The Inevitable Choice
Emma jumped at the sharp shout:
“Oi, you little pest!” Victor raised his heavy shopping bag over the puppy, then turned on her: “Have you lost the plot? Feeding strays with my groceries?”
One spring day, Emma had been hit by a sudden pang of longing for love.
She stood before the mirror, studying her reflection pensively. “Time flies, doesn’t it?” she sighed. “Feels like just yesterday I was fresh as a daisy, and now… well, more like a sturdy chrysanthemum. Lovely, but with a touch of autumn. Winter’s coming, and then… high time to take charge of my life!”
Thirty-seven—old enough to know better, young enough to still turn heads. The perfect age for bold moves! But where to find love? Her office was all women, random street encounters weren’t her style, and online dating just seemed dodgy.
Still, they say fortune favours the bold.
And then, luck struck: a new hire joined HR—Daniel Whitmore. Tall, slightly portly, with a warm smile and stern glasses. Around her age. Emma noticed his calm demeanour and quiet confidence straight away.
The competition, of course, was fierce. There was Lucy, the junior HR assistant—young as a fawn, with legs for days, pouty lips, and eyelashes that could probably summon a gale with a single flutter.
Emma nearly gave up. How could she, cosy and unassuming, compete with such a dazzling beauty? Surely Daniel wouldn’t spare her a glance before falling at Lucy’s feet, blinded by her youth and cheeky charm.
But she was wrong. Lucy fluttered around Daniel like a peacock, flashing cleavage and endless legs, but he remained unmoved:
“Lucy, do you need something? I’ll help once I’ve finished.”
And he’d look her squarely in the eyes, ignoring all her antics.
Yet when Emma brought her famous apple crumble to work one day, Daniel brightened:
“Emma, you’re a magician! This takes me right back to my gran’s kitchen.”
An odd compliment. Emma wasn’t aiming to remind a grown man of his grandmother. She wanted a partner, not a nostalgic schoolboy. But on reflection, it was a start. Better that than silence.
Plus, she’d cracked the code: Daniel was a sucker for home cooking. And cook she could—though not without consequences. Once a size 10, she was now a solid 14. Still, she kept baking: a treat for colleagues, less for her waistline.
Through pies and stews, Emma won Daniel’s heart. Cliché? Maybe. Effective? Absolutely. Soon, they were flourishing: flowers, compliments, long heart-to-hearts.
“It’s funny,” Emma admitted one evening. “I’d just started dreaming of love, and there you were. So… real. And I’ll confess, I thought I stood no chance—especially with Lucy parading about.”
“Lucy?” Daniel looked genuinely baffled. “Nah, loads like her. Fake lashes, talon nails, legs always on display. Think blokes are desperate for that. No thanks. I want someone proper—kind, cosy, capable. Like you, Em.”
“My luck’s finally in!” Emma rejoiced. “Took its time, but it found me!”
Daniel seemed perfect. But alas, no one’s flawless…
Six months in, wedding bells loomed. They might’ve rung, if not for that grim November evening.
The weather had thrown a tantrum: rain, sleet, wind switching directions like a mischief-maker. Huddled under an umbrella, Emma and Daniel hurried home.
“Look, a kitten!” Emma stopped suddenly.
Under a lamppost, shivering, sat a tiny black furball. Drenched, filthy, pitiful.
“Leave it, Em. I’m freezing and starving,” Daniel grumbled, tugging her sleeve.
“Just a sec.” She crouched. “Come here, little one.”
“Are you serious?” Daniel snapped. “Your fiancé’s soaked and hungry, and you’re fussing over strays?”
“We’re taking him,” Emma said firmly, tucking the kitten into her coat. “Don’t moan—he’s worse off than us.”
“Mad cat lady,” he muttered, stomping ahead.
Emma followed, whispering to the kitten: “Don’t mind him, he’s just grumpy.”
But at home, Daniel’s kindness vanished.
“Feed it if you must, then chuck it out!” he declared.
“Out? In this weather? He’s tiny, helpless!”
“Em, don’t be daft. Streets are full of strays. You can’t take ’em all. Done your bit—now boot it. I’m starving!”
“No, Daniel. He stays.”
But Daniel wouldn’t budge.
“I can’t stand cats!” he spat. “Pets should earn their keep—meat, milk, wool. Useless creatures like this? Not in my home!”
Emma saw him anew: cold, selfish, calculating.
“First, it’s *my* home. Second—tell me, Daniel, did you pick me for my ‘usefulness’ too?”
“Well, what’s wrong with that?” he faltered. “A wife should keep house properly!”
“So that’s it,” Emma said softly. “I’m ‘useful.’ Practical. Lucy’s too self-absorbed for you. You just want everything to revolve around you. Get out.”
“So no dinner, then?” he scoffed. “Fine. Enjoy dying alone with a horde of cats.”
“Out.”
He left, expecting her to come crawling. She didn’t.
New Year’s Eve found Emma with the kitten, now named Soot. He’d grown into a fluffy, panther-like lad, soothing her blues with purrs and cuddles.
By spring, hope had dimmed—until new neighbour Mark moved in.
Mark was Daniel’s opposite: compact, bald, with a gruff manner. Post-divorce, he’d taken the flat opposite.
“Alright, neighbour,” he’d grunt. “Need a hand? Jack of all trades.”
Emma usually declined, but when her kettle broke, she relented:
“Any good with gadgets?”
“Expert level,” he smirked. “What’ve you got?”
“Kettle’s dead.”
“Don’t bury it yet!”
An hour of inventive swearing later, it lived. Grateful, Emma invited him for dinner. And so it began.
“You cook a mean roast, Emma,” Mark praised. “But I’m no slouch either. Cook, clean, fix stuff. My ex never appreciated it…”
*So I’m not just a housemaid*, Emma thought happily. Even better, Mark got on with Soot:
“Proper little gent, this one,” he’d say, scratching the cat’s ears.
Emma took it slow. They were opposites… but maybe that worked?
One day, waiting outside Tesco while Mark browsed tools, Emma spotted a scruffy ginger pup eyeing her shyly. She broke off a bit of sausage:
“Here, boy.”
The pup crept closer—just as Mark stormed out:
“Get lost, mutt!” He swung his bag, then rounded on Emma: “Have you lost it? Feeding strays with my bangers? It’ll bite you, then you’ll need rabies shots!”
The pup bolted under a bench. Emma stood, gripping the sausage:
“What’s your problem? You like Soot!”
“Are you thick? Soot’s yours—I respect that. This thing’s vermin! Should be put down, not fed!”
Rage surged. Emma shoved the sausage into Mark’s open mouth.
“Here—*you* eat it. And I’m done with you. I won’t date an animal hater!”
She scooped up the trembling pup. Mark ranted, but she tuned him out.
Now they were three: Emma, Soot, and the pup—nicknamed Biscuit for his golden curls. Mark tried apologising, failed, called her a fool, and vanished.
“No luck with men,” she’d sigh to her pets.
But Soot just purred knowingly.
Next spring, Emma met someone who loved her—and animals—without hidden edges. What came next? Surely something wonderful. But that’s another tale…
