The Inevitable Choice
Emily flinched at the sharp shout:
“Oi, you little rat!” Victor raised a heavy shopping bag over the puppy, then spun toward her: “Have you lost your marbles? Feeding strays with my groceries?”
One spring day, Emily was struck by a sudden longing for love.
She stood before the mirror, studying her reflection thoughtfully. “How time flies,” she sighed. “It feels like only yesterday I was young as a daisy, and now… well, more like a late-blooming rose. Still lovely, but with autumn’s touch. Winter will come soon, and then… it’s high time I take charge of my life!”
Thirty-seven—old enough for wisdom, young enough for beauty. The perfect moment for bold steps. But where to find love? At work, it was all women; chance encounters on the street weren’t her style, and online dating felt dodgy.
Still, they say if you seek, you’ll find.
And luck smiled: a new hire joined HR—David Thompson. Tall, slightly stout, with a warm smile and stern glasses. Around her age. Emily noticed his calm demeanour and quiet confidence.
Competition was fierce, though. Take just Sophie, the junior HR assistant—youthful as a fawn, long legs, plump lips, lashes that could summon a gale with a flutter.
At first, Emily despaired. How could she, plain and homely, rival such dazzle? Surely David wouldn’t glance her way, already bowled over by Sophie’s bold charm.
But she was wrong. Sophie preened around him like a peacock, flashing décolletage or toned legs, yet he remained unmoved:
“Sophie, was there something you needed? I’ll help once I’m done.”
His gaze stayed firmly on her eyes, ignoring her antics.
But when Emily brought her famous apple pie to the office one day, David brightened:
“Emily, you’re a magician! This tastes just like my nan’s. Takes me right back!”
A strange compliment. Emily didn’t want to remind a grown man of his grandmother—she wanted a man, not a boy pining for the past. Still, she reasoned, it was a start. Better that than silence.
She also realised: David was a sucker for home cooking. And she could cook—though it showed. Once a size 10, now a solid 14. So she baked more: treats for the office, less for her waistline.
Through pies and stews, Emily found her way to David’s heart. Simple, clichéd, but effective—win him through his stomach. Soon, their bond bloomed: flowers, compliments, long talks.
“It’s funny, David,” she confessed once. “I’d just started dreaming of love, and there you were. So… real. And I admit, I thought I stood no chance. Especially with Sophie fluttering about.”
“Sophie?” He looked genuinely puzzled. “Nah, she’s ten a penny—fake lashes, talon nails, legs always on display. Thinks blokes fall for that. Not my type. A woman should be real—kind, cosy, capable. Like you, Em.”
“My happiness at last!” Emily rejoiced. “Took its time finding me, but here it is!”
David seemed flawless. But perfection doesn’t exist…
Their romance lasted six months, nearing marriage—until one grim November evening.
The weather threw a tantrum: rain lashing, sleet spitting, wind shifting on a whim. Arm in arm, Emily and David hurried home under an umbrella.
“Look, a kitten!” Emily stopped suddenly.
Under a lamppost, shivering, sat a tiny black furball—soaked, filthy, pitiful.
“Leave it, Em. I’m frozen and starving,” David tugged her sleeve.
“Just a sec.” She crouched. “Come here, little one.”
“Are you serious?” David snapped. “Your fiancé’s soaked and hungry, and you’re fussing over strays?”
“We’re taking him,” she said firmly, tucking the kitten into her coat. “Don’t grumble. He’s worse off than us.”
“Mad cat lady,” he muttered, stomping ahead.
Emily followed, whispering to the kitten: “Don’t mind him. He’s just grouchy.”
But at home, David’s kindness vanished.
“Feed it if you must, then chuck it out!”
“Out? In this weather? He’s tiny, helpless!”
“Em, don’t be daft. Streets are full of strays—can’t take ’em all. Done your bit, now bin it. I’m starving!”
“No, David. I won’t throw him out.”
He wouldn’t listen.
“I can’t stand cats!” he spat. “Pets should be useful—meat, milk, wool. Yours? Useless pests. Not in my house!”
Emily saw a different man—cold, selfish, calculating.
“First, it’s my house. Second, tell me—did you pick a wife for ‘usefulness’ too?”
“Well, what’s wrong with that?” he hedged. “I want a wife who keeps a home, not just paints nails. Normal, isn’t it?”
“So that’s it,” Emily said softly. “I’m ‘useful.’ Homely. Sophie’s too self-absorbed for you. You want everything to revolve around you. Leave, David.”
“No dinner, then?” He scoffed. “Fine. Enjoy being the crazy cat lady.”
“Leave.”
He went, expecting her to cave. She didn’t.
New Year’s Eve, Emily celebrated with the kitten—now named Smudge. He’d grown fluffy, regal as a panther. Smudge eased her loneliness, purring on her lap when sadness crept in.
Spring came. Hope dwindled—until her new neighbour, Mark.
Mark was David’s opposite: short, stocky, balding, with a gruff manner. Post-divorce, he’d moved in next door.
“Alright, love?” he’d grunt. “Need help? I’m handy.”
At first, she declined. Then her kettle broke.
“Any good with appliances?”
“Expert level. What’s up?”
“Kettle’s dead.”
“Sorted!”
An hour of his colourful muttering later, it worked. Grateful, she invited him for dinner. Their romance began.
“You cook a mean roast, Emily,” he praised. “But I’m no slouch—cook, clean, fix anything. Ex never appreciated it…”
“So I’m not just a housemaid,” she thought. Plus, Mark liked Smudge:
“Proper little bloke, this one,” he’d say, scratching the cat’s ears.
She took it slow, watching. They were opposites—but maybe that worked.
Then, waiting outside Tesco, she spotted a ginger pup sniffing near the bins. She broke off a bit of sausage:
“Here, boy.”
The pup crept closer—just as Mark stormed out.
“Bloody mutt!” He swung his bag at it, then glared at Emily. “Lost your mind? Feeding strays with my bangers? It’ll bite you, then what? Rabies jabs?”
The pup cowered under a bench. Emily stood, gripping the sausage.
“Mark, what’s wrong? You like Smudge!”
“Are you thick? Smudge is yours—I respect that. This one’s vermin! Should be put down, not fed!”
Rage boiled in her. She looked at the sausage, then shoved it into Mark’s mouth.
“Here’s your sausage. And I’m done. I won’t be with an animal hater.”
She turned to the pup—still there, trembling. She scooped him up.
“Let’s go home. You’ll like Smudge.”
Mark yelled after her, but she didn’t look back.
Now they were three: Emily, Smudge, and the pup—named Biscuit for his golden coat and curly tail. Mark tried apologising, failed, called her a fool, and vanished.
“No luck with men,” she’d sigh to her pets. “But…”
David was selfish—I nearly married him. Smudge showed his true colours. Mark was cruel—I almost trusted him. Thank goodness Biscuit revealed him.
“Poor mum,” Biscuit would whine.
“Don’t fret,” Smudge purred. “She’ll find her person.”
“How d’you know?”
“I’m a cat. I know things.”
He was right. Next spring, Emily met someone who loved her—and animals—with no hidden edges. Their future? Surely bright. But that’s another tale…
