In school, Tom wasn’t known for good behaviour, but he excelled in his studies. Teachers praised his grades but often scolded him for his antics. Handsome and confident, girls flocked to him, and he took full advantage, cycling through them without a second thought.
Emily had been in his class since year one. By year seven, she became painfully aware of her weight—far heavier than the other girls, who never let her forget it, taunting her with cruel nicknames. She’d grown used to the jibes, but as she got older, the words stung more, especially when her friends whispered about boys—who’d pushed who, who’d tugged whose hair. No one paid Emily that kind of attention. At home, she sobbed into her pillow.
“Mum, why am I so fat? Why am I the only one like this?” she cried.
“Sweetheart, don’t be so hard on yourself,” her mother soothed, though she knew the truth.
Tom, now dating the sharp-tongued, popular Charlotte, joined in the taunts, perhaps to impress her. Emily endured it silently, tears streaking her flushed cheeks.
Years passed. After A-levels, they all moved on—Tom to a construction apprenticeship, Charlotte to a design college, Emily to university. Their paths never crossed again.
One evening, Tom strolled back from the lake at the park’s edge with mates, celebrating a work bonus. Laughter and banter filled the air until he spotted a woman alone by the water, feeding ducks. She glanced up, and he was lost—her blue eyes holding him captive. Breaking from his friends, he approached with a grin.
“Tom. And you are…? Fancy a walk? Or should we skip straight to marriage?” He offered his business card. She hesitated, frowning, but took it before turning away.
He chased after her. “Wait—if I offended you, I’m sorry. Had a few too many. Call me? I’d love to make it up to you.”
The next day, his phone buzzed—a message from *Emily*. His heart leapt. He replied with a dinner invite, and that evening, he waited nervously with flowers. When she appeared, radiant, their date unfolded perfectly.
Over months, Tom discovered Emily’s kindness, her love of knitting, her passion for tennis. At twenty-eight, he’d dated plenty, even lived with someone for two years—but this was different. Emily was extraordinary, youthful at twenty-eight, glowing.
Yet one thing unnerved him: her faith. She attended church twice a month, never spoke of it, and kept her social media locked tight. “Maybe she’s private,” he reasoned. “She’ll open up in time.”
Six months in, he suggested moving in together.
“I’m sorry, Tom, but I can’t. I’m not fanatical, but my faith matters. I won’t live with a man unless we’re married.”
He admired her principles. Life carried on—work, projects, plans. Then, after a big job, he whisked her away for a weekend getaway.
“Let’s drive—three, maybe four hours?” she agreed.
They chatted nonstop, arriving in no time. Over coffee, he blurted, “Marry me, Em. Let’s find a jeweller right now.”
She stiffened. “Tom, I’ve told you—I’m a believer. You’ve never stepped foot in a church. If this is serious, you’d repent, confess, ask my parents properly.”
Spotting a church spire, he tugged her toward it. “Come on, then.”
Inside, he rushed to the vicar. “I’ll confess, I’ll do whatever—just tell me how to marry her.”
The vicar sighed. “Marriage requires preparation. But if you wish to confess, I won’t turn you away.”
The confession was brief—three minutes of half-remembered regrets. After, Tom dropped to one knee. “Say yes, Em.”
Silently, she walked out. He followed.
“Emily, why?”
“I can’t lie under the steeple,” she whispered. “You really don’t remember me, do you? I’m Emily Sutton. Your classmate.”
His stomach dropped. Memories flooded back—the taunts, the cruelty. “You… you’ve lost—”
“Five stone,” she finished.
He sat heavily on a bench, shame crushing him. He recalled her father cornering him years ago: “Harm my Emily again, and you’ll answer to me.”
“I worked on myself,” she said softly. “Found faith. The vicar taught me to forgive. But today, in there… I realised I haven’t. Not really.”
“Emily, I’m *so* sorry—”
“You chipped away at me for years. I loved you once. But I can’t be with you now.” She walked away.
Tom stayed on the bench until dusk, when the vicar found him. Over tea, he confessed *everything*. Later, under the stars, he prayed desperately: *God, let her forgive me.*
At home, her phone rang out. He had one hope left—faith.
