Dear Diary,
Tonight I sit at the kitchen table of my modest flat in Manchester, the kettle humming, and try to make sense of the tangled years that have passed since Emma first walked through the doorway of our rented house, eyes shining with a secret she could no longer hold back.
James, Im pregnant, she announced, not giving me a moment to read between the lines. I froze, glanced to the side, and let out a weary sigh. Well if thats how it turned out, I muttered, then pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, as if the gesture could shield me from the surge of feeling I didnt know how to manage.
Emma had first caught my eye while we were both still students at the University of Leeds. I was a junior analyst at a local marketing firm where she was completing a summer placement. Handsome, ambitious, freshly promoted to deputy team leader, I seemed to belong to a world she could only glimpse from the outskirts of her quiet Yorkshire hometown. She never imagined a man like me would ever notice her. Yet on the final day of her placement I walked over, handed her a box of chocolates, and asked if shed like to join me for a drink after work. That simple invitation set our story in motion.
On that first evening I confessed that Id grown up without parents. My mother had remarried and left, leaving me in the care of my grandmother. Emma never told me that her own parents had never shown an ounce of interest in her life. Her childhood had been a cold, indifferent stretch of years, bereft of warmth. We both understood solitude, and perhaps that is why we clung to each other so quickly.
A month later Emma moved into my rented flat, and not long after we exchanged vows in a modest ceremony at a chapel in the suburbs. No grand fanfare, just quiet hope for a future togethera house of our own, a simple, stable life. The only point of friction between us was children. Emma had longed for a baby, while I kept postponing: Its fine as it is, why rush?
When the pregnancy test showed two lines, Emma hesitated to tell me, fearing judgement and disappointment. Eventually she gathered the courage.
Will we be parents, then? she asked.
I thought that would be later, I replied, unable to mask my frustration.
She missed the first ultrasound, waiting in the car while I stayed inside. When she returned, tears of joy glistened in her eyestwins. Two tiny heartbeats fluttered within her.
Twins?! I blurted, the words escaping before I could think. That wasnt the plan. We should consider an abortion!
What are you saying? Ive already seen our children. I cant she sobbed, her voice cracking.
I hoped she would eventually understand, but each day I drifted further away. I began to criticize her weight gain, telling her shed lost her shape. She tried to ignore it, but the strain grew after the babies were born.
Lily and Daisyour twin girlsbecame the centre of Emmas world. I, however, spent long hours at work, withdrew, and offered little help. Emma endured it all for the sake of the children, love, and the fragile family we had.
When the girls turned eighteen months old, Emma spoke of returning to work. I sat opposite her, staring at the floor, and said, Ive found someone else. Im leaving. I wont abandon the kids, but I want to live with her.
She was left speechless. You promised youd never end up like your parents! she choked out through tears.
I left. At first I kept coming around, then I disappeared for good. Emma was left alone, without money, without support. Returning to the countryside wasnt an optionthere were no jobs. Here in the city there were jobs, but nowhere to live.
It was my boss who stepped in, arranging a place for Emma in a student hall. A tiny, rundown room, a modest renovation, two babies to look aftershe somehow managed. One afternoon, as she struggled to push the pram out for a walk, a neighbour named John called out, Can I give you a hand? I live next door. He helped without asking questions, later offering to help with the repairs and even picking the twins up from nursery. At first Emma kept her distanceshe was scaredbut day by day John became a steady presence.
John was an ordinary, reliable man. He, too, had known betrayalhis wife had left him for a friend after learning they couldnt have children. Yet he welcomed our twins as his own.
When John proposed, Emma balked. I have children. Youll find someone else. He replied, I want to be with you. The kids are no obstacle; theyre as dear to me as my own. We married, and a week later Jamesmy former selfshowed up at our door.
Emma, Im sorry. I see everything now. Lets start over, he pleaded.
Its too late, she said. Im married. My children have a real father now.
From the hallway emerged John, smiling, Meet my husband.
James turned, waved a hand, and walked away forever.
A year has passed. Emma and John have bought a proper house in Leeds. As for me, I dont know where James is, and Im content not to. Ive learned that happiness isnt the promise of a future that never materialises; its the quiet, steadfast love that actually shows up every day.
