Emily shut her suitcase, carried it to the hallway, and before putting on her coat to leave, decided to double-check she hadn’t forgotten anything. She walked through the rooms, glancing around what had once been her home—now no longer hers—and stepped into the kitchen. Leaning against the doorframe, she suddenly remembered the first time they’d had dinner at that very table. That evening, James had brought her home to meet his mother for the first time. Emily had been a whirlwind of fear, longing, and love for Jamie, as she used to call him then. She’d been terrified of displeasing his mum, yet desperate for her approval.
As it turned out, her fear was unfounded. James’s mother, Margaret, was kind-hearted. She welcomed Emily like family, and after they married, she always encouraged her, even when things didn’t go right. At first, Emily could barely manage anything. Margaret—James’s mum—taught her to cook his favourite meals because, growing up in care, Emily had only ever learned to make simple dishes.
Yes, Emily had been in care—not from birth, but by cruel chance. Her parents had both been surgeons at the same hospital. One night, a friend from a nearby clinic called: a patient needed emergency surgery, but their own surgeon was unavailable. Her parents rushed to help. The operation was a success, but on their way home, a drunk driver in a lorry ploughed into their car. Her father died instantly; her mother didn’t survive the journey to hospital.
Emily was five.
She spent the next five years with her grandmother, whose health deteriorated rapidly after losing her son and daughter-in-law. One morning, she simply didn’t wake up. With no other family, Emily was taken into care.
The home wasn’t the best, but she grew up decently, avoiding the same downward spiral many of the girls there fell into. After leaving, she tried to reclaim her parents’ flat, only to find strangers already living there. She fought to get it back, but whether it was lack of legal know-how or shady dealings, she lost—left with nothing.
Then she met James. He helped her find work, rent a room from an elderly woman, and soon, they were dating. Three months later, they married and moved into his three-bedroom flat—shared with his mother, who adored Emily as much as she adored her.
They were happy.
Then, a year ago, Margaret died. Cancer, inoperable. She was gone within months.
After that, James changed. He started drinking, sometimes staying out all night. Yesterday, Emily saw him embracing—nearly kissing—another woman. She didn’t confront him then, deciding to talk that evening. But he never came home.
Now, after a sleepless night, Emily packed her things. No children, no shared assets—nothing to fight over. The doctors had said she couldn’t conceive.
She might have stood there reminiscing longer, but a string of curses from the hallway startled her. She hadn’t left in time.
Stepping out, she saw James swaying on his feet, barely sober, with the same woman from yesterday—surprisingly clear-headed.
Spotting his wife, he snarled, «What’re you staring at? Pack your crap and get out, you useless cow! Vicky’s moving in—she’ll give me a son, not like you, barren as a desert.»
Emily’s chest tightened so hard she could barely breathe. She steadied herself against the wall.
«Don’t worry. I’m already leaving.»
«Good. Five minutes, and I don’t wanna see you here.»
She bit back the words burning her tongue—*What are you doing to yourself, you fool? Your mum would be heartbroken!*—grabbed her suitcase, and walked out of the life that had once been so kind to her.
As the door clicked shut, she heard James slur, «C’mon, Vick, let’s make babies.»
Tears welled. She squeezed her eyes shut, set the suitcase down, and waited until she could breathe again.
Outside, she hailed a taxi.
«Where to?» the driver asked.
Where *could* she go? She hadn’t thought that far. Then she remembered the elderly woman she’d rented from—Doris. Maybe she was still there? It had only been eight years.
She gave the address. The entire ride, silent tears rolled down her cheeks.
At the old building, she barely noticed the woman on the bench until a voice called, «Emily?»
Doris stood, taking in her tear-streaked face. «Oh, love, what’s happened?»
Emily broke down.
Doris ushered her inside. «Tea first. Then you’ll tell me everything.»
Over steaming cups, the story spilled out.
«And now you’re giving up?» Doris asked.
«I love him, but—»
«No *buts*. If you love him, fight for him. He wasn’t always like this.»
«How? He *chose* this!»
«Did he?» Doris leaned in. «Think. When did it start?»
«After his mum died. First a drink at lunch, then two… then the pub. Then *her*.»
Doris nodded. «Right. We’re visiting a friend of mine.»
Twenty minutes later, they stood at the door of a small house. A woman in her seventies greeted them. «Come in. I’ve been expecting you.»
Emily froze when the woman—Martha—took her hands and closed her eyes. The room darkened. Shadows flickered. Emily couldn’t move.
Then, light returned.
«Your path’s been hard,» Martha said. «But your future’s bright if you listen. First, go home. Find what’s been hidden—a charm, likely dried herbs or feathers. Don’t touch it bare-handed. Bring it to me.»
Emily hesitated. «But James—»
«He never betrayed you. That woman wants your flat. If you leave, she’ll marry him—then ensure he doesn’t live long.»
Emily hurried back. James was passed out. An hour of searching later, beneath their mattress, she found it: a withered bundle of herbs and feathers. She wrapped it in his sock.
Martha was waiting. «Good. Now, two tonics.» She handed Emily small bottles. «Five drops of the red one in his food for three days. The clear one goes in his bath tonight. By morning, he’ll be himself again.»
«And after?»
«Never speak of this unless he does. Now go.»
Emily did as told. Within days, the drunken, cruel James was gone. A week later, he tearfully apologised.
«Just love me,» she whispered. «That’s all I need.»
A year later, Emily left the hospital with twins—a boy and a girl, despite the doctors’ verdict.
And now, may nothing ever come between their happiness again.