Twenty-five years of marriage is a lifetime spent living for each other.
And twenty-five years isn’t something you just forget or wipe from your mind.
Especially now, with their daughter already twenty-three, married and living her own life…
…Emma had always been an optimist. She’d taught her husband, William, to live the same way—to believe in the best.
They married young, before either had even finished university.
Emma was nineteen, William twenty.
He’d noticed the new student on campus right away but hadn’t approached her—partly because he always had Olivia hanging around.
Emma was a first-year, slender and gentle, her wide blue eyes taking in the world—and William—with bright curiosity and warmth.
He was a second-year, watching from a distance, noticing how serious she was about her studies. She excelled, entirely absorbed in learning. Daniel, William’s friend, was in her class, so he knew nearly everything about her.
Olivia, meanwhile, never gave William a moment’s peace. She was striking, beautiful, brash, and spoiled by her wealthy father’s money.
She acted as if the world revolved around her. Why she’d fallen for William was a mystery.
Tall, dark-eyed, and handsome, he certainly caught attention.
But he was calm and focused, excelling in his studies. He came from a modest family, unlike many of his classmates.
Olivia barely scraped by, bored to tears by her courses.
She only showed up to flaunt designer outfits or gold jewellery.
Her father threw money at everything, sparing nothing for his daughter. But even his wealth couldn’t save her when she was expelled.
Her dad pleaded with the faculty, but when they showed him her grades, he ran a hand through his hair—even he hadn’t been that bad.
Students and teachers alike sighed in relief—William included.
By the end of his second year, William and Emma were together, madly in love, inseparable in their free time.
Olivia tried cornering him after lectures, but he always brushed her off with excuses.
His mind was already set on Emma.
Eventually, Olivia moved on—probably found someone else.
One day, William asked Emma to the cinema. She said yes, and they were never apart after that.
That summer, they had a lively wedding.
Her mother tried to talk her out of it:
*”Emma, you’ve only finished two years of uni, and already married? You could wait—your education should come first. And William’s still a student, just finished his third year. Is there really such a rush? You’re not… pregnant, are you?”*
*”Mum, of course not! We just can’t live without each other. William’s wonderful, and we’re not planning children yet—not until after graduation…”*
*”We’ll see…”*
Her mother saw right through it. The next summer, Emma gave birth to a beautiful dark-eyed girl, just like her father.
The birth went smoothly, and she didn’t need time off. Her mother quit her job to care for the baby.
With her father’s business thriving, money wasn’t an issue.
They had enough to support the young family.
Years passed. William and Emma settled into a luxurious flat, both successful in their careers. He drove an expensive car; money was never tight. They traveled often.
Their daughter grew up, graduated—though she married in her final year.
Life was good. They trusted each other completely.
Then, about a year ago, Emma noticed William pulling away.
No more café dates or events. He didn’t mind her going out with friends. Sometimes he came home long past midnight, blaming late nights with mates.
She chalked it up to routine—almost twenty-five years together, after all. She treated him the same.
Her mother often asked:
*”Love, why do you always visit alone? Where’s that husband of yours? I’ve nearly forgotten his face.”*
*”Oh, Mum, he’s always busy—work, friends. I’m used to it. I go out with my girlfriends now.”*
*”Fine, your business,”* her mother sighed.
Meanwhile, William was deep in an affair.
It started with Lydia, the new accountant at his office, hired a year and a half ago.
Twenty-nine, unmarried, strikingly beautiful.
Their affair exploded after a company party. Then, a month ago, she dropped the bombshell—she was pregnant.
*”William, I’m keeping this baby, whether you like it or not. I get it—you’ve got a grown daughter. But this is my first child. It’s happening.”*
This wasn’t part of his plan, but he couldn’t leave Lydia. He’d fallen hard.
He was almost surprised Emma hadn’t caught on yet.
Soon, he’d walk away.
It took him weeks to summon the courage.
One morning, before work, he finally spoke.
…Emma was washing breakfast dishes when William walked in.
*”Off to work already, love?”* she asked.
*”Yeah,”* he hesitated. *”Emma, listen… there’s something I need to say.”*
He looked away. She set down the plate, puzzled.
*”I’ve been seeing someone. For nearly a year. I’m in love with her. We’re flying abroad tomorrow—after that, I’ll collect my things. Starting today, my life’s without you. I won’t be back tonight. These things happen.”*
Emma froze but quickly steadied herself. She’d always told herself—everything happens for a reason.
This time was no different.
*”All right,”* she said softly. *”Everything happens for a reason.”* Then, aloud: *”How long have you been planning this?”*
*”It’s not that. Lydia’s pregnant.”*
*”Ah. That explains it.”*
He expected tears, screaming. Instead, Emma calmly made coffee, sliced cheese, buttered toast.
She sipped her coffee, watching the steam curl, then added cream and smiled.
William braced for rage. But she just ate two sandwiches, rinsed her cup, and dressed for work.
Checking her reflection in the hallway mirror, she blew him a kiss and left.
That evening, William took Lydia to dinner, then to her place.
*”Pride, not a single tear,”* he mused. *”She’s probably crying now, alone.”*
Meanwhile, Emma wandered the mall, browsing cosmetics, furniture. A sleek kitchen display caught her eye—one she’d always dreamed of.
*”No one to consult now. But that’s fine—I’ll decide for myself.”*
William and Lydia left for holiday. Staring out the plane window, he thought:
*”Soon, she’ll call, begging me back. No way she’s this calm. She must be miserable.”*
…Emma had no intention of calling.
*”It stings, sure. I wonder who she is. Younger, obviously—she’s having his child. But I don’t even feel like crying. What’s wrong with me? No—everything happens for a reason. Time for something new.”*
She stopped at an art shop, bought canvases, paints, brushes. The next evening, she enrolled in a painting class.
Andrew, an old friend, had long encouraged her—she had a knack for it.
In class, she lost herself, painting with joy.
*”Freedom feels incredible. No rushing home to cook, no waiting up.”*
On her way home, a scruffy grey cat caught her eye.
Skinny, dirty, it mewed weakly.
*”Where did you come from?”* she murmured. *”Alright, you’re Smokey now. Come on.”*
Smokey followed her inside, sniffing eagerly. She set out soup, which he devoured.
*”Right, let’s get you proper food and a bath.”*
She bathed him, dried him with a hairdryer. He didn’t protest.
*”Look at you—quite the handsome cat. Just needs some fattening up.”*
Smokey lounged by the window, watching birds, thoroughly pleased with life.
That Saturday, Emma baked an apple pie. Friends were coming over—one couple, eager to see her paintings. Smokey purred, licking cream from a saucer.
They admired her work and bought one on the spot.
Days later, another friend called:
*”Emma, darling, do you have more paintings? We’d love one!”*
*”I’ve got a few. I’ll bring one Saturday.”*
She knew William was collecting his things that day—he’d called yesterday.
…William arrived near evening, certain Emma would be home, dressed up, with champagne waiting.
He unlocked the door—and froze.
The flat was silent. His belongings sat packed in the hall.
*”No champagne, no candles. She’s not even here. New perfume, new kitchen—stylish, as always. Where is she? It’s the weekend!”*
…Emma was driving to the countryside.
Smokey sat regally in the passenger seatAs the car rolled down the winding country road, Emma glanced at Smokey, his contented purring blending with the hum of the engine, and she realized—for the first time in years—she was exactly where she needed to be.
