Emily had made up her mindshe would be happy no matter what.
In her final year at university, she fell in love. Not just with any ordinary bloke, but with a proper heartthrob, the kind all the girls on her course fancied. Because Oliver was from *money*.
Emily was pretty enough, clever too, but her background was working-class, her parents factory workers. She knew the difference between their worlds, but love didnt care about that.
“Emily, youre wasting your time with that Oliver,” her flatmates warned. “He knows his worth, looks down on half the people here. Only mates with lads from his own crowd.”
“So what? I know my worth too,” Emily shot back. “Im not some silly girl. Ive got looks, Im acing my degree, I can hold my own in any conversation.”
“Alright then. Just dont come crying to us later. Bet his mum and dad are the type whod turn their noses up at the likes of us.”
“God, dont scare me,” Emily murmured, paling. “Its meeting his parents Im really dreading, especially his mum”
When she first fell for Oliver, shed never imagined hed feel the same. But somehow, effortlessly, it happenedand it wasnt even her who made the first move. *He* asked her to the cinema.
They dated all through fourth year, and just before summer break, Oliver dropped the bombshell.
“Em, were going round mine Saturday. Mums been hounding me*Who is she? Whats she like?*”
“Christ, Oliver, thats so sudden! II dont feel ready!”
“Dont panic,” he laughed. “Theyre just people. Dads quiet, doesnt say much. Mums the oppositeproper chatty. Shell ask a lot of questions, but youll be fine.”
By now, Emily was certain theyd marryshe just had to impress his parents. The formal invitation to Sunday roast had her in knots. For two days, she pored over etiquette books, rehearsing table manners until she could recite them in her sleep.
Saturday came. Oliver met her at the tube, and they walked to his parents flat in Kensington. Her stomach twisted as she stepped insideuntil she saw his mothers warm smile.
“Hello, love,” the woman said. “Im Margaret. Oliver, take her coatlets not linger in the hall.”
At the table sat Olivers father, Charlesstern, silent, giving only a stiff nod as they entered. Emily perched straight-backed, elbows off the table, cutting her roast with precision. She ate little, wary of being caught mid-bite if questioned.
But tension has a way of undoing even the most careful plans. Her fork clattered to the plush cream carpet. She flinched, shoulders hunching, casting a nervous glance at Margaret while Oliver chuckled.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
Margaret waved it off. “Oliver, stop being a prat and fetch her another fork.”
Emily exhaled as he disappeared into the kitchen.
“Sweetheart, youre wound tighter than a spring,” Margaret said gently. “Relaxthis isnt Buckingham Palace. Eat properly, or Ill think you hate my cooking.”
“Oh, Margaret, no! Its lovely,” Emily blurted. “I justOliver said you had a housekeeper, Mrs. Higgins.”
“We do,” Margaret sighed. “But today, I wanted to do it myself.”
“Why?”
Margaret laughed. “Because I wanted to impress my future daughter-in-law, of course!”
Emily nearly choked. “So its not just *me* putting on a show today?”
“Seems not,” Margaret grinned. “But let me tell you, loveour boys done well. Charles agrees, dont you?”
Her husband grunted. “Course, darling.”
By pudding, Emily was laughing. Two weeks later, they filed for a marriage license. The wedding was small, elegantand Olivers parents gifted them a one-bed flat in Chelsea, two floors below theirs.
Emily was over the moon. Her family, up from Manchester for the day, hugged her tight. “There *is* a God,” her mum whispered. “Youve got your own place now, love.”
She wanted to graduate alongside her husband. Life felt golden, untouchableuntil fifth year, when she missed her period.
The test was positive.
Joy flooded herthen fear. She *had* to finish her degree.
“Oliver,” she whispered that night, “were going to have a baby. I just hope I can still graduate on time”
His face darkened. “A *baby*? Were bloody students, living off my parents! I thought wed have *years* just for us!”
She froze.
“Look,” he said coldly, “get rid of it. Were too young for nappies and sleepless nights.”
“You want me to” Her voice cracked. “No. *Never*.” She fled, sobbing, straight into Margaret in the lobby.
“Emily? Love, whats” Margarets smile died as she saw the tears. “Upstairs. Now.”
In the sitting room, over tea, it all spilled out.
“Margaret, he wants me toto *terminate*! Because of the degree, because were on your payroll, and”
“Shh. Youre doing the right thing,” Margaret said firmly. “Men are idiots. How far along?”
“Eight weeks.”
“Youll graduate in time. First problem solved. Now eatMrs. Higgins made sconesand Ill deal with my son.”
Whatever she said worked. Oliver came home sheepish, mumbled an apology, and that was that.
Emily graduated. Two weeks later, she gave birth to a son. Olivers parents adored himmore, she suspected, than Oliver did.
He got a job in the City. Emily stayed home with the baby. But Oliver worked late. Then he came home smelling of whiskey. Then perfume.
One night, she snapped. “Why do you *reek* of someone else?”
“None of your business,” he slurred.
When she found lipstick on his collar, she confronted him. “Are you cheating?”
He left without answering.
That evening, she knocked on Margarets door.
“Love, dont be hasty,” Margaret pleaded. “You loved each other once”
“No. Hes not even denying it.” Emilys voice was steel. “Im taking my son to Manchester.”
“Dont be daft! Youll stay *here*. Let *him* move out. Weve got roomMrs. Higgins can help with the baby when you go back to work. You *are* going back, Emily. You need to *live*, not just survive.”
Tears welled. “Thank you.”
Margaret squeezed her hand. “You *will* be happy. I promise.”
Five years later, Emily married a colleague, James. They bought a house in Surrey with a garden. Olivers parents dote on their grandson, summers spent at their cottage in the Cotswolds.
And Emily? Shes happy. *Determinedly* happy.
