Failed the Assessment

28April

Im not proud of how I started the evening, but I had to be honest. I forced a smile, tapped the table and said, Emily, Im terribly sorry, but I left my wallet at home all my cards are in there. Could you cover the bill? Its really awkward for me.

Emily inhaled a surprised breath, then reached for her bag. Sixty pounds for a twoperson dinner wasnt a huge sum, but it wasnt nothing either. Shes been making enough to not have to flinch over such amounts.

Of course, no problem, she replied.

The waiter brought over the card terminal, and she slipped her card in. The screen flashed green, confirming the payment. I nodded gratefully and helped her up, steadying her by the elbow.

Outside a chill wind was biting through to the bone. Emily pulled her scarf tighter. I walked beside her in silence, as though I were turning something over in my mind. We stopped beneath a streetlamp and I turned to her.

Emily, theres something I need to tell you, I began, my voice taking on an odd tone. The wallet and the cards were actually with me the whole time.

She froze; a cold surge ran up her legs.

What do you mean?

It was a test, I said, pulling a sleek black leather cardholder from my jacket pocket and twirling it. I wanted to see whether youd be with me for anything other than money. I needed to know you werent mercenary or dependent. Now I know youre independent.

Emily exhaled slowly. Inside, something tightened into a knot. A laugh got caught somewhere between throat and chest, but she forced a smile.

Im glad I passed your test, she whispered as gently as she could.

Relief washed over me and I laughed, clapping a hand on her shoulders. She leaned into me, hiding her face so I wouldnt see the tension in her jaw. Inside, she was being reduced to a schoolgirl under my scrutiny, while she was a grown woman.

The weeks that followed fell into their usual rhythm. Then I proposed. The setting was as romantic as any London tableau could be, and Emily said yes.

Soon we were planning the wedding. Emily bought a creamcoloured lacesleeved dress from a boutique in Covent Garden. We booked a venue for forty guests and sent out the invitations.

My mother, Margaret Whitaker, visited every weekend, lavishing praise on her son as if she were hawking a prize at a market.

Daniel is so responsible, she chirped, pouring tea into delicate porcelain cups. Always helpful, never forgets his mother. Emily, you should feel proud that he chose you.

Emily nodded and smiled, though Margarets words slipped past her without landing. She learned to tune out the motherinlaws monologues.

Two weeks before the wedding I asked Emily to move in with me a brandnew flat on the fifteenth floor of a riverside development, with panoramic windows looking over the Thames. She agreed, though a small voice inside her protested. She began packing, boxes crowding her modest onebedroom flat.

On moving day Emily carried the first box, filled with decorative cushions and photo frames. I met her at the lift and helped haul the load up. The new flat smelled of fresh paint and new furniture. She set the box down in the hallway, straightened herself and rubbed her sore lower back.

I took her hand and led her to the balcony.

Come, Ill show you the view.

We stepped onto the narrow balcony. The wind tugged at Emilys hair, and she squinted against the bright sun. The river glittered below, reflecting the sky, while the city stretched to the horizon.

Suddenly I asked, Hand me your phone. I want a picture of you against this backdrop.

Emily fished her black smartphone from her jeans and handed it to me. I glanced at the screen, then, without warning, I flung the phone over the railing.

She froze, as if time had stopped. She stared at the tiny dot disappearing into the bushes by the stairwell. A cold, detached calm settled over her.

What are we going to do now, love? I said, crossing my arms with a grin.

Emily shifted her gaze from the ground back to me, her expression none of panic, only a measured composure.

Youll go down and fetch the SIM card for me, she replied, her tone flat.

I burst out laughing, producing the phone from my pocket and waving it like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.

Surprise, I said, delighting in the moment. I see you dont mind. Here, I was only testing your reaction my old phone went for a little flight.

Emily took her phone, noted the scratch on the screen protector, and ran a finger over it. Irritation rose inside her, dark and heavy. She looked up at me.

Im not a piece of equipment for your experiments, she said quietly.

My laughter died. My face went slack, eyebrows climbing.

Come off it, I tried to sound conciliatory. It was just a joke. Dont be angry. I love you.

Emily slipped a gold ring with a small diamond off her finger and placed it in my palm.

What are you doing? I asked, as if she were handing me a snake.

Returning it, she said, laying the ring on my hand. These little tests chip away at my selfrespect. I wont marry someone so childish and petty.

Youre serious? Over a prank? I pleaded, a note of complaint in my voice.

She turned and walked back into the flat. The boxes in the hallway remained untouched. She felt a quiet triumph that she hadnt yet unpacked a single thing. She grabbed the car keys, her bag, the lone box, and headed for the door.

Emily! Wait! I chased after her down the corridor. Lets talk!

Theres nothing to discuss, she called over her shoulder. But I can explain it in your language: you, Daniel, failed the test.

She loaded the box back into the car, slipped behind the wheel, turned the engine, and drove away while I stood at the entrance, watching her vanish.

Home smelled of coffee, old books, and lavender freshener. I kicked off my shoes, moved to the kitchen, and set the kettle on. My phone vibrated it was me. I declined the call. A minute later a message appeared: Im sorry, I hurt you. Lets meet and talk.

I deleted it, then another, then another, finally blocking the number and silencing notifications.

In the days that followed, I called from unknown numbers, messaged on social media, begged mutual friends to tell her I was remorseful. She ignored every attempt. The money spent on the wedding, the restaurant reservation, the invitations none of it mattered to her. She just refused to be humbled for anyones ego.

The cream dress hung in her wardrobe, still in its protective cover. Earlier her niece, Lucy, had asked for help picking a prom outfit. The dress would look better on her than on a bride who would never walk down the aisle.

Emily sat on the sofa, knees drawn up, watching the sunset bleed into the night sky. The city buzzed below, indifferent to our drama. Somewhere, probably in his new flat, I was still puzzling over why shed cut everything so sharply. I hadnt understood that testing someones love is a humiliation, not a proof.

The phone buzzed again from an unknown number. She didnt answer, turned on some music, curled under a blanket and closed her eyes. Calm settled over her, empty yet peaceful, as if a heavy pack had finally been set down after a long trek.

Two days later Lucy burst in, shrieking with excitement at the sight of the dress.

Aunt Emily, is this really for me? she pressed the lace to her chest, twirling before the mirror.

Yes, Emily nodded, watching the delight in her nieces eyes.

Will you need it yourself? Lucy asked.

No, Emily replied. I have other plans.

Lucy hugged her, smelling of flowerscented shampoo and youthful exuberance. Emily returned the embrace, running a hand along Lucys back. She felt relief that the dress wouldnt be wasted, that she had stopped in time, that there was no lingering regret only a light sadness for the time and hopes that had been squandered.

That chapter is over. Im free of the pretence, and that matters more than any test could ever prove.

Lesson: love cannot be measured by tricks; respect is earned by honesty, not by games.