A Life Straight Out of a Fairy Tale

A Fairytale Life

That morning, Emily woke with the odd feeling that something important was about to happen. The sun seemed brighter than usual outside her window, birds were singing, and her husband kissed her on the cheek before leaving for work, saying, Youre the best, you know that? Everything was as it always was. Perfect.

Perfect that was the word Emily measured her life by. The perfect husband, Tom, a successful and considerate businessman. Perfect children a university-age son and a sixth-form daughter, both clever, no trouble at all. The perfect flat in the heart of London, the perfect cottage in the Cotswolds, the perfect car parked outside. She herself was perfect: well-groomed, toned, and at forty-five, looking not a day over thirty-five.

Her friends envied her: Em, youve hit the jackpot! Youre living a fairytale. Emily would give a modest smile, thinking yes, she was lucky. Although, honestly, luck wasnt the reason for her life. She simply always knew what was right. How to look, how to speak, how to keep a home, how to support her husband, how to nurture her children. She poured everything she had into making her life so ideal. Nothing left for herself.

For Emily, Tom was the centre of her universe. Shed met him in their fourth year at university a handsome, clever man from a respectable family. All the girls swooned, but he chose her. Emily. She nearly lost her mind with happiness.

They married a year later. Then came Toms business, her own career (she worked her way up to finance director at a large company), then the children. Life kept moving in time, like a well-written score.

Sometimes, though, Emily noticed odd things. Tom might suddenly stare out the window, not hearing what she said. Hed call less often when away on a business trip. Sometimes, hed look at her with a strange sadness, as if seeing someone else.

Whats wrong? shed ask.

Nothing, hed reply. Just tired, thats all.

She left it at that. Tired who isnt? Business is stressful.

***

That Tuesday, Emily popped into Toms office to sign some papers hed asked her to deal with. The new secretary seemed flustered at her arrival, stammering, Mr Bennett is busy at the moment, can you wait? Emily waved it off, Im family, its fine.

She walked straight in, unannounced.

Tom was seated at his desk, focused on his computer screen. On display was a photo of a woman young, strikingly pretty, with long fair hair and sorrowful eyes. Emily caught a glimpse and wondered: was he browsing someones pictures with his secretary just outside?

Im just here for the paperwork, Emily said.

Tom startled, hurriedly closed the window, but she noticed. Something twisted inside her.

Yes, of course, he stammered, fumbling in his drawer. Heres everything. Sign them and leave them, Ill collect later.

Who was that? Emily asked, her voice calm. As calm as only women who sense disaster can be.

What? Oh, just a colleague. Work stuff.

Do you do your work by staring at full-screen portraits of colleagues?

Emily, please dont start, he grimaced. Youre imagining things.

She nodded, took the paperwork, and left. But a seed of doubt had already taken root.

***

Of course, Emily began to investigate. She didnt want to; her hands acted on their own. That night, while Tom showered, she went through his phone. She found the messages. Hidden in a separate app, password-protected. She knew the password their daughters birthday. Tom never changed them.

Miss you, the woman wrote.

Me too. Well see each other soon, Tom replied.

Hows she? Does she suspect?

No. Everythings fine.

Emily read in disbelief. Five years. For five years Tom had been having an affair. Five years of a double life. While she cooked dinner, raised the kids, greeted him after work, smiled at parties he was with someone else.

She scrolled further back. Photos, tender words, plans for get-togethers. Then, a message that left her gutted:

You know youre my one and only. Ever since university. If things had been different back then, wed never have parted. Emilys a good woman, but its just… fate, isnt it?

She read that line three times.

One and only. Ever since university. If things had been different.

So, all these years, she hadnt been loved. She had only ever been convenient. The woman close at hand when his real love left.

That evening, Emily waited for him in the kitchen. She stood at the window, watching the London sky fade, wondering how to go on, what to tell the children, what to do with the years that now felt counterfeit.

Tom walked in, saw her face, and knew.

You know everything, he said, not as a question.

I do, Emily replied. Who is she?

He sat, burying his face in his hands, silent for some time.

Im sorry, Emily. This isnt how you were meant to find out.

Was it meant to be a secret forever? Youd just carry on, living with us, thinking about her?

I dont think about her all the time, he murmured.

Dont bother lying. Ive read it. Youre my one and only. Ever since university. Tell me the truth. I want to know all of it.

So he told her.

Her name was Claire. They fell for each other the day they arrived at university, together from the very start, intending to marry. But Claires parents disapproved Tom wasnt from their circle, no money, no connections. They whisked her away to another city, set her up with a suitable match. Claire wrote letters, pleaded, but could not escape.

Tom waited two years. Then he met Emily. Beautiful, intelligent, from a decent family. Why not? Life carries on.

They married. Had their children. Tom launched his business partly to prove something to Claires parents and to himself. All the while, Claire lived somewhere in the back of his mind.

Five years ago, we bumped into each other, he said, quietly. Shes single now, divorced, no children. Everything started up again. I couldnt help it.

And with me? Have you been fighting against being with me for twenty years? Emily said.

Emily, I respect you youre a wonderful wife, mother, partner. You gave me everything.

Except love, she cut in. You never took my love. You never wanted it. You just needed someone who fit with your tidy life. And your love stayed back at university.

He didnt answer. It was all true.

***

Packing didnt take long. Emily always knew if you leave, go quickly. No drama, no scenes, no lets try to work it out. She respected herself too much to become a pawn in anyone elses romance.

She told the children calmly. Her son tried to talk to his father but Emily stopped him: Dont, Sam. This is between us. You dont need to get involved.

Her daughter cried, Mum, wont you be lonely?

I have myself, Emily replied. And thats more than enough.

She rented a flat in another part of town.

The first months were a nightmare. Shed lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling. By day, she worked, smiled, got on with life. But at night, her mind replayed the years the I love yous, shared holidays, his friends, family rituals. She realised it was all a lie. Beautiful, warm, but still a lie.

The worst thing wasnt even the betrayal. It was realising that she, supposedly clever and strong and perfect, hadnt seen it. Because she didnt want to see. It was easier to live inside the perfect picture.

***

A year later, with the wounds beginning to heal, Emily bumped into an old acquaintance.

You heard, right? the woman said. Tom got married again to that Claire, the university love. They say her parents kept them apart. Can you imagine, its like a film?

Emily smiled politely, the way only former perfect wives can.

Yes, I can imagine, she said. Very romantic.

At home, she sat at the kitchen table for a long time, staring at the wall. Then she wept, for the first time that year.

Not from pain it had dulled now. From the bitterness. From seeing that she had always been the background, the set-dressing, the easy choice for a man still waiting for someone else.

Emily had given him children. Built their home. Supported his business. Looked after his parents. Welcomed his friends. Kept everything running. All the while, he carried someone else in his heart. And the realisation she could do nothing to change it was the cruelest part. You cant make someone love you. Youll never be the leading lady if you were only ever the understudy.

***

Two more years rolled by.

Emily learned to live on her own. To her surprise, she found she liked it. No one expecting tea at seven sharp. No one grumbling if she worked late. No husband staring sadly out the window, lost in memories of another. Her children had grown up, her son married, her daughter started a postgrad degree. They met up often, and Emily was no longer just a mother but a friend.

Sometimes her friends would ask, Em, what about men? Youre still young, still gorgeous. Why be alone? Emily shrugged: Im just enjoying my freedom.

But the truth was deeper. She feared being the convenient woman again. She worried that behind the pretty words, someone would again lack real love. She didnt want to find herself standing in the wings, holding up another persons dream.

Better alone than with the wrong person, she would say. Ill be my own leading lady.

One evening, sorting through old photos, Emily found her wedding album. She sat and turned the pages for a long time, looking at her younger self, at his smile. Back then, she believed in forever.

And now?

She closed the album and put it away on the highest shelf. Not thrown out memories matter. But hidden, too.

Sunlight drifted in through the window. The neighbours music played through the wall they were doing some decorating. Life went on.

Emily looked in the mirror slim, well-kept, clear-eyed, a calm smile on her face.

Well done, you, she told her reflection. You made it.

And that was true. Shed made it not because she found someone better, but because she finally found herself.

The version of Emily shed almost lost chasing after a perfect picture. The version who could be alone without being lonely. The one who finally knew her own worth.

And that was priceless.

Tom, every so often, still calls. Asks after her. Sends birthday wishes. Emily replies, polite, brief, then leaves it at that.

She doesnt hold resentment anymore. That faded long ago. Instead theres only calm knowledge: she was a good wife. He just wasnt her man. They both realised it too late.

And Claire? Well, Claire now lives in Emilys old house, with her former husband. Emilys heard theyre happy together. And shes glad, in a way. At least their story got its happy ending. Even if it wasnt hers.

Today Emily is off to yoga. Then meeting a friend at a café. Later, dinner with her son and daughter-in-law theyve invited her to a new restaurant.

Life is full. She made it that way.

Sometimes, as she drifts off to sleep, Emily wonders what if things had been different? What if hed truly loved her? Grew old together, saw grandchildren grow, holidays at their cottage…

But then she rolls over, closes her eyes, and lets it be. Theres no use regretting the life that never was. She lived the life she had. And she came out victorious.

Not because she beat anyone. But because she didnt lose herself.