Oliver and Emily got married the moment they turned twenty. Their love burned like wildfire, fierce and unstoppable. They couldn’t bear to be apart, their hearts beating in sync like two halves of the same soul. Seeing their passion, their parents wasted no time in making it official, hoping to tame the flames before they spiraled out of control. The wedding was grand—white ribbons fluttering on the vintage car, cascades of roses, fireworks painting the night sky, clinking glasses, and endless cheers of “Kiss the bride!” It felt like the start of something eternal.
Emily’s parents couldn’t contribute much to the celebration. Their meager wages barely covered groceries, let alone the drink that always seemed to vanish too quickly. All the expenses fell on Oliver’s mum, Vera—a strong-willed but soft-hearted woman who insisted everyone just call her Vera Nik. She’d tried more than once to talk Oliver out of marrying Emily, shaking her head at the girl’s family habits. “Olly, love, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” she’d fretted. “This fire between you? It’ll burn out quicker than a matchstick.” But Oliver, blinded by love, swore Emily was his destiny.
The young couple stepped into their new life, hearts full of dreams. The world was theirs, and nothing could touch them—or so they thought.
Vera Nik and her husband gifted them a cosy flat up north in a quiet market town. “Live well, love well,” she told them. For a while, it was perfect. Emily gave birth to two daughters—Sophie and Lily. Oliver adored his girls, proud as punch to be a father and provider. Their home was warm, safe—a fortress of love.
But before five years had passed, shadows crept in. Emily started disappearing without a word, returning with the sharp scent of whisky on her breath. Oliver begged for answers, but she’d just shrug him off. Then one night, she spat the truth at him: “I never loved you, Olly. Just a stupid teenage mistake. I’ve found someone who *gets* me.” A married man with three kids, no less. Oliver’s world shattered.
Emily ran off with her new love to a remote village, spouting some nonsense about true happiness in a cottage. She left the girls behind without a second glance. Crushed by grief, Oliver was no fit father. Vera Nik swooped in, raising Sophie and Lily with all the love she had. The girls grew up cherished, but bitterness festered in their hearts.
Oliver, lost in despair, fell in with an old mate who dragged him into a tight-knit religious group. They married him off quick-smart to a widow named Margaret, with two boys of her own. Suddenly, he was drowning in her rules. When he dared mention his daughters, she’d snap, “They’ve got a mum, haven’t they? Focus on *my* lads.” Broken, he obeyed—but in quiet moments, he still ached for Emily.
Seven years later, Vera Nik opened her door to a ghost. Emily stood there, hollow-eyed, gripping the hand of a little girl. “This is Rose,” she whispered. “Can we stay?” Vera Nik took one look at the wreck of the woman she’d known and scoffed, “Life’s roughed you up proper, hasn’t it? This your latest stroke of luck?” Emily admitted her “true love” had turned out to be a drunkard and a brute. She’d fled his fists. “Why not go crawling back to *your* family?” Vera Nik pressed. Emily just begged to see her girls, knowing her ex-mother-in-law had a soft spot beneath the sharp tongue.
Sophie and Lily, now teens, met their mum with icy stares. They remembered the woman who’d abandoned them. “Orphans with living parents,” Vera Nik often said—and the pain of it lingered in their eyes. Still, she couldn’t turn them away. She took them in, though her heart warred with resentment.
A month later, Emily vanished again, leaving Rose behind. Turned out she’d gone *back* to the man who beat her, trapped in her own cycle of misery. Now Vera Nik and her husband raised three granddaughters in a home full of love, despite everything.
Time raced on. Vera Nik and her husband passed, leaving the girls to fend for themselves. Sophie married, but life denied her the children she longed for. Lily never found love, growing old in quiet solitude. And Rose? She had a baby at seventeen by some faceless lad, then bolted to the village to live with Emily, chasing the ghost of belonging.
As for Emily, she ended up alone. Her man’s grown daughters blamed *her* for his ruined health. “Keep your nose out of our family!” they hissed before taking him away. The village scorned her—just another sad drunk, not worth the gossip.
Oliver escaped the cult and Margaret, slinking back to his mum’s old flat. He scraped by on odd jobs, sharing his cold bed with three stray cats—his only company. The love that once blazed inside him? Nothing but ashes now. Happiness had knocked on their door all those years ago, but they’d never answered. And so their lives crumbled, lost to the void.
