*Too Handsome for Happiness*
They met in the local library—Ethan had come in search of a sports encyclopedia, while Emily, as usual, was lost among the classics. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a glossy magazine: tall, athletic, with dark wavy hair, green eyes, and lashes longer than most women’s. For a moment, Emily froze—he seemed too unreal to ever notice someone like her.
She wasn’t unattractive—slender, with soft features, fair hair, and a quiet voice. But next to Ethan, she faded. When they started dating, her friends didn’t hold back their doubts:
“Really, Em? Blokes like him don’t stick around. He’ll have his fun and move on.”
But Emily was happy. He didn’t shower her with flowers or grand declarations, but he was there—walking her home, taking her to the cinema, holding her with a passion that made her knees weak.
The first time she brought him home, she saw her mother’s face darken. Margaret, a sharp and thoughtful woman, pulled her aside after dinner.
“Do you think he’s serious?”
“Yes, Mum. I love him. He’s the one.”
“Sweetheart… a man that handsome is never yours for long. There’ll always be women chasing him. And living like that—always suspicious—it’s hell.”
Emily bristled. “Is this about Dad? Don’t paint everyone with the same brush! Ethan’s different.”
“Just… don’t rush. Time tells true love.”
She promised, but in her heart, she never doubted him. They carried on, yet slowly, Ethan began slipping away—gym sessions, pool meets, nights out with mates. Not wanting to lose him, Emily tagged along, though it wasn’t her scene.
At the pool, his eyes lingered on girls in bright bikinis; at the gym, he laughed off flirtation like it was nothing. And she… she became a shadow. One evening, after training in the rain, she fell ill.
“Bit weak, aren’t you?” Ethan smirked. “Not your world, love.”
Her mother’s warnings echoed in her mind. Ethan grew distant, while she suffered. His calls dwindled. Then one day—he vanished. No call, no goodbye. As if nothing had ever been.
When her mother found her wasting away, she snapped, “Hairdresser’s. Then the fabric shop—you need a new dress.”
Emily didn’t argue. A fresh cut, a new dress, and she stepped out again. At the village dance, she caught eyes. Men approached. One—Thomas—was nothing like Ethan: plain, unassuming, but with kind eyes. A month later, he proposed.
“Do you love him?” her mother asked.
“He’s the only one who truly sees *me*. Isn’t that love?”
Their wedding was simple but bright. A daughter came within a year, a son three years later. And Emily? She found real happiness—a home, children, a husband who cherished her.
Sometimes Ethan’s name still surfaced. Friends whispered he’d left his wife for another woman, that he was still dazzling but hollow. Emily just shook her head.
“To each their own. The key is finding someone who stays *with* you, not just for themselves.”
At home, waiting voices, warm hands, steady eyes. And her mother—the wise woman who’d once saved her from a beautiful mistake.
