Reward
“Emma, you live such a thrilling life—it’s like something out of a film,” said Olivia to her friend and colleague, who just laughed in response.
“Oh, my life’s certainly eventful, but who knows how this film will end? Still, I’ll figure it out. Time to settle down—I’m twenty-eight now. So, I’ll work hard toward that.”
“Come on, Emma, don’t make me laugh. I don’t think you even want to get married. You’re happy as you are. Marriage means responsibility and just one man,” Olivia replied.
“Who said anything about just one? That’s how *you* live with your Simon, but it’ll be different for me.”
“How can you say such a thing?” Olivia was scandalised. “How can you dream of other men while married? I’d never accept that.”
“Well, that’s you—this is me,” Emma said with a dazzling smile.
She was stunning—slender, with a perfect figure and a sultry gaze that turned heads wherever she went. Emma was the kind of woman who never missed an opportunity. She lived by the motto: *If it’s offered, take it; if you’re struck, strike back.* Whatever she set her mind to, she did it better and faster than anyone else. She’d joined the office after Olivia but had already surpassed her, leaving her friend as her subordinate.
The office was full of men, and Emma charmed them all—even the married ones. But she had a rule:
“My goal is marriage, so married men are off-limits—though some are *quite* the catch! I’ve narrowed it down to three colleagues. Now, which one should I choose?”
She even asked Olivia for advice, but her friend refused to weigh in.
“Emma, don’t take this the wrong way, but I won’t be the one to advise you here. You think it through and decide. If things go wrong, I don’t want to be blamed.”
Emma didn’t leave it to chance. She carefully analysed which of the three was the most promising. Eventually, she settled on James—reliable, handsome, skilled, earning well, and, most importantly, he listened to her.
James quickly noticed Emma’s warmth toward him. He’d seen it before, but the other two suitors, Robert and Paul, were still in the picture. They liked her too, and Emma flirted with them freely, which infuriated him.
“Emma must have realised I’m the best option,” James thought triumphantly. “I shouldn’t let this moment slip—I’ll propose quickly.”
And so he did. On one of their dates, James handed Emma an enormous bouquet and a small velvet box with a ring inside.
“Emma, will you marry me? I’ve thought long and hard, and I know you’ll make a wonderful wife. I want to wake up beside you every morning.”
“I will, James. Though I didn’t expect you to propose so soon. But we know each other well, so yes.”
At first, they lived in Emma’s small flat. But eventually, James suggested:
“Let’s sell this place and build a proper house. We’ll take out a loan if needed, but with our incomes, we can manage it gradually.”
“But where will we live in the meantime? Rent?” Emma asked.
“No need. My father’s been alone since Mum passed three years ago. His place is spacious—three bedrooms. He won’t mind. So, agreed?”
Emma consented. The work on their new plot began immediately, and the flat sold fast. They moved in with James’s father, Henry, who was delighted. Emma and her father-in-law had always gotten along, though they hadn’t seen each other often.
Henry, a widower in his early fifties, was distinguished—far from old, not even middle-aged by most standards. After their first meeting, Emma remarked:
“Your father reminds me of that actor who does the phone adverts.” James just laughed and agreed.
Henry was tall, muscular, and well-groomed, with a deep, rugged voice. He worked out twice a week and had no shortage of female admirers, though remarrying was the last thing on his mind.
Naturally, he was thrilled to have his son and daughter-in-law move in—it livened up the house. Time passed smoothly, except James spent every spare moment overseeing the construction, leaving Emma alone more often. Alone, that is, with Henry.
Then came the moment Emma realised Henry was looking at her differently. At first, she thought she imagined it. But no—he’d touch her shoulder, compliment her, smile warmly.
“Well, well,” she thought. “Father-in-law can’t take his eyes off me. And why not? He’s quite the attractive man. Maybe there’s something in it for me.”
The next time Henry embraced her, she didn’t resist. Before she knew it, they’d crossed a line neither questioned. Neither asked:
“Am I doing the right thing?”
And neither felt guilt—to them, it just *was*. Why not? James was always at the construction site, sometimes overnight, especially on weekends. He was exhausted, desperate to finish the house. Meanwhile, Emma missed a man’s company.
This continued until Emma discovered she was pregnant. She told Henry:
“I’ve no doubt the baby’s yours. These things happen, you know—children come from this.” She smiled.
“I’m glad, Emma. Very glad.”
James, however, wasn’t thrilled. A baby hadn’t been part of his plans—he wanted the house finished first. Still, he forced a smile.
“James, don’t worry. I’ll help with the baby. What else is a grandfather for?” Henry clapped his son on the shoulder, leaving James no choice but to agree.
The pregnancy was difficult, but Emma endured it—the baby was wanted, and she wasn’t getting any younger. Henry accompanied her to every doctor’s visit. No one batted an eye; everyone knew James was busy with the house.
In due time, a boy, Oliver, was born. Emma and Henry were overjoyed; James, too, after a fashion. The house was nearly done, and they’d soon move.
Henry adored Oliver, doting on him in a way he never had with James. Age had changed his perspective—fatherhood was something to savour now.
When the time came, James announced:
“We’re moving tomorrow or the day after. Start packing.”
“But what about me?” Henry asked. “I need to help with Oliver—he’s used to me.” He wanted to move with them.
“You’ll stay here. Visit whenever you like,” James replied. “We’ve imposed long enough.”
Henry wasn’t happy but spent most of his time at their new home regardless.
Then, when Oliver was three, a routine medical check-up revealed a serious condition. To rule out the worst, the doctor suggested genetic testing. Emma and Henry faced a dilemma—what if James found out?
After much thought, Emma decided:
“For Oliver’s health, I’ll do anything… even if James learns the truth.”
Waiting for the results, Emma was a nervous wreck. James assumed she was just worried for Oliver—until he decided to collect the test himself.
What he read horrified him.
“Oliver isn’t mine? Is this a mistake? Or is it true?”
The fight at home was explosive. Under pressure, Emma confessed—Oliver was Henry’s son.
The admission shattered James further.
“How? I can’t believe this. You’re dragging my father into this? Admit the truth!”
Then Henry stepped in.
“Son, forgive me, but it’s true. You were always at the construction site. Women need attention. It just… happened.”
“Traitors! I hate you both!” James stormed out.
Soon after, he filed for divorce. Emma and Henry lived in the new house; James stayed in his father’s flat. Oliver needed treatment, and Emma spent long weeks in hospital with him. Henry did his best, and eventually, the illness retreated.
“God is punishing me,” Emma thought. “Oliver’s sickness—it’s retribution for my sin.”
James suffered in his own way, consumed by the sting of betrayal.
“Being lied to hurts. Being lied to by those you trust most? That’s agony.”
When the doctor finally declared Oliver healthy enough for nursery, Henry was overjoyed. He, too, carried guilt—visiting his late wife’s grave and the church, seeking absolution. But repentance came too late.
Ten years passed. Emma threw Henry out—he’d aged, while she’d only grown more radiant. She’d buried her regrets and set her sights on a new colleague, Daniel, fresh from a divorce and smitten with her at once. Life went on… Emma hadn’t changed a bit.
James, meanwhile, remarried happily and moved permanently to the Lake District, where he met a lovely doctor on assignment. Fate brought them together, and he left with her for good.
