**A Confession in the Shadow of the Past**
Emily couldn’t tear her gaze away from her husband. James was leisurely eating his roast dinner, carefully scooping up gravy with his fork. Under her intense stare, he froze, feeling a cold trickle of unease down his spine.
“Done something naughty?” he asked with a wry smirk, trying to lighten the mood.
“Any confessions to make?” Emily matched his tone, but her eyes stayed deadly serious. Her expression softened for just a second, and James let out a relieved breath. Too soon. His wife launched her attack. “I’ve got a question for you. And please—no jokes. This is important.”
James set his fork down and frowned.
“Go on then,” he said, bracing himself.
“Every woman asks this at least once in her life,” Emily hesitated, fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth. She wasn’t dragging it out on purpose—she was just afraid of the answer. “Guess what I’m about to ask?”
James thought hard. His face turned solemn, and finally, he blurted out:
“I swear, I don’t even look at other women. Cheating? The thought’s never crossed my mind.”
“Not that,” Emily waved it off, then immediately tensed. “But why did you jump straight to cheating?”
“You were watching those telly dramas about affairs last night,” James shrugged. He was used to her bluntness and occasional naivety, but still felt like he was under interrogation. “Honestly, I was expecting this.”
“No, it’s about love,” Emily folded her arms defensively. “Tell me, James, why do you love me? And be honest.”
Silence fell. Every second stretched like an eternity, and Emily’s heart clenched with dread. But her husband’s answer was worse than silence. Utterly serious, without a hint of a smile, he said:
“Easier to say what I *don’t* love about you.”
“Like what?” Emily’s voice cracked, sounding alien to her own ears. Her head spun as if the floor had dropped away.
This question had haunted her since childhood. Why do people love each other? Parents—because they’re parents. Grandparents—for their kindness and warmth. Children—because they’re yours. But what binds lovers? As a girl, Emily had believed: find the reason for love, and happiness would last forever. It seemed as simple as a maths equation. She scoured books for answers, only to find vague talk of “sparks,” “chemistry,” “electricity”—nothing concrete.
Once, strolling through Hyde Park in London, young Emily overheard a conversation. A lad named Tom had taken his girl to a bench by the old fountain. They whispered, oblivious to the world, confessing love. Tom said he loved her for her sparkling eyes, graceful figure, and gentle voice. She called him brave and poetic. Emily concluded: if the girl stayed beautiful, Tom’s love would last. Ironclad logic. The couple married soon after, their life picture-perfect—until the baby arrived. A year later, Emily saw the tearful woman with a toddler hailing a taxi. They divorced.
Emily’s takeaway? Beauty keeps love alive. Fade, and love dies. But life kept throwing curveballs. Their neighbours in the Cotswolds, Auntie Marge and Uncle Albert, bickered constantly yet glowed with affection. Auntie Marge was stout, with tired, veiny legs, always in a headscarf hiding thinning hair. Albert, meanwhile, was sprightly, quick with a joke, everyone’s favourite. Their marriage baffled Emily.
Evenings, Auntie Marge baked apple crumble and brewed herbal tea; Albert manned the barbecue. They’d invite Emily’s family over, plying them with garden-grown berries and veg until their car sagged on the drive home. Emily’s parents returned the kindness—her mum sewing dresses for Marge, her dad helping Albert fix the shed. When Marge fell seriously ill, Albert sold his car and camped by her hospital bed. Young, black-and-white-thinking Emily couldn’t fathom: why cling to a sick, ageing wife?
Her mum called Albert a “proper man.” Her dad grumbled, “Looking after your wife isn’t heroic, it’s basic. If you got ill, I’d sell the lot to save you. Not bravery—just fear of losing you.” Emily saw her mum smile—maybe Dad just wanted to remind her he cared.
When Marge recovered, life resumed—bickering, crumble, and all. Emily dared ask Albert why he loved her. His reply? “She’s my other half. Without her, I’m not me.” Pretty, but hollow. Was *this* the “chemistry” from books? Magic you couldn’t explain?
Tom loved with his eyes, Albert with his heart. Both loved truly. Yet Emily saw the world in extremes: love was either perfect or doomed. Countless couples vowed forever, only to part as if those vows never existed. Worse were those who stayed decades, only to wake up strangers.
Auntie Patricia and Uncle Robert, her mum’s relatives, were like that. The “perfect” couple—smart, beautiful, never a cross word. Her mum held them up as marital goals during rows. “Robert, unlike *you*, always puts family first.” Dad shot back, “Patricia keeps the house spotless—who wouldn’t bend over backwards for that?” Their marriage seemed flawless—until they divorced, quietly, no drama. Patricia admitted relief. She craved freedom, new adventures. So did Robert. Two years later, they reunited, as if their love just needed airing out.
Emily decided: no thanks. She’d take her grandparents’ love instead. Married fifty years, they’d weathered poverty and even infidelity. Her mum recounted how Grandpa drank, how Grandma endured, working two jobs while he spent his wages at the pub. “Why stay?” Emily asked. “Times were different,” her mum said. “You fixed things, didn’t throw them out.” Grandma gave him an ultimatum: quit or lose her. He poured a bottle of whisky down the sink—then promptly cracked open another. She stayed. “For an alcoholic, dumping one bottle’s a miracle,” she’d say. Their love “won”—but at what cost?
Emily stopped hunting for love’s reasons. With James, it was different. They’d met at a London café, struck up a chat, and she’d felt—home. No “sparks,” no fireworks, just warmth and quiet certainty. She took her time, terrified of missteps, but her heart whispered: life without him would be hollow.
They married, lived peacefully, no explosive rows—just debates over holidays or sofa choices. The silence unnerved Emily. Could it *really* be this smooth? Even her parents had threatened divorce. Lately, doubts gnawed at her. She’d cry, then laugh for no reason. Life without James was unthinkable—yet his answer shattered her.
“You… *don’t* love me?” Her voice trembled; tears welled.
“Yeah,” James frowned. “Wanna hear?”
Emily nodded, fists clenched.
“For taking so long to give me a chance,” he suddenly laughed. “We’d have been happy *years* sooner.”
Emily burst into tears, face in her hands. James, long noticing her odd mood, knelt, gently pulling her hands away to wipe her cheeks.
“How *do* you answer that?” he murmured. “Love isn’t a checklist. It’s your soul. And souls don’t give answers you can neatly box up. So—why do *you* love *me*?”
Emily sniffed, staring blankly. She had no answer. Yet, in that moment, peace settled over her. Why search for reasons where there were none?
“Too clever by half,” James grinned, tugging her close. “Worked yourself into tears over nothing. Want declarations? Here’s one: I love you more now than ever. And—I think we’re not alone in this room anymore.”
Emily froze. His meaning took a second to land. When it did, every doubt vanished. She’d need to test James’s suspicion—but deep down, she already knew. He was right.