**Marrying a Millionaire**
The snow had almost melted in the town, leaving dirty slush on the pavements. But up at the cemetery, a thin layer still lingered, soggy from the rain. Emily wandered for ages between the rows of graves before she finally found her parents’ resting place. They lay side by side, though her father had died in a car crash when she was in Year Ten.
The plot was arranged for both. Mum had passed three years ago. Emily had chosen the headstone photo carefully—one where her parents looked the same age, just as she remembered them when Dad was still alive.
She’d just retired, left her London flat to her son’s family, and returned to her hometown two days ago. After tidying the house, she’d come to the cemetery this morning.
*”Forgive me, Mum. I left you behind, ran off to London. I had no choice. Thank you for understanding, for not holding me back.”* She brushed the wet snow from the headstone.
After a quiet moment, she said her goodbyes and retraced her steps through the graves. As she walked towards the gates, eyes fixed on the path, a voice called out behind her.
*”Emily?!”*
She stopped, turned.
*”Are you talking to me?”* She studied the unfamiliar middle-aged man.
*”Don’t you recognise me? It’s me—Alex Hardwick.”* He smiled, and then it clicked.
*”I didn’t recognise you. You’ve changed,”* she said, returning the smile.
*”I knew it was you straight away, even though it’s been…”* He paused, counting the years. *”…Thirty.”* He stepped closer.
*”Thirty-two,”* she corrected.
*”You haven’t changed at all. Visiting your parents?”* He nodded towards the graves.
*”Yes. You?”*
*”Claire.”* His gaze shifted.
*”Claire’s gone? When?”* Emily was surprised.
She didn’t hold any resentment towards Claire—that anger had faded long ago. Now, all she felt was regret.
*”Six months ago. She suffered. Cancer. Left me all alone.”* There was a tremor in his voice.
Emily glanced at him. Had he just sniffled? No—just a heavy sigh. His face was calm.
*”We never had kids. That’s how it goes. And you—alone, or with your husband?”*
*”Just me. Retired, gave the London flat to my son, came back.”* She deliberately left out any mention of a husband.
They reached the cemetery gates.
*”Oh, I’ve kept you—you must’ve been on your way somewhere,”* Emily said.
*”I was leaving Claire’s grave. I’ll visit my mum another time. Otherwise, you might vanish on me again,”* Alex joked half-heartedly.
*”Just my luck,”* Emily sighed, watching the bus pull away.
*”I’ve got my car—let me give you a lift.”* He gestured towards the row of parked cars.
She didn’t particularly want to talk, but waiting for the next bus outside the cemetery wasn’t appealing either. She slid into the cold car. Alex started the engine, turned on the heater. They drove past the cemetery fence, past an empty snow-covered field that would one day hold new graves, past rows of weathered brick houses. Emily always wondered—how could people live so close to a graveyard?
*”All these years, and I never understood what happened between us. When you left, I was a wreck. But mostly… why?”* Alex broke the silence.
Emily glanced at him, surprised.
*”Claire told me she was pregnant. Later, I found out she was lying—she couldn’t have children. But she made me believe it, so I married her. And then… it was too late to back out. You should’ve seen her, Em. The way she screeched when she heard you’d run off with her fiancé. Went to London to hunt you both down. Why *did* you leave, Em?”*
*”You really still don’t get it? I didn’t care *who* I left with—just that I got as far from this place as possible.”*
*”What do you mean?”* He turned to face her, the car swerving slightly on the wet road.
And Emily, sparing neither herself nor Alex, started talking.
—
They say one friend always uses the other. That’s how it was with Emily and Claire. Emily had joined the school mid-term. A straight-A student, she instantly became an outsider.
Claire, the prettiest girl in their year, took Emily under her wing. They walked the halls together, went home together. Emily helped with homework, whispered answers during tests.
Because of Claire, Emily was accepted. And trailing after Claire was Alex Hardwick—gangly, awkward, ears too big. Claire openly mocked him.
*”Why do you do that? He’s nice. One day he’ll grow into those ears and be handsome,”* Emily defended.
*”If that day comes, I’ll reconsider,”* Claire laughed.
Of course, they talked about the future.
*”I won’t rot in this dump forever. I’m moving to London. Come with me?”*
Tempting, but Emily refused.
*”No. I can study here. I can’t leave Mum alone.”*
*”Suit yourself.”* Claire shrugged. *”If you’re happy fading away like your darling mother, be my guest. I’m marrying a millionaire.”* She rolled her eyes dramatically.
*”And I’m sure London’s full of them waiting just for you,”* Emily teased, though she believed it. Claire was stunning—golden-haired, tan, with dark eyes, a figure most actresses would kill for. And men loved with their eyes.
Claire failed her A-levels, ended up at a hairdressing college. Her father had insisted—no London unless she was enrolled somewhere.
*”Em, come visit me in London. It’s impossible to find a real friend here—just backstabbers,”* she complained.
*”You should come home instead,”* Emily said.
*”Never.”*
Emily’s mother was strict. No makeup until sixth form. Before school dances, Emily would duck into Claire’s to swipe on mascara, then scrub it off before going home.
*”Be self-sufficient. Men are unreliable. With an education, you’ll never struggle,”* her mother warned.
True enough. But at seventeen, careers weren’t exciting. And Emily envied Claire’s freedom—packing off to London while she stayed behind.
Then, one day, Emily bumped into Alex. Fresh from the army, broader, taller. His ears still stuck out, but somehow it suited him now.
He walked her home, asked her to the cinema. They started dating. Alex got a job as a chauffeur—for the town’s mayor, no less. Easy work, a suit, a nice car. A year later, he proposed. But Emily convinced him to wait until she graduated.
The mayor even secured them a flat. Emily stayed over often, sometimes all night.
One evening, leaving the cinema, they ran into Claire. At first, Emily hardly recognised her—so polished, so *London*.
*”Em!”* Claire threw her arms around her.
*”You look like you walked out of *Vogue*,”* Emily laughed, breathing in expensive perfume.
She glanced at Alex—and saw the way he stared. Not just interest, but *wonder*. Claire pretended not to notice, chattering about her upcoming wedding, her Italian bridal gown…
They all went back to Alex’s flat, picked up wine on the way.
*”Look at you—handsome, with your own place. And you two aren’t even married yet?”* Claire surveyed the flat.
*”We are. In three months, after my finals,”* Emily said.
She noticed Alex looked away. *”Doesn’t matter. Claire’s engaged. She never fancied him,”* she told herself—but her stomach twisted.
They drank, talked about nothing. Claire spun tales of London life.
*”Soon you’ll be a Londoner. Your dream come true,”* Emily said.
*”Mhm. If only he were as fit as Alex.”* Claire winked at him.
Two days later, Emily aced an exam and went to Alex’s flat. He’d given her a key. Her mother was visiting relatives in the countryside. She stopped for wine and steak, didn’t call—a romantic surprise.
At the door, she tripped over discarded high heels—just like Claire’s. Then laughter from the bedroom. She *knew* that laugh. Her mind refused to believe it.
She pushed the door open. Alex lay on the sofa, a sheet covering him to the waist, eyes closed in bliss. Claire’s head rested on his shoulder, her hair trailing over his chest as she giggled.
Emily’s stomach clenched. She fled, nearly tumbling down the stairs, until strong hands caught her.
*”Where’s the fire?”* A manShe turned the key in her own door now, the weight of the past finally slipping away as she stepped into the quiet warmth of home.
