**The Return to Life**
He always called them «his girls,» and when his daughter was tiny, he’d leap from bed himself in the night, sparing his wife the effort. Emily grew up bathed in love, doted on by both her mum and dad.
A charmed family life.
Oliver’s business thrived; money was never an issue. He preferred Charlotte to stay home, and she happily did, raising their daughter, strolling through Harrods, ambling in Hyde Park, tending to the house.
Everything was perfect—except for the odd, unsettling phone calls. «Well-wishers» whispered:
*»Your husband has another woman. He’s rented her a flat in Kensington, pays for every little whim.»*
Charlotte brushed them off, shoved the words from her mind. Just envy, she thought. Envy was eternal. She never mentioned it to Oliver. True, he sometimes worked late, sometimes vanished for days on business. But when he returned, his love for her and Emily was undeniable. Charlotte forgot the whispers.
Then everything shattered.
Years passed. Emily turned sixteen. In an instant, the world collapsed. Oliver died in a crash—his car skidded on black ice, veered into oncoming traffic. The worst part? He wasn’t returning from a business trip, as he’d claimed, but from Brighton, where he’d been with his mistress. Both were dead. The revelation cracked Charlotte’s reality open.
*So the «well-wishers» were right. All this time, Oliver led a double life. He lied. He betrayed me. And I never doubted him for a second.*
The truth gnawed at her. Worse were the pitying glances from his mistress’s colleagues—they’d all known. Only Charlotte had been blind.
The solicitor read Oliver’s will. Everything—the business, their Chelsea townhouse, the countryside estate in Surrey, all their savings—went to Charlotte. A separate trust held a fortune for Emily’s education abroad.
None of it mattered. The world turned grey, muffled. She didn’t want to live.
Then there was Emily.
Her daughter had become a storm. Demanding, cruel.
*»Mum, I need the new iPhone. Don’t even try to argue—this one’s ancient.»*
*»Darling, you’ve had it barely a year. Dad bought it for you—»*
*»Never—NEVER—say no to me!»* Emily’s voice was a blade. *»Dad gave me everything! And now you’ve stolen his business, you greedy cow!»* She hurled her phone at the wall, locked herself in her room.
Charlotte sank onto the sofa, drained.
*God, why is she like this? So heartless?*
A year passed in a fog. Then, one night, Oliver visited her dreams—smiling, silent. When she woke, something had shifted.
She wanted to live differently.
*No more moping. No more letting betrayal define me. Oliver and I graduated from the same university—I can run this business. Time to shake off the gloom, pull myself together. Life’s too short to waste.*
She arrived at the office in a sharp blazer, hair sleekly cropped. Employees gaped, whispers swirling:
*»Charlotte’s back… Can she handle it?»*
*»Trust me—she’ll outdo any man in that chair.»*
The doubters silenced fast. Charlotte took control. Soon, old partners and new sought her out. The business flourished.
The only skeptic? Emily.
*»Oh please, Mum. You and business? Dad carried you your whole life. Sell it before you ruin everything.»* She smirked. *»Nice suit. New haircut. Think that makes you relevant? Men won’t line up for a middle-aged widow—oh wait, they might. You’re loaded now.»*
Charlotte bit her tongue. Emily would leave for university soon.
*»I’ll live as I choose. Focus on your exams.»*
Time passed. Emily flew to New York. Work consumed Charlotte—thrilling, fulfilling. Profits soared.
She called Emily often, urging caution in a foreign city. Her daughter’s tone never softened—only barbs, only spite.
Eventually, Charlotte decided to renovate the Surrey estate.
*»Once Emily graduates, she can have the townhouse. I’ll take the country home. Living together is impossible. Why is she like this?»*
She tasked her deputy, Gregory, with finding builders.
*»Greg, I need a reliable team. Trust your judgment.»*
Days later, he handed her a number.
*»Max’s crew. Solid reputation. Spoke to their past clients—no complaints.»*
She met Max at the estate.
*»New fireplace. Lighter interiors. Underfloor heating.»* He nodded, scribbling notes.
*»I’ll draft sketches, ring you soon,»* he said.
On the drive back to London, Charlotte stopped at a café. As she entered, a man caught her eye—familiar, but unplaceable.
*»Charlotte! Blimey!»* He stood, grinning. Then it clicked: Daniel. A schoolmate who’d once fancied her.
*»Hello! Took me a second—it’s been years!»*
*»Sit, sit!»* He pulled out a chair. *»Look at you! Confident. Glowing. How’s Oliver? The business?»*
*»You’ve filled out. Handsome devil. What do you do now?»*
*»Exactly what I wanted—car dealerships. Always loved motors, remember? But you’re dodging. Where’s Oliver?»*
Her smile faltered. *»Gone. Car crash.»*
*»Christ. I’m sorry.»* He exhaled. *»Even after you chose him over me…»*
*»And you? Family?»*
*»Was married. Tina. Divorced two years back. Waited till the kids were grown. Split fair—she’s comfortable. Moved here to escape the drama.»*
They talked for hours, swapped numbers. That evening, Daniel called.
*»Fancy dinner? Just us. Say the word—I’ll pick you up.»*
*»Alright,»* she said, giving her address.
Hanging up, she flushed. *Too soon?* But Daniel’s grin, those hazel eyes—they unsettled her in the best way.
At her doorstep, he waited by his Jaguar, clutching snowdrops.
*»Snowdrops? In March? There’s still frost—»*
*»Saw an old lady selling them off the A3. Thought of you. Remember picking these as kids?»*
Dinner melted into coffee at his penthouse. Then…
She woke to rich coffee aroma, half-convinced it was a dream. But Daniel stood there, tray in hand, two steaming cups.
*»Daniel… you’re unbelievable.»*
*»No, you are. I’m not letting you go again.»*
*»But Emily—she’s difficult. What if—»*
*»Charlotte. You’re stunning, brilliant. Your life, your rules. No more doubts. Just us.»*
Happiness buoyed her. Contracts flowed. Fortune smiled. Love reignited. Daniel proposed; she hesitated, fearing Emily’s wrath.
At the wedding, Emily arrived with a smirk.
*»Fine. Let’s meet ‘Daddy Daniel.’»*
The meeting was civil. Too civil.
*»Mum, show me the renovations,»* Emily said.
They toured the estate. The master bedroom was Charlotte’s pride—soft blues, sheer drapes, a vast bed drowning in linen.
*»Nice,»* Emily mused. Then, eyeing Daniel: *»Wouldn’t kick him out of this bed.»*
Charlotte’s chest tightened. She pretended not to hear.
Her phone rang—work emergency. She hurried downstairs.
Daniel followed. Emily trailed behind, snickering.
*»Relax, Mum. Your man’s no fun. Called him ‘Daddy,’ begged him to test the bed. Chickened out. Pathetic.»*
Next day, Emily flew back.
*»Nothing ties me here. Keep the money coming—I’m staying abroad.»*
Now, Charlotte and Daniel live in Surrey. Thriving. Running their empires. He offers her early retirement; she refuses. Life’s too sweet to waste.
And Charlotte vows: she’ll never give up her business.
Not for anyone.