**Diary Entry**
I still remember how I picked apart my outfit that day—a white dress, bought in a rush on sale for a pittance, looking far too plain now. The lace I’d chosen so carefully seemed cheap under the harsh light. But I shrugged, thinking, *As long as Arthur likes it*.
Arthur. My dream, my love at first sight. He wasn’t exactly a knight in shining armour—more like a burly rugby lad, with unruly blond hair, broad shoulders, and a roguish glint in his cornflower-blue eyes. I’d always believed love would strike me exactly like this: sudden, intense, straight out of a novel. Anything less wouldn’t do.
A shrill ringtone yanked me from my thoughts. Mum, of course. Still trying to talk me out of it.
*”Emily, sweetheart, listen to me—listen to those who’ve lived longer than you!”* Her voice was thick with tears, as it had been for weeks. *”A wedding after barely a month? You don’t even know each other!”*
How many times would we have this same argument?
*”Real love doesn’t need more than that,”* I sighed dreamily. *”It’s love at first sight. Just like in the films!”*
*”Films are fairy tales, love,”* Mum shot back. *”They end with ‘happily ever after’ and the credits roll. Life isn’t like that. There are bills, jobs, children—do you even know where he works? What his plans are?”*
I hesitated. Arthur and I had never talked about such things. Our conversations were all breathless declarations, never the dull details.
*”He’s in… logistics, I think?”* I dodged. If Mum pressed, she’d start prying, and then there’d be no end to it.
Thankfully, she didn’t ask about his hobbies. Not that I knew much—just nights out with mates over pints and gaming till dawn. But did that matter when love was this overwhelming?
Dad took over. *”Emily, how can you build a life with someone you don’t know? You can’t even say where he works!”*
*”You and Nan got married just as quick!”*
*”That was luck. One in a million,”* he said flatly.
*”Then I’ll be lucky too.”*
*”Emily—”*
*”Sorry, gotta go. Arthur’s here.”* I hung up before they could protest.
Arthur arrived in a navy suit, wrinkled and too big for him, the jacket bunching at the shoulders, the trousers pooling over his shoes. In his hands was a bouquet of daisies, tied with a simple ribbon—wild ones, likely plucked from a field. To me, they were perfect.
*”Ready?”*
I nodded, my hands shaking. With one deep breath, I stepped out, leaving doubts, warnings, and common sense behind.
The registry office was quick, dreadfully ordinary. A bored clerk droned through the vows. Arthur fumbled the ring onto my finger as his sparse relatives snapped photos. None of mine came—Mum and Dad’s silent protest.
Afterwards, we went to Arthur’s flat—now ours. The table was set with a floral plastic cloth, sandwiches, a bowl of potato salad, sliced tomatoes. His Aunt Rose, who’d grudgingly prepared it, Uncle Rob nursing a hangover, and his cousin Lily, eyeing me spitefully, offered stiff congratulations before slipping away. Their faces looked like they’d attended a wake, not a wedding. I ignored it.
Finally alone, Arthur exhaled. *”Well, that’s that. Now we’re stuck with each other!”* He spun me around, and I laughed, dizzy with joy.
Three hours later, the circus began. Restless after seeing off his family, Arthur declared celebrating with mates was different. With a hasty *”Back soon!”* he vanished, leaving me in our newlywed flat.
*”Soon”* stretched till dawn.
He stumbled in blind drunk, slurring apologies before collapsing facedown. I wordlessly covered him with a blanket.
Morning brought his hangover and my crushing disappointment. I’d made a mistake—but admitting it, especially to my parents, was unthinkable. Love would fix him. Love fixed everything… right?
Life with Arthur was a rollercoaster. Spontaneous weekend trips without warning. Blowing his wages on gaming gear, leaving us broke. Tantrums over unwashed dishes, then gushing compliments minutes later. Once, he splurged on abstract art—a mess of shapes I didn’t understand.
*”It’s genius!”* he crowed. *”You just don’t get art.”*
Neither did he. That money could’ve fixed our broken washing machine. I stayed silent.
Arthur moaned about his logistics job, his *”tyrant”* boss, his dreams of a business—plans that never left the pub banter. I worked at a salon, keeping home tidy, cooking, pretending we were normal. But the act crumbled daily.
When I begged him to behave like a husband, he called me *”uptight”* or promised change—empty words.
The final straw came when he blew our rent on nonsense. *”I work hard! I deserve fun!”* he yelled.
*”And what am I? A robot? Just here to serve you?”*
*”Christ, don’t nag. Treat yourself—get those dance classes you wanted!”*
With what money?
Our first anniversary, I cooked a fancy dinner, lit candles, bought champagne—hoping he’d remember.
He came home late, drunk—with a woman. *”This is Kate. She’s… pregnant.”*
The floor vanished beneath me.
*”Sorry, love,”* he slurred. *”Don’t even remember it. She’ll stay with us till she sorts herself out. I love *you*.”*
Kate squirmed, ashamed.
I wanted to scream, break things—but mechanically, I walked past him. Out the door. No coat, just my hoodie. I took the bus to Gran’s.
Gran gaped. *”Emily? What’s happened?”*
I spilled everything. Arthur’s lies, Kate, my shattered illusions.
*”I wanted love like yours and Grandad’s,”* I sobbed.
Gran’s smile was sad. *”Oh, love… it wasn’t like that.”*
*”What?”*
*”We married fast, but not for love. I… had someone else. A married man. Your grandad knew. Stayed anyway.”*
My idolised marriage—a lie.
*”Then why tell me?”*
*”Because settling ruins lives. Don’t be ‘convenient.’”*
Next morning, I packed a bag. *”I’m leaving.”*
*”Where?”* Arthur blinked.
*”Away from you.”*
Mum and Dad welcomed me without *”I told you so.”* The love I’d clung to? Gone.
Months later, I bumped into Tom, an old schoolmate. We took it slow. Married years later. He loved me—flaws and all.
**Epilogue**
Arthur married Kate. It failed. He kept drinking, spending. She left too.
Once, she called. *”I’m sorry. I was desperate. He’s… hopeless.”*
*”Don’t blame yourself,”* I said softly. *”I did too.”*
