London. An autumn evening. A damp wind, tired eyes, and a heart even wearier. Emily trudged home after ten hours on the shop floor of the supermarket. Only one thought spun in her mind:
*If only Danny had fried some potatoes…*
The flat greeted her with the smell of something delicious. She shrugged off her coat, kicked off her boots, and stepped into the kitchen—plates of steaming mash and roast chicken waited on the table. Beside them, cutlery, salt, bread, a teapot. Danny nodded silently to a chair.
“Sit down.”
“Blimey, is it a special occasion?” Emily forced a smile. “This is new.”
“Just an ordinary meal,” he shrugged. “But we need to talk.”
They ate in silence. The chicken was tender, the mash just salty enough. Emily put the kettle on, brewed some Earl Grey, and sat opposite her husband.
“Go on, then. I can tell something’s bothering you.”
Daniel stared out the window a long while before turning back to her.
“Nan and Grandad’s golden wedding anniversary is Saturday. They’ve invited us.”
“Oh. The ones who gave us five grand for our wedding? How’s that going to work? Weren’t we about to divorce?”
“Let’s just go. For their sake. They’re old—it’ll mean a lot. We’re still married, officially.”
Emily eyed him doubtfully. She had no energy left—not to argue, not to reconcile.
“Fine. Maybe one last visit together.”
They rode in Daniel’s dad’s car. He and his father up front. Emily and his mother in the back. Silence.
“Have you two had a row?” her mother-in-law whispered.
“No,” Emily answered with a tight smile.
“Look at these rings we bought them for the anniversary. Gold, lovely, aren’t they?”
“Lovely,” she nodded.
“Stick together. In fifty years, your kids’ll give you the same.”
Emily looked away. Fifty years? That’s a lifetime…
The party was lively—young and old, laughter, mountains of food, toasts. But Emily kept her distance from her husband. The women in Daniel’s family pulled her into organising the entertainment. They were all in their thirties, like her. They bickered, teased their husbands, but… you could see the love.
Emily caught herself wondering:
*Do I love him? Does he love me?*
Maybe once. But now? The flat felt cold. Money was always tight. She hadn’t bought herself a new coat in three years. Kids? He never even mentioned them. Couldn’t hold down a proper job. And yet, once, he’d been her dream.
The party ended late. Guests trickled away. Nan Lily beckoned them over.
“Stay the night. Help us tidy up a bit.”
Emily and Daniel cleared the tables without a word, working in sync. Two hours later, the house was spotless.
Nan put the kettle on.
“Well, Danny, fifty years we’ve scraped through,” she smiled at her husband.
“Nearly divorced half a dozen times,” Grandad grumbled. “Got as far as the registry office once.”
“But we walked back.”
“I was out of work then, skint,” Grandad recalled.
“Remember how everyone fancied me? Called me a proper princess. And you? Glowing like a streetlamp.”
“Princess, my foot,” he scoffed, but his eyes were warm.
Emily watched them—something clenched inside. They argued, talked over each other, but… they loved. Really loved.
*We were like that once,* she thought. *Young, hot-headed, convinced we were right. Now they laugh about what nearly broke them.*
Nan Lily pulled an envelope from her pocket.
“Here. Treat yourselves. Autumn’s coming. And don’t argue—we won’t miss it.”
Emily wanted to refuse, but Daniel took it.
“Ta, Nan.”
“Off to bed now. Room’s ready.”
The room was familiar—where Daniel had spent his childhood. Only now, the bed held two. They lay down. Silent.
“Em…” he whispered.
She pressed against him. Warm, familiar shoulders. Not riches. Not fur coats. Just him.
Daniel fell asleep. Emily stared at the ceiling.
*Glad we didn’t divorce. I’ll buy that coat tomorrow. Maybe a baby after. Then grandkids, someday. And in forty-nine years… golden rings. Just like theirs.*
She smiled. First time in ages. And slept. Peacefully. Beside him.
