You Simply Don’t Understand Your Own Happiness — Half a million? — Karen stared at the phone notification, rereading it three times before the numbers made sense. — You took out a loan for half a million pounds? David was on the sofa, fixated on his smartphone, not even looking up. — Oh, that… Yeah, it’s nothing really, just for Mum’s house repairs. You know her pipes are leaking, floors warped, wallpaper peeling… — Hold on. — Karen sank onto the edge of the armchair, legs refusing to hold her. — You got a loan. For half a million. And gave all of it to your mother. Without saying a word to me? David finally looked up. His face showed only genuine confusion, as if his wife was asking something entirely obvious. — Karen, it’s my mum. She lives alone, her pension’s tiny. Who else is going to help her? — And you couldn’t discuss it with me? — Karen yelled, unable to stop herself. — Ask my opinion? At least warn me? — You would’ve argued, — David shrugged. — And Mum needed it urgently. Four years. Four years she’d put up with the woman who called every evening to check what David had for dinner. Who’d arrive unannounced and critique their cleaning, who’d orchestrate family dinners so Karen ended up at the far end of the table. — Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, — David kept his calm tone. — We’ll be fine. Pay it off fast, it’s not much. It’s family. Hot, angry tears streamed down. Karen wiped them with the back of her hand, smearing mascara. — Family? Am I family? Or just an add-on? Remember when your mum decided it was time for a new car and you sold ours without asking me? Or when she cleared my things out of the guest room because she “couldn’t sleep surrounded by strangers’ junk”? Or how on my birthday, you left with her to buy her a fridge? — It’s nothing, — David waved her off. — You’re just tired, you need a break. Karen looked at this man—tall, gentle features, dimples she once thought cute. Now she saw only a thirty-year-old boy who couldn’t cut the cord. — We’ll get through this, — he repeated like a mantra. — Love conquers all. Karen rose without a word and went to the bedroom. Two large duffel bags sat in the closet—the same ones she’d moved in with. She dragged them out, tossed them on the bed, and began opening cupboards. David appeared at the door twenty minutes later, just as one bag was stuffed full. — What are you doing? Karen, this is ridiculous. You’re not serious? She didn’t answer, quietly folding jumpers, jeans, underwear. Took down the jewellery box—gifts from her parents and friends, she wouldn’t take anything from him. — Where will you go? To your mum? She’s up in Manchester! Zipping the second bag. Checking her purse—passport, bank card, the keys to her mum’s flat she’d always kept “just in case.” — Karen, say something! You can’t just leave me. I love you! She looked him in the eye, sharp and long. Then picked up her bags and walked out. …Next morning, Karen stood in line at the registry office, clutching her completed divorce papers. Rain drizzled outside, grey clouds low over rooftops, but inside she felt a strange calm. The decision was made. The first call came at half past two in the morning. Karen jumped awake on the sofa at her friend Leah’s, not immediately sure where she was. — We need to talk, — David’s rapid breathing, scattered words. — I get it now, I’ll change. Please, give me a chance. She hung up. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. — Karen, I can’t live without you. You are my whole life. By morning, there were forty-three messages. Each one long, tearful, full of promises and threats. “If you don’t come back, I don’t know what I’ll do.” “Mum says you’re just being difficult.” “I’ll wait for you, forever.” A week later, David began appearing outside her office. Karen would leave for lunch and there he’d be, hovering by the coffee kiosk. She’d head to the Tube—there he was, across the street. — Just passing by, — he insisted when Karen demanded an explanation. — I wanted to see you. One evening, there was a knock at Leah’s door. Karen opened it, not checking the peephole—she was expecting the pizza delivery. David stood on the doorstep, clutching a bouquet of red roses. — Just one chance, — he whispered. — I ask for nothing more. Karen quietly closed the door. He stayed outside for two hours, until the neighbours threatened to call the police. She learned to live with it—the way you learn to live with chronic pain. Don’t read the texts, don’t answer unknown calls, don’t look back in the street. Switched to remote work at a new firm, moved to a suburb where David would never “happen” to be. The divorce was finalised three months later. Karen left court with the official papers clutched tight and cried on the steps—not for grief, but relief. The first months of freedom were frighteningly empty. Karen had gotten used to checking every decision with someone, even if they’d always do as they wished. Now she could buy any yoghurt in the shop, without wondering if Mrs Davies would approve. She could watch any film, and wouldn’t hear “normal women don’t watch that.” She could breathe. She signed up for English courses—her long-time dream, which David had dismissed as “foolish expense.” Began attending early morning yoga before sunrise, when the city was just waking up. Took a solo trip to Brighton for the weekend, wandering the streets and eating doughnuts. Six months later, the calls stopped. The texts too. Karen waited for the catch another month, then another, and finally understood she could relax. She landed a job at a marketing agency—bright office, young team, exciting projects. Life was moving on. …She met Andrew at a work event her colleague Maddy insisted she attend. — This is our lead developer, — Maddy introduced a tall guy in thin-rimmed glasses. — Andrew, this is Karen from marketing. He shook her hand—firmly, but gently. Smiled—just a plain, genuine smile. — Escaping from the karaoke too, I see? — he nodded toward the stage, where the Finance Director was butchering “Wonderwall.” — Saving my nerves, — Karen nodded. They talked most of the night—about books, travel, the oddities of life. Andrew listened more than he spoke. Asked questions, actually waited for answers, never interrupted. Never tried to lecture or explain how she should live. When he found out she was divorced, he just nodded and changed the subject. …Half a year later, they moved in together, picking a flat in the city centre. Small, light-filled, high ceilings, overlooking a quiet courtyard. — Are you sure you like this flat? — Karen asked, as they viewed it before signing. — Maybe we should see some more? — Do you like it? — Andrew turned to her. — Yes. Very much. — Then let’s take it. Small things—the right to have an opinion, and be heard—meant more than any declarations of love. He proposed on the roof of their building, as the sun sank below the skyline, painting the sky pink and gold. He pulled out a tiny box, opened it—inside shimmered a diamond ring. — I’m not much for speeches, — Andrew admitted. — But I want to wake up next to you every day. If you don’t mind my snoring and my addiction to terrible coffee. Karen laughed through tears and nodded. …That May evening began like any other. Andrew was late at work—a looming deadline, an urgent bug. Karen was making pasta, humming along to the radio, when a sharp, insistent knock came at the door. She glanced through the peephole—and jumped back. It was David. Pale, dark circles under his eyes, crumpled shirt. Two years. Two years of silence—and now he was here. — Karen, open up! — his fist hammered the door. — I know you’re there! We need to talk! She grabbed her phone, dialled Andrew. The line was busy. — We love each other! — David shouted through the door. — You can’t be with someone else! It’s wrong! The door shuddered—he was throwing his weight against it. Karen pressed her back tight against the door, feet braced. — Get away, — she yelled. — I’ll call the police! — You’re my wife! — his voice climbed to a shrill pitch. — You were mine and you’ll always be mine! I waited two years for you to come to your senses! Two years! — We’re divorced! It’s over! — Nothing’s over! — he shoved again, and she barely held the door. — I’ve changed! Mum says you just don’t understand your own happiness! Open up, let’s talk! Through the peephole, his face was twisted, possessed. Nothing like the man she’d once shared a bed with. Karen dialled 999. — David! One click and the police will be here. Leave. Now. David froze. A few seconds passed. Then he spun around and strode to the stairs. Downstairs, the front door banged. Karen slid to the floor against the wall, dizzy. After half an hour, she managed to stand and call Andrew. The police took her statement the next day. The officer, an older bloke with a mustache, took notes, nodded. — We’ll deal with it. We’ll have a word. Whatever he said to David, Karen never found out. But after that, her ex never appeared again. No calls, no messages, no accidental run-ins. …She and Andrew held their wedding in early June—a small country restaurant, twenty guests, just close friends. No fuss, no groom’s relatives demanding old traditions. Karen stood across from Andrew in a simple white dress, holding his warm hands. Outside, birch trees rustled, the air scented with flowers and freshly cut grass. — Do you take… — began the celebrant. — I do, — Karen cut in, making the guests laugh. Andrew slid the ring on her finger—thin gold, engraved inside: “Always with you.” Karen looked up at the man who would be her husband. Not a mummy’s boy, not an obsessed stalker. Just a man who knew how to listen, respect, and love. Ahead lay a life where her voice mattered…

You just dont understand your own happiness

Fifty thousand pounds? Emma scanned the notification flashing on her phone three times before the number actually made sense. You took out a loan for fifty thousand pounds?

David sat slouched on the settee, his eyes glued to his phone, barely acknowledging her.

Oh, that? Yes, just a small thing for Mums renovations. You know her plumbings leaking, the floorboards are warped, wallpapers hopeless
Hold on a minute. Emma sank onto the edge of the armchair; her legs felt like jelly. You signed for a loan. Fifty thousand. And gave all of it to your mother. Without telling me at all?

David finally glanced up, his face washed with genuine confusion, as if Emma had asked something blindingly obvious.

Emma, its my mum. She lives alone, her pension barely stretches. Who else will help her?
But you didnt think to discuss it with me? Emmas voice climbed, trembling with anger. Ask my opinion? At least let me know?
Youd only argue, David shrugged mildly. And Mum needed it straight away.

Four years. Four years of putting up with this woman whod call every evening to ask about Davids supper, whod arrive unannounced to inspect the flat and tut at the dust, who never failed at family dinners to seat Emma as far from everyone else as possible.

Dont make a mountain out of a molehill, David persisted, tone still calm. Well manage, pay it off soon, its not much. Its just family.

The tears burst forth hot, angry. Emma wiped them away with the back of her hand, leaving streaks of mascara along her cheeks.

Family? Am I not family? Or am I only an extra? Do you recall when your mother decided we should change cars, and you sold ours without asking? Or when she binned my things from the guest room because she couldnt sleep amongst strangers clutter? Or how you two spent my birthday picking out her new fridge?

Its all nothing, David waved her off. Youre wound up, you need a break.

Emma gazed at him tall, soft features, those dimples shed once thought charming. All she saw now was a thirty-something child, unable to cut the apron strings.

Well be alright, he chanted like a mantra. Love conquers all.

Emma got up in silence, walked into the bedroom. Two big sports bags, the ones shed brought when she moved in, lay stowed on the top shelf. She pulled them down, tossed them onto the bed and began hauling open drawers.

David appeared twenty minutes later, just as one bag was full to the brim.

What are you doing? Emma, dont be daft. Youre not serious, surely?

She didnt answer; instead she folded sweaters, jeans, underwear neatly. She took down the jewellery box gifts from her parents and her friends. Nothing of Davids.

Where will you go? Back to your mums? Shes in York!

She zipped up the second bag, double-checked her handbag passport, card, keys to her mums flat shed always kept just in case.

Emma, please say something! You cant just leave me. I love you!

She sent him a long, silent look, shouldered her bags, and left the flat.

Next morning Emma was queued at the Town Hall, clutching the completed divorce forms in her hands. Outside it drizzled, grey clouds hanging low, but inside she felt a strange calm. The decision was made.

The first call came at half past two that night. Emma jerked awake on the sofa at her friend Hannahs, forgetting for a moment where she was.

We need to talk, David gasped down the phone, words tumbling out. I understand now, Ill change. Just give me a chance.

She hung up. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again.

Emma, I cant live without you. Youre everything to me.

By morning, there were forty-three messages. Each one a muddle of tearful confessions, promises, even threats.

If you dont come back, I dont know what Ill do.

Mum says youre just being difficult.

Ill always wait for you.

A week later he started showing up at her office. Emma would step out for lunch and spot him lurking by the sandwich shop. She headed to the Underground after work there hed be across the street.

Just passing by, David would smile sheepishly when she demanded answers. Wanted to see you, thats all.

One evening, the doorbell rang at Hannahs flat. Emma didnt check the spyhole she was expecting the pizza delivery.

David stood there with a bouquet of red roses.

Just one more chance, he whispered. Thats all Im asking.

Emma shut the door silently. He stood outside for two hours, till the neighbours threatened to call the police.

She learned to cope. The way people learn to live with chronic pain. She stopped reading his messages, ignored calls from unknown numbers, kept her head down on the street. Changed jobs to a remote position, moved house to a quieter part of town where David couldnt stumble upon her by accident.

The divorce was granted after three months. Emma walked out of the court holding the official papers, bursting into tears at the steps not from grief, but relief.

The first months of freedom unnerved her with their emptiness. She was used to checking every decision with someone, even if that someone always did things his way. Now, she could buy whatever yoghurt she fancied, not worrying whether Mrs. Richardson approved. She could watch any film, knowing shed not be told proper women dont watch things like that. She could breathe.

She enrolled in evening English classes an old dream David had called a silly waste of cash. She started yoga at sunrise, out before the city woke. She spent a weekend in Bath by herself, just wandering streets and sampling fudge.

Six months later, the calls ceased. No more messages. Emma waited for him to pop up for another month, then another, before she finally relaxed again. She landed a role at a marketing agency bright office, young team, exciting projects. Her life regained colour.

She met Andrew at a work do, dragged along by her colleague Rosie.

This is our chief programmer, Rosie announced, introducing a tall man with slim glasses. Andrew, meet Emma from marketing.

He shook her hand, warmly but gently. His smile was simple, not trying to impress.

Escaping the karaoke too? he nodded toward the stage, where the finance director was butchering Wonderwall.

Trying to save my nerves! Emma laughed.

They talked long into the evening about books, holidays, how bizarre life could be. Andrew listened more than he spoke. He asked questions and waited for answers, never interrupting. He didnt try to teach her, never suggested how she should live. When he found out she was divorced, he just nodded and swiftly changed the subject.

Half a year later they moved in together, choosing a flat in the city centre. Cozy, full of light, with high ceilings and a view over the quiet courtyard.

Are you sure you like this place? Emma asked, as they toured the flat before signing the lease. We could look at a few more.

Do you like it? Andrew turned to her.

I do. Very much.

Then lets take it.

Those tiny things having her opinion respected meant more than any grand declarations of love.

He proposed on their rooftop, as the sun dipped behind the skyline, painting the sky in pink and gold. He pulled out a tiny box, flicked it open inside, a ring gleamed with a diamond.

Im not much for speeches, Andrew admitted. But I want to wake up next to you every day. If youre willing to put up with my snoring and terrible coffee.

Emma laughed through tears and nodded.

That May evening began just like any other. Andrew was running late with some bug at work, Emma hummed along to the radio as she cooked pasta, when the doorbell rang, sharp and insistent.

She peered through the spyhole and started.

David stood outside. Pale, with dark circles under his eyes, shirt crumpled. Two years. Two years of nothing, and hed just appeared.

Emma, please open the door! his fist thumped on the wood. I know youre there! We have to talk!

Emma grabbed her phone, dialled Andrew. Busy.

We love each other! David shouted through the door. You shouldnt be with someone else! Its wrong!

The door shuddered he was pushing his entire weight against it, as if trying to break it down. Emma pressed her back to the door, braced her feet.

Go away! she yelled. Or Ill call the police!
Youre my wife! his voice cracked, shrill. You were mine, and you will be! Two years I waited for you to come to your senses! Two years!
Were divorced! Its all over!
Nothings over! He tried the door again; Emma barely held it closed. Ive changed! Mum says you just dont know whats best! Open up, please, just talk!

Through the peephole, she could see his face twisted, obsessed. He was no longer the person shed once shared a bed with.

Emma pulled out her mobile and dialled 999.

David! One call and theyll be here in minutes. Leave. Now.

David froze. He stood a while, silent. Then suddenly turned and marched down the stairs. The front door banged shut below.

Emma slid to the floor against the wall, ears ringing. Half an hour passed before she found the strength to call Andrew.

The statement to the police was made the next day. The local constable a grey-haired man with a moustache took her account, nodded.

Well have a word. Dont worry.

What he said to David, Emma never knew. But after that, her ex never showed up again. No calls, no messages, no surprise appearances on her street.

They had the wedding in early June, at a small country restaurant just twenty friends, no fuss. No distant relatives harping on about traditions.

Emma stood opposite Andrew, simple white dress, her hands folded in his warm grip. Outside, the birch trees rustled, scented blossoms and fresh-cut grass drifting in.

Do you, Emma the celebrant began.
I do, she interrupted. The guests laughed.

Andrew slid onto her finger a thin gold ring, engraved inside with three words: Always with you.

Emma looked up at the man about to be her husband. Not a mothers boy, not a deranged stalker. Just a man who listened, respected, and loved her. Ahead lay a life where she had a voice.

And that was my lesson, at last: happiness isnt given you must build it yourself. Even if you dont always see it clearly at first.