Only on the Third Try
How much bitterness must one endure, how many loved ones lost, before true happiness comes knocking?
This thought often crossed Emma’s mind. At forty-eight, she still clung to hope, waiting for something better. Life had been unkind, but she refused to surrender. Now, disaster struck—she stood motionless, blinking back tears as flames devoured her home. Embers spiraled into the night sky, the firelight flickering over the gathered crowd. A fire engine wailed in the distance.
Loss of Everything
Firefighters unfurled hoses with frantic urgency. A powerful jet of water clashed with the inferno. Smoke billowed. Emma pressed a handkerchief to her nose, horror-struck as her life turned to ash. Everything—the furniture, the wardrobe, the kitchen—gone. Nothing saved. The house where she’d lived for twenty-five years was now a charred skeleton.
“Emma, come with me,” murmured Margaret, her neighbor of many years, tugging her sleeve. “Your Henry’s already in our garden with my husband.”
“Sitting there as if it’s nothing,” Emma whispered, tears streaming. “As if his carelessness didn’t burn us alive. Barely woke him in time… Oh, Meg, I never realized how much I loved every little thing we lost.”
“Don’t fret,” Margaret soothed. “You’re not even fifty yet. Plenty of life ahead.”
They stepped into Margaret’s garden, where Henry sat with Ian, the homeowner. Henry, shaken sober by the blaze, blinked blearily.
“Emma… what happened?” he slurred. “How’d it start?”
“How?” She let out a choked laugh. “You fell asleep with that bloody cigarette. It rolled under the bed. Flames were already licking the walls when I shook you awake. How many times did I warn you? Now we’ve got nothing.”
Henry hung his head, tears spilling. His glassy eyes fixed on the ruins of the home he’d built with his own hands.
“Emma, forgive me. I swear on my life—no more drink.” He crossed himself. “We’ll stay at my parents’ old place. Needs work, but we’ll manage. I promise.”
His parents, long gone, had been heavy drinkers. The neglected house stood derelict. Emma and Henry sifted through the ashes but found nothing salvageable. True to his word, Henry stayed sober—the shock had changed him.
Only Memories Remain
Emma paused by the ruins one day, memories flooding back. She sank onto the surviving bench by the gate, recalling twenty-five years of marriage. The joy of moving in, choosing wallpaper, painting walls. Henry hauling in a towering Christmas tree, the girls laughing as they decorated it. New Year’s mornings, the children scrambling to see what Father Christmas had left.
“So many secrets, so much laughter,” Emma thought. “My heartaches too. The girls ran off to school from here, then flew into the world.”
Her daughters—barely a year apart—were from her first marriage. Young and naive, she’d wed Greg, only to find him wholly unsuitable. Lazy, restless, always out carousing while she raised their babies alone.
“Should’ve listened to Mum,” Emma muttered aloud.
Greg had a motorbike. One night, returning from visiting her parents, they crashed. He died instantly; she barely survived. The nineties were harsh—laid off, she moved with the girls to her mother’s village.
There, she met Henry. Lonely, he lived with his drinking parents. Smitten, he proposed quickly: “Emma, marry me. I’ll love your girls as my own. I’m building us a house.”
She’d said yes—not for love, but for stability. Henry was kind, hardworking. But his parents’ influence dragged him into drinking, and though he adored her, she never loved him back.
“Why does luck elude me?” Emma wondered, sitting on the bench. At least the girls grew up happy.
Misfortune Again
But sorrow wasn’t done. Henry refurbished his parents’ house, staying sober—until fate struck again. A stroke, then death. Emma buried him, and gray, joyless days followed. Work, home, waiting for visits from the children.
One winter, she took a taxi to buy New Year’s gifts. The driver, Matthew, was affable, handsome. He handed her his card.
“Call if you need a ride.”
She tucked it away, forgetting until her son-in-law’s car broke down. Matthew arrived swiftly, charming even her shy grandson.
“Thank you,” her son-in-law said, paying the fare. “Mum, he’s lovely,” her daughter whispered.
Matthew watched them, envious of their warmth. Eight years prior, he’d lost his wife and daughter in a tragic accident. No one had filled the void—until Emma, who resembled his late wife.
She invited him in for leftover pies. Over tea, they shared their grief—her fire, his loss. A warmth kindled in Emma’s chest, unfamiliar yet comforting.
Matthew called days later. “A film’s showing. Join me?”
They spent the day laughing, debating the movie over ice cream. He gifted her a delicate figurine, then invited her home. His mother, Nancy, approved instantly.
“Consider her,” she urged. “She’s a good woman.”
“I know,” Matthew said. “She’ll be your daughter-in-law soon.”
On Emma’s birthday, he presented a ring amidst family cheers. Glowing, she realized—third time’s the charm. Happiness, at last, had come home.
