounced up before she could answer.
“Sure. Let me change…”
The beach was packed, bodies bronzed. Emily hesitated, shy of her pale skin.
“Come *on*. Faster you strip, faster you tan,” James said, shucking his jeans, unbothered by his own pallor. She undressed, grateful for the high-waisted swimsuit hiding her stomach. Long-limbed girls strutted past; envy prickled.
The sea was warm, gentle. Kids splashed in rubber sandals. “*Alfie would struggle here…*”
Of course, she burned. James grudgingly left the beach. At lunch, his eyes tracked every passing girl. That night, he reached for her.
“*Ow*—sunburn,” she whispered.
He rolled away, stiff.
“James, it’s not my—”
He turned his back.
———
Morning. “Up, sleepyhead. We’ll lose the loungers again,” James whispered, cheerful—yesterday’s tension gone.
Her skin screamed. She dressed in long layers, slathered on sunscreen, but the sun scorched through.
“James, let’s go back. I’m blistering.”
“We’re *here* to be outside. Shouldn’t have baked yesterday.”
“I wanted to tan faster. *I’m* going. Stay if you want.”
He wasn’t listening—his gaze locked on two girls in tiny bikinis and floppy hats.
“*I’m leaving.*” She waited. He didn’t move. She stumbled over pebbles, heart cracking louder than her steps.
He returned hours later, buoyant. “Starving! Quick shower, then dinner?”
She dressed gingerly, fabric searing her skin.
At the restaurant, the bikini girls sat nearby. James’s eyes flicked to them.
“They’re pretty,” Emily said.
“What?”
“The girls. Pretty. I need a hat—my nose is burnt.” The absurdity hit her: her husband ogling strangers while she sat there. Appetite gone, fever rising, she stood.
“I feel sick. Going back.”
He caught her outside. “What’s your problem?”
“You *seriously* don’t know?” She halted. “You’re making me feel like an idiot. Yes, they’re slim—*for now*. Wait till they have kids. You stared right in front of me.”
“Don’t make a scene,” he hissed.
Silence back to the hotel. In their room, he flopped onto the bed, arms behind his head.
She cracked. “I’m *jealous*.”
“You’re right. We should’ve stayed home,” he said suddenly, standing.
“Where are you—?”
“Out. Not sitting here. Take a pill, sleep it off.”
“With *them*?”
“Christ, Em,” he spat, slamming the door.
Tears choked her. *Why is he like this? Was he always this way? It all rushed—love, moving in, marriage, baby. He’s not ready. Mum’s right—no parents to show him. But he wouldn’t cheat…* She bargained, but the pain stayed.
James returned late, chatty. “Feeling better?”
“Yes. Dinner?” *Please don’t leave again.*
“Not hungry.” At her face, he relented. “Fine. Get dressed.”
*His moodsThey returned home as strangers, and when Emily finally unlocked the front door, she realized the man she loved had never truly existed.
