Cancel the wedding! Imogen shouted across the dinner table, her voice startling her parents.
Her mothers fork clattered as she tried to swallow the words. Immy! Are you out of your mind? The dress is paid for, the rings are ordered, the reception hall booked Tom is waiting for this day like a kid waiting for the fireworks. Please, youve got to be joking, she pleaded, eyes wide with panic.
No, Mum, Im serious. Arthur and I are leaving for London in a few days. Its final, Imogen said, the finality in her tone cutting through the clatter.
London? That foreign place is full of strangers and unknowns. Youll be lost out there, love! Arthurs a proper old gentleman, probably married with a heap of children, and hes practically retired! Tom loves you like his own kin. Dont break his heartthere are consequences, her mother begged, voice trembling.
Imogens jaw set. I wont be frightened. Ill answer for myself.
Two weeks later the small black cab pulled up outside a bustling London tube station. Imogen and Arthur stepped out, the citys grey drizzle hugging their faces. Since she was a child shed imagined, even if only for a fleeting glance, how people lived beyond the English countryside. Shed polished her French to a fine edge, spoke English impeccably, and was now dabbling in Spanishjust in case fate tossed her elsewhere.
After university shed worked as a translator for a travel agency, where she first met Arthur. Hed been a client, a distinguished tourist whod taken a liking to her quick wit. Imogens easy smile and youthful energyshe was twentythree, he was fortysixhad drawn him in. What began as polite conversation soon morphed into an invitation to dinner, then, within a week, a proposal. She kept Toms impending wedding a secret, despite the knot tightening in her stomach.
The thought of marrying a foreigner was intoxicating. It was a chance no ordinary girl from a small market town got, and she wasnt about to let it slip away. A new life of excitement, novelty, and adventure beckoned, even if love for Tom was nowhere near her heart. She convinced herself that Tom would move onhe was still young, after allwhile she chased something brighter.
She called Tom and, with a strained voice, explained the sudden turn. He, bewildered, still managed to wish her happiness before disappearing into a long, solitary binge.
London swallowed them whole. Imogen gasped, halflaughing, halfcrying. Is this really happening? she whispered, as if the city itself might hear and grant her wish. She wanted to hug the whole world, to trap the fleeting bird of joy that had landed on her shoulder.
Arthur led her into a sprawling townhouse in Kensington, where his family awaited. Two grown sons stood at the kitchen doorwayHarold, twentyfour, and Evan, a striking young man who bore his mothers dark eyes. Soon after, Margaret, Arthurs former wife, slipped out from a side room, her posture still regal despite the years.
Youve lost your senses, Arthur? Margaret snapped, her voice sharp as a blade. Whos this girl? You expect us to take her in?
This is my fiancée. Shell be staying here now, Arthur said, his tone apologetic yet firm. Shes not to be hurt, Margaret.
Imogen felt the tension coil around her like a tight rope. The house, though fractured, still lived under one roof, and Margaret clearly held the reins. Yet inside Imogens mind a new figure emergedEvan, not the drunken Tom of her past, but a fresh, pure spark of something ancient and boundless.
Evan, with his easy charm and a smile that seemed to light the room, lingered beside Imogen. Their eyes met across the polished oak table, and an invisible current crackled between them, a forbidden pull that felt both terrifying and inevitable.
Arthur told Imogen that the wedding would have to be postponed, offering no explanation. She accepted without protest; she had no intention of returning home.
A modest bedroom was set aside for her, and the days slipped by into a soft, tentative intimacy between her and Arthur. Margaret, ever the ice queen, ignored Imogen completely, as if she were a phantom.
Three months later, Imogen and Evan grew closer. He revealed that Arthur still loved Margaret, a love that had endured despite a bitter divorce. Their fights were loud, their reconciliations even louder, and Arthur seemed to toy with Margaret, hoping she might relent. The perfect pawn for his game? Imogen.
When the day came that Arthur announced his intention to reconcile with Margaret, he offered Imogen a ticket back to England, a final act of courtesy. She laughed, halfmad, halfrelieved. So Im a bride for hire! I once ran away from a groom, and now Im caught in anothers trap, she exclaimed, tears of hysteria spilling.
Evan lunged forward, his voice raw. I cant live without you, Immy.
I thought youd never say it, Imogen breathed, a weight lifting from her chest. I imagined youd stay silent, knowing Im your fathers fiancée. But now I see youre free, and so am I.
Evans grin widened. Would you ever marry my father?
Imogen chuckled, the nickname Van slipping out, a playful jab at his name. From the moment I saw you, my plans went out the window. Id turn down your father in a heartbeat, she replied, her smile brightening the dim hallway.
They embraced, the tension snapping like a string finally released. Imogen forgave Arthur and Margaret. What wouldnt you do for love? she mused, recalling a familiar saying about stumbling on the road to happiness.
In the end, the bright spot of the tangled tale was that Imogen had found Evan. Their love blossomed, and soon they were married in a modest chapel on a drizzly London afternoon. Evan, wary that Imogen might flee back to her homeland, hurried their family plans. Within a year their son arrived, and two years later a daughter followed. Evans devotion wrapped around the family like a warm blanket; their home thrummed with laughter and shared meals.
Arthur and Margaret, after years of frosty silence, finally settled their old grievances, learning that every slight has its season. They became gentle caretakers of their grandchildren, their oncesharp words softened by time.
One afternoon, a worried letter arrived from Imogens mother in the Yorkshire village. She begged Imogen to return home for a visit. Imogen packed a small suitcase, leaving her children with Margaret, who had become a surprisingly tender grandmother.
The journey home felt heavy. Her mother greeted her at the doorstep, tears streaming down her cheeks. Oh, Immy! Tom is gonehis motorbike crashed that night. He left a little girl behind, only three years old. He tried to send you a gift before he died, a strange little creature, a cuttlefish hed found in a swamp. He thought it would be a memento of his love. The words fell like stones.
Imogen listened, her heart a quiet storm. Mum, well adopt his daughter. Shell be our Polina, she said, the name of the child already forming a tender bond. Evan will stand by us. I know we must answer for every choice we make.
She glanced toward the kitchen, where a loaf of bread and a lone apple waited. Now, feed me somethingmy stomachs been empty on this road. A crisp apple or a pickled cucumber, perhaps, she said with a wry smile, as if daring fate to test her resolve.
And with that, the curtain fell on a story of broken vows, unexpected love, and a family stitched together across continents, each thread a testament to the stubborn hope that happiness often lies just a heartbeat away.
