— But you understand, Allie, that people like you never get married, — Andrew said calmly.

April22

I cant stop replaying todays conversation in my head, and Im still trying to make sense of it. I sit at my kitchen table, a mug of tea cooling beside me, and write because the silence in the flat feels too loud.

Alice, Andrew Clarke said, his voice as calm as a Sunday morning, people like you dont get married. There are women for fun and companionship, and there are those who keep themselves untouched until the wedding. Unfortunately, youre not in either group.

I stared at him, the man Id thought I loved, feeling the words land like cold water. What exactly is wrong with me, Andrew? I cook well, I look presentable, the house is tidy. As a woman, am I not appealing to you?

He smirked, as if satisfied with his own remark, then turned to the wall and let out a soft snort. Thats the problem! Youre already ruined. Understand this: people like you arent taken as wives. You only get casual dates, no commitment. Men marry virgins, and youd be the first to have to wash his boots and drink his tea, as the saying goes.

Just a week earlier Id been at the Brew & Bean with my girlfriends, spilling my plans for the future. Life is finally falling into place, I told them. Im thirty, not a girl anymore, but I have a career, a flat in Manchester, a decent car, and I look good. I could settle down and have children. And theres a potential partnerpractically a dream.

Andrew has never been married, lives alone, although his mother bought a flat next door. Fourteen years my senior, handsome, wellkept, almost free of bad habits, and with a senior managerial role. Pure luck, they said.

Wed met at work: he came in as a patient for a dental checkup and walked out with a crush. I was juggling two jobs thenat the city health centre and a private clinicso my personal time was stretched thin. Yet he kept sending me bouquets, not the usual red roses but peonies, even in February. A restaurant dinner followed, and the spark grew.

Only one thing nagged at me: it had been two years, and he still hadnt proposed. My friends kept nudging, Its time, Alice. I felt it too, so I gathered the courage to bring it up before bed. His reply? I was spoiled, not marriage material.

My mind refused to accept it. What does he think he is allowed to say? I wondered. The next evening I met the girls again at the café, desperate for advice.

Imagine, girls, I began, he told me Im no longer a catch! That people like me never get married!

Youre serious? Catherine gasped. Youre beautiful, smart, independent!

He says he only marries virgins. He calls me a thirdrate, defective sort. And yet hes perfect in every other wayintelligent, has money, were great in bed.

Alice, drop him before he shatters your selfesteem completely, Lisa snorted.

Even better, Kat said, grin widening, lets invite him over! Its our tenyear anniversary, Mike and I. He can see what a real family looks like.

Andrew, who usually shuns social gatherings, surprisingly agreed and even offered to drive. I halfexpected a night of awkward small talk, but maybe Id finally have a chance to enjoy an evening without being the driver.

At Kat and Mikes countryside cottage the atmosphere was homely: children ran about, the grill sizzled, birds chirped, and their dog Skip chased his tail as if powered by an invisible battery. The feast stretched from noon until dusk. As the older guests drifted home and the children fell asleep, only the close friends, the hosts, and Andrew remained at the table.

We poured tea, served berry tart, and chatted. Then Andrew launched into his usual sermon:

Tell me, Kat, why is Alice still single? Youve been married ten years.

Not everyone falls in love on their third year of university, like me, Kat shrugged. Back then I was studying and working, had no time.

Did you marry a virgin? he asked, halfsmiling.

Are you kidding? Kat laughed. Mike and I have been together since our first year!

But wasnt he your first? Andrew persisted.

Want to see a passport? Mike snapped. Shes my wife, period.

Exactly! She was pure, and thats respect. Marrying someone whos had a few partners before you is a disgrace to the family!

What kind of noble line do you claim that demands a spotless past? Lisa giggled. So why did you ever give Alice hope?

I never promised anyone anything, Andrew shrugged. Your friend should know shes a secondrate woman, and theres no serious reason to marry her. I see none.

So Im a thirdrate, divorced with a child then? Lisa laughed. What a pity for you, sir, and for your lineage.

How dare you speak about women in my house? Mike roared. Sorts belong to you! Youre a rotten herring yourself! He grabbed Andrew, yanked him toward the door, and with his twometre, muscular frame tossed him out onto the garden path.

Get out! I wont let you spoil the evening. If it werent for the girls, Id have already knocked you flat. Youre not welcome here.

Alice, Im leaving. Are you coming with me or staying? Andrew announced proudly, slinging his suitcase over his shoulder.

I burst into laughter, unable to answer. He didnt wait for my reply, slammed the gate, and drove off.

Well, Mike, thanks, I chortled, wiping tears from my eyes. Thats itno more men, even the expired ones!

Bad idea trying to teach him about marriage, Catherine smiled. What a character! Girls, listen: Im a firstrate sort now, and you?

We joked the rest of the night, the laughter carrying us through the evening. Later, Lisa gave me a ride home. Life slipped back into its usual rhythmseeing patients, filling out medical histories, and the hum of the clinics daily grind.

Andrew never called again.

Miss Davies, theres an envelope on the reception desk for you.

Thanks, Lily, Ill look at it later.

When I finally opened the envelope after my shift, inside was (to be continued).