When Dreams Come True
“Young man, you scratched my car!” A slender woman in a white wool coat stood on the pavement, glaring at him.
“Maybe park properly next time,” muttered Edward. “Buying your licence and causing accidents. Honestly, women shouldn’t even be allowed to drive.”
“Do you *see* the snowbanks everywhere? Where exactly was I supposed to park—on that pile?” She pointed at a towering drift. “I’m calling the police!”
Edward’s bravado dissolved. He’d already been fined for speeding this month. Now this.
“My wheel slipped into the snow too. Look, I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“And what do you propose?” Her tone was icy.
“Let’s settle this here.”
“No. It’s the principle. I won’t tolerate misogyny.”
“The what?”
“Disdain for women!”
“Fine, I was wrong,” Edward gritted out. “I’ll pay for the… scratch. Plus extra for the inconvenience. How much?”
After haggling, she relented. Edward suspected she was dragging it out to squeeze more out of him. He handed over a hefty sum to avoid trouble.
He sighed. Another dent in his already empty wallet. And it was Emily’s birthday—he still hadn’t bought her gift.
Opening his banking app, he winced: £200 left, and payday was a week away. Desperate, he called his best mate.
“Mate, I’m skint myself,” said James. “Why’d you give her so much? Woman’s loaded. Should’ve let the cops handle it—or just filed a claim. Insurers would’ve sorted it.”
“Mate, I’m selling the car. A police report tanks the value. Know anyone who could lend me something? Just for a week. Can’t show up to Emily’s birthday empty-handed.”
“Fair, she’s not the ‘just a card’ type,” James chuckled. “But no one’s got spare cash. Sorry, man.”
Edward sat in his car, staring blankly. An hour had passed since the woman left, but he couldn’t shake the frustration. He *had* been careful—just one icy patch, and the car swerved.
Then it hit him: his forgotten credit card. Heart racing, he sped to the jewellers for the earrings Emily had admired.
That evening, Edward hesitated outside her flat, clutching a bouquet of spray roses, the velvet box heavy in his pocket.
A year ago, he’d never imagined Emily—posh, brilliant, daughter of a retail tycoon and a spa-chain owner—would even glance his way. Now here he was, sweating as he rang the bell.
“Happy birthday, love!” He thrust the gifts at her.
“Oh my God!” Emily gasped, lifting the earrings. “Edward, these are the ones! You’re mad—they’re so expensive!”
Yet she beamed, and Edward’s chest swelled. For all her wealth, Emily pinched pennies—shopped at Tesco, cooked at home. Still, he felt out of place. His family stretched budgets with chicken-foot stock, celebrated with liver cakes.
“I hope you don’t mind… I’ve got guests.”
“I thought it’d be packed,” he joked.
“You know I hate big parties. Come on, dinner’s ready.” She led him to the kitchen. “Mum, Dad—this is Edward.”
Edward froze but masked it. “Pleasure.”
“You didn’t warn me,” he hissed.
“They surprised me! Relax, they’re lovely.”
Her parents scrutinised him.
“So, Edward,” her father began, faux-casual. “Tell us about yourself.”
“I’m a bank manager. Qualified through college, then university—part-time.”
“Any prospects in banking?” Her mother exchanged a glance with her husband.
“Department head in a year, regional in three.”
“That’s hardly ambitious,” she scoffed.
“Did you buy three spas straight off?” Edward countered.
The polite smiles vanished.
“I earned them,” she snapped. “Started in a salon above a shop.”
“Then why scoff at starting as a bank manager?”
Emily reappeared, arms crossed. Her new earrings caught the light.
Dinner was silent until her mother smirked. “Edward, thoughts on misogyny?”
“Obviously against it.”
“Surprised you know the word.”
“Funny—I heard it this morning. From a lady.”
Emily’s gaze darted between them. Edward looked tense; her mother was revelling in this.
Then Emily realised. “Stop. Both of you.” She turned to her mother. “You *mentioned* an ‘aggressive misogynist’ earlier. Was that *him*?”
“What’s there to say? Your boyfriend ruined my morning!”
“Edward, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Didn’t want to spoil your day. I *was* wrong—scratched her car, mouthed off. But dragging this out now?”
“Scratched *what*?” Her father stood.
“It was ice—the car slid—”
Her mother interjected. “It’s *fine*. We settled it.”
Edward grabbed his coat. “Let’s check, then.”
“Wait!” Her mother blurted. “There… isn’t a scratch. Not a new one.”
Edward paled. “You *lied*? I transferred you *£500*!”
“You deserved it—talking down to women like that!”
Emily erupted. “Out. All of you.”
Later, as Emily sulked by the window, her phone buzzed: *Look outside.*
Her parents and Edward stood below, waving. Another text: *We made up. Come down.*
With a huff, she grabbed her coat.
Outside, her mother sheepishly admitted, “I refunded him.”
“And I apologised,” Edward added. “Now we’re apologising to *you*.”
“Where are we going?”
“The hills!” her mother cheered.
“The *hills*?”
Edward grinned. “Your dream birthday, right?”
Emily’s eyes welled. Every year, her parents booked venues, crowds. Yet she’d once confessed to Edward: all she wanted was sledging on linoleum scraps till midnight.
Her father pulled a rolled-up strip from the car. “Happy birthday, love.”
**Lesson:** Pride and prejudice often blind us—but humility and honesty can mend even the messiest misunderstandings.
