Do theyre all the same? Id heard my friend mutter as he stared at the wilted roses in his hands.
David, are you serious? Those roses again? Emily pursed her lips, turning the bouquet over. Ive told you a hundred times I like peonies. Peonies! Do you even listen to me? What are you listening to?
David froze in the doorway. His cheeks flushed, and his eyes wore that guilty, bewildered lookthe one that says hed do anything for her smile.
Sorry, love, Ill remember. Next time therell be peonies, I promise.
Emily tossed the bouquet on the kitchen table without even sniffing it. The roses were beautifulfull, burgundy, droplets of water glistening on the petals
Mrs. Margaret Whitaker remembered the first time her daughter brought him home. He was tall, broadshouldered, an openmouthed engineer with calloused hands. David looked at Emily as if she were the greatest wonder on earth. Her father, Thomas Whitaker, gave a approving nod behind his wifes back: A solid lad, serious type.
The first year and a half were smooth. David drove Emily down to Brighton, gifted her jewellery on birthdays and just because, and patiently listened to endless stories about friends and colleagues. But Margaret began to notice something odd: Emily started talking about him dismissively, sometimes with a barely concealed boredom, even a hint of contemptDavey brought a cake, can you believe? Im on a diet. He calls again, clings like a leech. She would sift through his gifts as if they were a tax, not a token of affection.
In the second year the arguments startedwell, Emily started them. She was desperately bored.
Do you even love me? Huh? Love me? shed ask, usually in the evenings. It doesnt feel that way.
Emily, Ive been at work all day
Exactly! All day somewhere else while Im here alone! Maybe youve found someone else?
David would apologise, explain, swear. Emily would sulk for a day or two, then graciously forgive him. Hed bring flowers, a book shed mentioned, tickets to the West End. The peace would settleuntil the next spat.
The triggers were endless. He said the wrong thing. He looked the wrong way. He forgot to like a photo. He stayed late at the office. Responded too quickly to a textmeaning hed been on his phone instead of working. Too slowlymeaning hed ignored her.
Enough! Were over! That line was said far too often.
Each time David would be the first to beg forgiveness. Emily would hold out a pauseone day, three, a weekthen thaw.
One afternoon Margaret asked gently, Emily, do you actually love him, or is it just convenient?
Emily snorted, Mum, what kind of question is that? Of course I love him. He can be a nuisance sometimes, but I dont have the strength to be angry all the time.
Five years passed in this strange dance: passion, argument, breakup, reconciliation. Davids hair was greying at the temples before he hit thirty. Hed lost a few pounds, smiled less, but he kept going. For what? Margaret never quite figured it out. Hope, perhaps. Faith that someday things would smooth out, become easier, calmer.
In the sixth year he popped the question.
The ring was simplea slender gold band with a tiny, flawless diamond. David had planned everything: reserved a table at a nice restaurant in Covent Garden, booked a quartet of musicians, even written a speech on a slip of paper that he read aloud, blushing.
Emily said yes as if it were just a polite nod to a dessert offered with her coffeenothing spectacular, but she slipped the ring on, snapped a photo for Instagram, and called her friends.
Margaret embraced her future soninlaw tightly, motherly, David, Im delighted. Really, I am.
Thomas shook his hand, Welcome to the family, officially.
The wedding preparations kicked off at once. Emily took charge: a dress from a boutique on Savile Row, a photographer with a portfolio of celebrity shoots, fresh orchids on the tables. David nodded at every suggestion, signed off on the spreadsheet, indulged every whim. He wanted the day to be perfect for his future wife.
A month before the date everything collapsed.
Whats this? Emily jabbed at the printed menu. Rainbow? Are you serious, you chose Rainbow?
Theres great food there, Em. We tried it, you liked it.
Liked it? I said White Garden, with a terrace, river view! And you bring me some greasy eatery!
Theres no room on our day. I calledtheyre already booked.
So what? You should have sorted it! Offered more money! And you just just! Emily choked on her anger. Thats it! The weddings off! Im fed up!
She slammed the menu on the floor and stormed out. The usual script would have played out: David would come back apologising, Emily would give him a few days of cold shoulder and then melt. This time he didnt apologise. He seemed simply tired.
The next day David came for his things. Emily watched him gather his razor, charger, the sweater from the wardrobe.
Are you serious? she could barely believe it. Youre just walking away? Leaving me?
David zipped his bag, looked at herlong, with a puzzled expression.
Be happy, Em. Really he said, and left.
Emily waited a week, then two. Her phone stayed silent. No messages, no calls, no surprise visits. She opened a new chat with him a few timescursor blinking in an empty fieldbut never typed anything. Pride held her back. He should have been the one to return first. He always had been.
A month slipped by.
Maybe hes sick? Emily paced the kitchen. Or on a work trip? Should I call him?
Margaret stirred the pot of stew without saying a word.
Mum, say something!
What can I say, love? You let him go, hes gone.
I didnt let him go! I just
What?
Emily fell silent, unable to answer.
Two months later, Emilys colleague Lucy from accounts dropped a remark over lunch, I saw your Davey yesterday, with some girlblonde, pretty.
Emily dropped her fork. With who?
I dont know. New, I guess. They were laughing, holding hands It was cute enough to make my teeth hurt.
That evening Emily dug through his social media. His profile was publicshed forced him to drop the privacy settings ages ago. No new photos, but a new friend appeared: Catherine Solomon. A tidy profile of landscapes and cats. The avatar showed a twentysomething woman with a soft smile.
Emily scrolled through Catherines page until three in the morning.
Margaret watched her daughters confidence melt away. The smug glint in Emilys eyes faded. Emily lost weightnot the healthy kind, but a sickly gauntness. Dark circles appeared under her eyes. Irritability hovered on the brink of hysteria.
Its all his fault! Emily snapped at her parents. Six years! Six years of my life and he just walks away for some pretty little mouse?
You left him, Margaret reminded quietly.
Its different!
How is it different?
Emily couldnt explain.
The year slipped by, both unnoticed and painful. Emily tracked Davids life through her phone: him and Catherine at a barbecue, at a concert, a caption Moved in! with a picture of a modest flat. A photo of a ring on a delicate finger, captioned I said yes! and three hearts.
Margaret stumbled upon the post while scrolling. Catherine beamed, David beside her, smiling like he used to before the joy was drained from him. Well done, David, Margaret thought, finally.
Emily, meanwhile, tried new relationships. Ian lasted four months before a birthdayparty argument sent him packing. Serge lasted two before fleeing when Emily staged a scene in a restaurant full of his colleagues.
All men are the same! she declared to herself in the family kitchen. Unreliable, selfish!
Thomas chewed his steak in silence. Margaret poured tea, pondering how strange life could be. Emily thumbed through her phone, flicking past strangers happy pictures, occasionally returning to her own.
Margaret smiled. She was glad David had escaped Emilys grip. Yes, he was her daughters ex, but she knew the kind of character her girl possessed.
At another family dinner Emily spun an old record.
Dave was at least patient. These blokesonce you say something, they get offended straight away!
Maybe its not them? Thomas suggested quietly.
Dad, what are you on about?
He shrugged, Just saying, the third bloke this year has walked out. Odd coincidence.
Emily flushed, So its my fault, right?
Her parents kept quiet. Sometimes silence speaks louder than words.
Later, Margaret thought about how to explain the obvious to her daughter: love isnt a video game where you can press save forever and return to a comfy moment. Patience isnt endless. Manipulation corrodes trust like rust eats metal.
Emily blamed the world for its unfairness, waiting for a prince on a white horsesomeone who would tolerate her whims forever.
Margaret washed the last plate, tucked it away, and glanced through the open door at Emily, still glued to her phone, scrolling through strangers lives. She knew her daughter had seen pictures of David and Catherine, their happy faces and loving glances. Margaret herself kept tabs on Davids life.
Thirty years ago, Margaret first held her tiny newborn and swore to shield her from any hardship. Yet Emily had condemned herself to loneliness. To be happy, her daughter would have to change, or she would never know what it meant to be a wife and a mother.
