**Shades of Happiness**
“Oh, hello, mate,” said Edward, welcoming his childhood friend Isaac into his home. Isaac had driven down from the city for a visit.
“Good to see you,” Isaac replied, pulling him into a quick embrace. “Been too long. Four months since Grandma’s funeral—kept meaning to come sooner, but life got in the way. Finally took some leave, thought I’d unwind here in the village.”
“Brilliant idea,” Edward grinned. “We’ll go fishing—up at the woodland lake, or the old river, remember? Just like when we were kids.”
Isaac had always been the clever one, quick-witted and full of mischief, while Edward was the steady support. They’d chased each other through these very lanes, splashed in the river, shared every scrap of trouble and laughter growing up.
“You alone? Where’s your missus?” Isaac asked.
“Popped to the shops,” Edward said, pride softening his voice. “She’ll be back any minute. Proper little homemaker, my Emily—cooks like a dream, feeds me till I can’t move.”
They’d married six years ago, though children hadn’t come yet. They’d seen doctors in the nearby town, been told everything was fine—just a matter of time. Still, Edward doted on her, never let her lift anything heavy, tended to her every need. The village women whispered, some envious, some spiteful.
“Lucky Emily, that one. Edward treats her like porcelain. Doesn’t drink, adores her.”
Emily herself lived contentedly—kept house, dressed well, though sometimes a quiet sadness settled when she watched the neighbours’ children. She worked as an accountant for the parish council.
They seldom spoke of it, but Edward often wondered, *A child would bring us closer.* Sometimes, though, he caught a coolness in her gaze, a distance he couldn’t name.
Emily *did* feel his love—so thick it could smother her at times.
“Hello,” came Emily’s light voice as she stepped inside, shopping bag in hand. Edward hurried over, taking it from her with fussing hands.
“Hi there,” Isaac said, unable to stop his eyes tracing her slender frame, the sunlit waves of her hair. “Isaac—Edward’s old mate.” He nodded as her husband reappeared.
“Never heard of you,” Emily remarked, glancing at Edward.
“He’s a city boy now. Left after school. His gran lived down the lane—Agnes, remember?”
“Oh, *her* grandson. Right.”
“Spot on,” Isaac chuckled.
“Right then, Em, we’ll take a walk while you sort supper,” Edward said, steering Isaac outside.
It was early September, the air crisp, leaves just beginning to turn. Emily set the table in the garden gazebo—too lovely a day to stay indoors. When the men returned, laughter trailing behind them, they settled in with wine and stories.
Isaac visited often after that. Edward was back at work, but evenings and weekends were theirs—fishing trips, bonfires, old friends dropping by.
One night, as the fire crackled, Emily caught Isaac’s gaze—warm, lingering. She knew that look. *He fancies me.* She was flattered. Married, yes, but who wouldn’t stare?
Later, slipping out to latch the shed, she turned—and there he was.
“You following me?”
“Admiring the moon,” he teased.
“Hardly. Just forgot the shed.”
“No. I followed *you*.” His voice dropped. “I’m mad for you, Emily. Since the moment I saw you.”
“You’ve had too much to drink.”
“Dead serious. Two weeks I’ve thought of nothing else.”
“*Emily!*” Edward’s voice cut through the dark. She stepped back, pulse racing.
“Just shutting the shed. Hens’ll scatter otherwise.”
Edward frowned at Isaac. “You out here too?”
“Ah, just asking Emily where a bloke might…” He grinned, nodding toward the fence.
That night, Emily tossed in bed, furious at herself. *Why am I even thinking of him? City flirt, probably charms anything in a skirt.*
But the next day, Isaac came while Edward was at work.
“Missed you,” he murmured, fingers brushing hers. “Can’t stop thinking about you.”
She *should* have shoved him away. Instead, she melted.
His whispers curled around her, his hands too knowing. Afterward, cheeks burning, she watched him devour her pie at the table.
“Wife material, you are. Gorgeous, brilliant cook…”
When he left, she floated. Even the autumn gloom felt golden.
Their secret meetings continued. Sweet nothings, stolen hours. Then, too soon:
“My leave’s up, Em. Got to go back.”
“Move here,” she pleaded.
“You’d want that?”
“*Yes.* You could commute—you’re the boss, aren’t you?”
“I’ll come back in two weeks. Promise.”
“And Edward?”
“Who cares, when I’ve got you?”
He left. Emily ached. Her holidays ended. Resolve hardening, she packed a bag, left a note (*”It’s over. I’ve fallen for someone else.”*), and fled to her divorced friend Lucy’s.
“Are you *mad*?” Lucy hissed.
“He’s coming back. We’ll live here, in his house.”
Edward never came after her. Weeks passed. Rain replaced sunshine. Then—lights in Isaac’s window.
Heart pounding, she rushed over.
“I left Edward! We’re free!”
Isaac’s smile chilled her. “Why’d you do that?”
“*For you!* You said—”
“Never said I’d marry you. Got a fiancée in London. Edward’s a good bloke—what’s wrong with you? Wave a finger, and you’re off. Besides, I’m done with this place.”
She walked out numb.
Lucy took one look and hugged her. “Oh, Em…”
Two weeks later, rummaging through her bag, Emily froze. *The note.* She’d never left it.
That evening, outside the village shop, Edward smiled. “You all right?”
“Getting by.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Come home. Lucy said you’ve been poorly. Let’s get you some apples—vitamins, eh?” He offered his arm, like always.
She took it.
That night, back in their bed, she exhaled. *Forgiven.*
Edward had known Isaac’s games. Watched her run to him, watched her flee. Waited.
Later, as Isaac packed his car, Edward swung. One punch sent him sprawling.
*Never hit a man on the ground.*
Now, with baby Matthew between them, Emily lives with her guilt. Edward never speaks of it.
In their cottage, happiness has returned—shaded, but whole.
