**Where Has Love Gone?**
Daisy was a lively, spirited, lovely young woman. Blokes buzzed around her constantly, but she took her time choosing. The older she got, the higher her standards became.
Her mum raised her alone, and Daisy knew all too well what it meant to count every penny. She never had the things her friends and classmates took for granted. So she vowed to marry only a well-off man.
Then one day, she met her dream man: handsome, clever, successful, flush with cash, a flat in Chelsea, and a top-end car. What more could she want? A prince, plain and simple. Of course, she fell for him. Daisy was pretty, but she had nothing to offer but herself. Well, youth and beauty have their price—she just didn’t realise it yet.
How could she not fall for him? He doted on her, indulged every whim, and everyone envied her.
She took him home to meet her mum, certain he’d charm her. What mother wouldn’t want the best for her daughter? And what could be better? She’d live like a queen. A catch like this was beyond dreams. But once he’d left, her mum’s opinion was sharp.
*”He’s a good match, no doubt. But what does he see in you? You’re young and pretty, but so are a thousand others. Why’d he pick you? Oh, love, you’d be better off with a simpler man. You’re from different worlds—he’s older, probably married before, has kids. Don’t roll your eyes. Happiness isn’t just about money. Mark my words, you won’t be happy with him.”*
*”We’ll see,”* Daisy retorted proudly. *”He’s divorced. His son lives abroad.”*
*”You’ll bend over backwards to keep up with his expectations. Remember Cinderella? The prince fell for her at the ball—all dressed up. In fairy tales, they don’t care about your past. But what’ll you talk about? You’ll chat about cooking, he’ll talk business. Different worlds, different lives. One day, he’ll choose someone his own level—not by choice, but because society nudges him. He’ll tire of you.”*
*”I expected better from you, Mum. Thought you’d be happy for me. But you’re never pleased. So what—should I never marry? Always fear being left?”*
*”I’m not against it, but—”*
*”If I marry some ordinary bloke like me, will that guarantee we won’t split? Don’t talk me out of this. I want to know what it’s like not to worry about money.”*
Her mum sighed. *”Maybe you’re right. God grant your happiness lasts.”*
Daisy loved how women eyed Oliver with envy. He’d pick her up from work in his Bentley, and her colleagues would gawk. But he chose *her*—so he must love her. Love smooths all rough edges, doesn’t it?
Oliver proposed with a diamond ring—seven carats, stunning. Her head spun with love. No, her mum was wrong. Their story would be different.
Then came the wedding dress hunt. She’d dreamed of this, browsing online, imagining. But the prices terrified her. They planned a boutique visit, but last-minute business delayed Oliver. He handed her his card: *”Buy the best. No compromises.”*
She didn’t invite her mum—she’d gasp at the cost. No close friend to help either. So she went alone.
Rows of ivory gowns dazzled her. Her future felt like a fairy tale. But the price tag on the first dress? More than three months’ wages. She froze, an impostor in this luxury.
The assistant approached, smiling thinly. Daisy fumbled describing her dream dress, but soon forgot nerves as she tried them on. The condescension melted into respect.
How glorious not to count pennies! If only Oliver were there, sipping espresso like in the films, nodding approval as she twirled.
She chose a dress that hugged her perfectly. Left it at the boutique—no peeking from groom or fainting from Mum.
The wedding was grand—a posh countryside manor, fireworks, a string quartet under the stars.
*”Bloody lucky, you are,”* her workmates sighed. *”A husband like that?”*
*”Oh, he’s more than just handsome and rich,”* Daisy laughed, floating on cloud nine.
Disillusionment struck fast. Before, they dined out nightly. Now Oliver barely left the house—too tired, too busy on Zoom calls. She drifted through their Kensington flat.
*”Dinner out tonight?”* she’d ask.
*”Too knackered. Your cooking’s brilliant.”*
She missed dressing up for him, feeling desired. Now? Home, apron on, stove lit.
When she ordered takeaway, he ate heartily—no ulcers. If he noticed, he never said.
When she got pregnant, he doted again, even offered a housekeeper. She refused. Glowing, she embraced motherhood.
The birth was smooth. A healthy boy. She poured herself into him.
Oliver winced seeing her in a stretched dressing gown.
*”Easier for feeding,”* she’d mutter.
His glances grew colder. Work kept him late. *Meetings. Problems.*
*”You’ve lost interest since the baby,”* she accused.
*”I offered help,”* he shrugged.
*”There’s someone else.”*
*”Your words, not mine. But yes. Look at you—you’ve let yourself go. I give you money—use it.”*
*”I thought our son mattered more than my waistline. Breastfeeding, no time for gyms—”*
Things worsened. He barely came home. She seethed with jealousy. One sleepless night, she decided to leave.
*”Mum, can I stay?”*
*”Why? Renovations?”*
*”Something like that.”*
Oliver called, first pleading, then threatening.
*”Fine. The flat’s mine. You get nothing but child support.”*
She wept. Was this the marriage she’d dreamed of? Where had love gone? Had it ever existed?
Her mum’s cramped flat stifled her.
*”I warned you,”* Mum sighed. *”But we’ll manage.”*
Then the divorce papers arrived—no notice, no court summons.
Time passed. Her son started nursery. She returned to work, slim again, turning heads. Men flocked, but she ignored them—her heart still ached.
Mum nagged about her mistake, her son’s lost father.
Daisy buried herself in work. No love life? Fine—career it was. Sharp, independent, she climbed fast. Two years later, she bought a flat.
*”That’s grand, but you’re alone. Your boy needs a dad. You’re all about work,”* Mum fretted.
*”No one wants *me*, Mum. They see what I can give—comfort, status. I won’t settle for that. Where’s love?”*
Then James joined her firm—charming, Oxbridge-educated. He flirted relentlessly. She laughed him off. *A boy? Please.*
But nature wins. Love-starved, she softened. Colleagues warned James—*She shoots everyone down.*
*”We’ll see,”* he grinned.
One rainy evening, she forgot her umbrella. James appeared, offering a lift. By her doorstep, he kissed her. She trembled—the first spark in years.
She warned him—*No strings, no gossip, or you’re sacked.* But she invited him for coffee. Her son was at Mum’s.
They met sometimes. She fell for him, despite herself.
Then, at a restaurant, James waved someone over.
*”My dad,”* he said. *”You’ll like him.”*
Before she could stop him, he left. *Great. His father.*
*”Daisy, meet my dad, Oliver Harris. Dad, this is—”*
She looked up. *Oliver.* Older, but still handsome.
*”You?! Revenge?”* he snapped.
*”You never mentioned a son,”* she said coolly. *”A grown one.”*
*”First marriage. We divorced young.”* Oliver glared. *”She’s my ex. He’s just a kid. Don’t ruin his life.”*
*”Ask about *your* other son,”* she said, voice icy.
*”You have a son?”* James gaped.
*”Your brother. Nearly ten.”*
Oliver flinched. *”You’ve changed. You and my son… This can’t happen.”*
*”Why not? I’m nothing to you. Or him.”*
The next day, Oliver visited. Saw his son—his own double. Brought a toy, but the boy barely glanced.
Then James arrived. The flat crackled with tension.
*”Enough. Both of you—out,”* she ordered.
Alone, she untangled herDaisy took the job offer in Edinburgh, packed her life with quiet resolve, and walked into the rain without looking back—because happiness, she’d learned, wasn’t found in men or money, but in the quiet courage to start over.
