When Tanya showed her wedding photos to friends, she always quipped:
*”God, I suffered in that dress! Beautiful, yesbut heavy as lead! Next time I marry, Ill pick something light as a cloud.”*
Everyone laughed, assuming it was just her dry humour. And why wouldnt they? Tanya and Olivers love was the real thinga whirlwind romance spun from sunlit beaches, sparkling wine, and starlit promises. She was twenty-one; he, twenty-eight. August on the Cornish coast had sealed it.
Before the vows, Oliver had to untangle himself from his second wifea woman whod threatened pills, acid, even leaping from windows if he dared leave. But in time, shed vanished like smoke. His first wife? A fleeting memoryeighteen months, then handed off to a friend like an unwanted heirloom.
None of it bothered Tanya. She was radiant, self-assured, certain of her worth. Oliver worshipped her. Roses came by the armful; fur coats in triplicate; shoes enough to stock a boutique. He whisked her to Paris, Rome, the Swiss Alpsbroadening horizons before their first child arrived.
Little Emily was born. While Tanya cradled her, Oliver bought a cottage, filled it with warmth. A home for his girls.
They settled. Emily started nursery. Tanya threw herself into studiesback in London, where friends and strangers alike felt like kin. Olivers jealousy festered. He lurked in train stations, staged “accidental” reunions across cities. Tanya gave no reason for suspicion. Or so it seemed.
Truth was, she ached to escapethe chores, the child, the weight of marriage. Life was slipping past. Why waste it scrubbing floors when she could soar?
Three crimson diplomas later (psychology, her crowning achievement), she tucked them in her handbag, hunting jobs despite Olivers protests: *”We dont need the money! Staylets have another child. Boy or girl, I dont care. Just be here.”*
But Tanyas motherhood mission was complete. Emily? Handed to Olivers doting mother. *”Shell raise her better,”* Tanya decided, vanishing to London without a word.
Oliver found her anyway. *”Wheres Emily? Why are you here? Is there someone else?”*
*”No one,”* she sighed. *”Im just… bored. I want freedom.”*
*”Freedom from us?”* Olivers voice cracked. *”What about love?”*
*”Gone.”*
Her mother shrugged when he begged for help: *”You cant move a mountain.”*
Days bled into weeks. Tanyas calls grew colder. *”Im fine.”*
Oliver sold the cottage, moved to Londona desperate bid to salvage his family. Tanya recoiled. *”Uproot Emily? Change schools? Cruel.”*
Lies. She was drunk on libertyrunning a fledgling dressmaking business, juggling admirers. The past? A strangers life.
Oliver clung to hope, bringing Emily to her mothers doorstep. The girleleven now, Tanyas mirror imageached for answers. *Why did you leave me?*
Tanya was stone. *”Lets divorce. Emily can stay with me.”* A hollow offer. The child had a father, a grandmother who prayed for her nightly.
Time rolled on. Oliver stopped chasing ghosts. Fate gave him a farmers daughtera woman who wanted wellies, not designer heels. No Paris, no drama. Just warmth. They married, had a daughter. Peace, at last.
Tanya? Back in her childhood home. A business partner swindled her; the dress shop collapsed. Suitors fled. Now she counsels schoolchildren, her degrees finally of use. Regret? Who can say? The human soul has depths no light touches.
At Emilys wedding, she wore a gown light as a cloud. A gift from her mother.
The irony didnt escape her.
