Suddenly Married
Emily rushed through the shopping centre, arms weighed down with bags, dodging people on the escalator while muttering under her breath about her hopeless boyfriend James—no car to pick her up, no help carrying everything home. She’d had to book a taxi, and of course, it arrived far too quickly. Now she was sprinting in heels across the mall to the car park, lugging her haul behind her.
She was fuming. Not only had she been left to fend for herself, but her stupidly expensive leather shoes had rubbed her feet raw.
“Watch where you’re going!” snapped a woman on the escalator as Emily accidentally smacked her with a bag.
“Maybe you should look where *you’re* standing instead of daydreaming!” Emily shot back without even turning.
“Rude!” the woman spat, but Emily couldn’t care less.
She burst through the doors into the car park and finally checked the taxi’s number—only to see the driver had cancelled. The fare had nearly doubled. Furious, she cancelled the ride, shoved her phone in her pocket, and spotted a free bench nearby. She dumped the bags and collapsed onto the seat, kicking off one of those ridiculous shoes with a groan.
“Honestly! The whole world’s against me today!” she grumbled, shoving a shopping bag in frustration. It flopped pathetically onto the bench, the receipt fluttering loose.
Emily leaned back, closing her eyes. Lately, it felt like life had it out for her…
***
Emily had always dreamed big—never settling for less. The latest phone, the best salon for her nails and hair, the highest-quality shoes. She had the same standards for men, but luck had been awful. Instead of handsome, wealthy, brilliant suitors, she kept winding up with “damaged goods”—old, fat, bald, lazy, or just plain broke. She’d picked through plenty, but none met her standards.
“You’re going to end up alone at this rate,” her mum sometimes warned. “A man’s worth is in his actions, not his looks or wallet.”
“And am I supposed to stare at his *actions* at night?” Emily would retort. “Besides, good actions need money—just saying.”
Her mum never had a comeback. Emily was too quick with her words, always ready with a sharp reply. You’d think she’d trained as a debater, not worked as a restaurant hostess. But that job three years ago had started everything—or rather, warped her expectations. Watching wealthy men escort glamorous women in fur coats had planted a thought: *Why not me? I deserve that too.*
Yet, for some reason, those men never looked her way. Something about her—maybe her ordinary family, her state school education—screamed “average,” and no amount of designer knockoffs could hide it. She wanted a man with status, a high-paying job, a luxury car, tailor-made suits.
But as the years passed, the men didn’t measure up. Eventually, she gave in to James—a bank clerk four years older, decently paid but plain-looking. Light brown hair, grey eyes, average height, not exactly fit but not flabby either. He owned a spacious two-bed flat (mortgaged, of course). No car—James insisted public transport was more than enough in London.
Kind but persistent, he’d wooed her relentlessly—flowers at work, dinner dates. After three months, her mum’s nagging wore her down.
“Good man, adores you, spoils you—what more do you want? Better a bird in the hand than two in the bush,” her mum had said.
Reluctantly, Emily agreed. Surprisingly, life with James wasn’t bad. He was attentive—paying for little luxuries, taking her on trips (though never five-star), cooking, bringing her coffee in bed, never stopping her shopping sprees with friends. And he was serious about proposing.
Almost a year passed. Emily got comfortable—but never stopped dreaming. And she *never* hesitated to complain to her friends about how James “wasn’t enough.” Though… truthfully, she had little to complain about…
***
“Who says the whole world’s against you? *I’m* certainly not,” said a voice right beside her ear.
Emily jolted, eyes snapping open. Behind the bench stood Andrew. Years ago, in college, he’d tried to flirt with her—only for her to humiliate him in front of her friends.
At first, she barely recognised him. Gone was the scrawny, acne-riddled student. This Andrew was handsome—dark hair styled neatly, a light beard, broad shoulders, a leather biker jacket.
“Wow,” she breathed, forcing a smile. “You’ve… changed. It’s been ages.”
“Sure has,” he agreed. “Recognised you straight away, though. What’s wrong? Sitting here, shoeless, surrounded by bags?”
Awkwardly, she explained her day—omitting James, of course.
“Let me give you a lift,” Andrew offered. “My car’s right there.”
She followed his gaze—a gleaming black Range Rover. Nodding eagerly, she rubbed her sore foot. Within minutes, he’d loaded her bags, helped her in, and set off.
“So,” she purred, “what’s your secret? Look at you now!”
“Right place, right time,” he said, smirking. “But I’ll tell you properly over coffee. There’s a good place nearby.”
Emily’s mind raced. The shy college boy had vanished—this was a confident, successful man. And he was *interested*.
“Yes! I skipped lunch anyway,” she said sweetly.
Half an hour later, over food, he explained—dropped out of college, trained as a programmer, worked on AI projects, now ran his own tech firm. Emily listened, wide-eyed.
“You’re amazing,” she gushed.
He chuckled. “What about you? Married yet?”
She shook her head *hard*. Suddenly, James—still stuck in the same job—seemed pitiful in comparison.
Over dinner, Andrew bragged about projects, holidays in Europe, expensive hobbies. Emily was smitten. *This* was the man she deserved.
Afterwards, he paid and stood.
“Shame to end here,” he mused, pocketing his wallet.
“My whole evening’s free,” she said quickly.
“Perfect. How about a film?”
She’d have agreed to *anything*.
They walked, laughed, joked after the cinema. Andrew hinted he hadn’t dated in ages.
When James texted, Emily claimed she was at a friend’s. As the April night chilled, fog rolling in, Andrew suggested coffee in the car. She didn’t resist. Inside, he pulled her close—and kissed her. Melting, she let things go further.
“That was incredible,” she sighed later, fixing her makeup as the car sped through London. “When will I see you again?”
“I’ll call,” he said, parking near her flat.
One last kiss, and she floated inside, giddy—until the next day, when she dumped James.
“You don’t measure up,” she hissed, packing her things.
He didn’t fight it.
Back at her mum’s, Emily was triumphant—until a week passed with no call from Andrew. Finally, she rang him. No answer.
She searched social media—and froze.
Photos of Andrew. A wife. *Two children.*
He answered on her second call.
“Why are you ringing me?” he snapped.
“I thought you’d call!” she choked out. “I thought we—you’re *married*!”
“We had fun. That’s all,” he laughed.
“I’ll tell your wife!”
“Go ahead. Got proof?”
She hung up, sickened.
Andrew had played her. And crawling back to James wasn’t an option now.
She threw her phone on the bed and sobbed. Her dream had slapped her in the face—hard.
