Margaret Whitfield lifted her daughters wedding gown from the back of the cedar chest, her fingers trembling as she smoothed the ivory silk. A thin line of tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Three months after the glittering ceremony, Naomi Whitfield pushed open the front door of her childhood home, her suitcases rolling behind her like silent witnesses. She was returning without a husband, without a smile and without any belief that happiness could ever be hers again.
Mum, could I stay with you again? Naomi asked, her voice wavering as she stood on the threshold.
Without a word, Margaret wrapped her arms around Naomi, helped her carry the bags inside, and let the questions linger in the hallway. Something essential had cracked in the life of her only child.
Now, with Naomi away at the office, Margaret could not escape the bitter recollections. Everything had begun so beautifully.
Naomi had met Oliver Hart at a New Years office party. A colleague had coaxed her into coming so she wouldnt spend the night alone. She had initially declined, then finally given in.
The tall darkhaired man with hazel eyes had captured her at first glance. He brought flowers, arranged moonlit picnics, and whispered poetry at the River Thames. Under that relentless charm Naomi fell. Six months later Oliver dropped to one knee in a bustling restaurant, the clink of silverware punctuating his words.
Naomi, will you be my wife? he asked, his hand trembling as he presented a velvet box.
She smiled shyly, never having imagined a proposal, though she sometimes let herself dream of it. The room held its breath, and she whispered, Yes.
The whirlwind of wedding preparations began. Oliver insisted on an extravagant celebration.
My love, a wedding only comes once. I want everything perfect, he urged, his eyes alight.
Naomi would have preferred something modest, but she yielded to his wishes. He chose an upscale London restaurant, invited a legion of colleagues she had never met, and filled the guest list with strangers.
Margaret recalled a quiet conversation in the kitchen.
Darling, arent you rushing? You hardly know each other, she had asked gently.
Dont worry, Mum. Im twentyeight. How long should I wait? Oliver is thoughtful, attentive. I couldnt ask for a better husband, Naomi had replied, her voice bright with optimism.
Now she returned home with a dimmed gaze. What had happened?
Oliver moved into Naomis onebed flat immediately after the ceremony, insisting that he could forgo his own lease now that his young wife owned a place of her own.
My dear, Ive started putting aside money for our future home. Well endure the tightness a while longer, then buy something spacious, he said, planting a kiss on her temple.
Naomi, unwilling to begin their marital life with a debate about finances, agreed. It soon emerged, however, that Oliver had lost his job before the wedding.
Why didnt you tell me? Naomi demanded, hearing the news from a mutual acquaintance.
I didnt want to ruin the wedding mood, Oliver shrugged. Im actively hunting a new position, dont worry.
Weeks passed, and Oliver lingered in a haze of late mornings, halfhearted résumé submissions, and evenings out at the local pub with mates. Naomi worked long hours in accounting, leaving early and returning late, the weight of household chores collapsing onto her shoulders.
Oliver, perhaps you could take a temporary job while you look for something permanent? she suggested cautiously.
Do you want me to become a courier or a warehouse hand? he snapped. I have a degree and experience; I wont degrade myself for rubbish.
One evening Naomi arrived home early. From the hallway she saw Olivers silhouette framed in the window. She climbed the stairs, heard raised voices, and turned the key in the lock. The flat was a chaotic party scene: empty bottles, snack trays, music thumping.
Naomi! Weve just been having a few drinks with the lads, Oliver grinned, trying to hug her.
The smell of cheap gin hung in the air. Naomi surveyed the mess, the dishes piled high, and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door and weeping silently.
The next morning, after the guests had drifted away and Oliver slept soundly, Naomi discovered her gold earringsgifted by her parents for her eighteenth birthdaygone from the tiny wooden box on the dresser. She woke Oliver.
Where are my earrings? she demanded.
What earrings? he muttered, halfasleep.
The gold ones that were in the box.
Olivers face twisted. Ah, those I borrowed them to get a quick loan from a jeweller I know. Ill buy them back straight away.
You sold my earrings? Naomi shouted.
I didnt sell them, I pawned them! he snapped. We need the money! I was going to replace them.
Wheres the cash from the earrings? she pressed.
We spent it at the bar with the lads, he said, turning away.
Naomi sank onto a chair, the realization dawning that her husband had squandered their savings, even selling her personal treasures to fund nights of drinking. She had been saving for a new sofa, and now the pile of debt grew like a snowball.
Soon it emerged that Oliver held secret loans he had never mentioned, leaving Naomi to shoulder the repayments. He offered endless excuses for his unemployment, even hinting that she should work harder.
Oliver, this cant go on, Naomi said one night, her voice thin. We need a serious talk.
What about? he asked irritably, eyes glued to his phone.
Our life. I work from dawn till dusk, pay the rent, buy groceries, and you She faltered.
What do you want me to say? His tone hardened.
You arent making any effort to fix our situation, she finished quietly.
Oliver leapt up, tossing his phone aside.
Do you think Im a servant for a crust of bread? Do you expect me to work for pennies? Im your husband! he roared.
After that outburst, the atmosphere grew even more strained. Naomi began staying later at work, seeking refuge from the hostile home. She kept replaying the mistake of rushing into marriage.
Oliver grew shorttempered, snapping at the slightest inconvenience. One evening Naomi forgot to buy his favourite orange juice.
You never think of me! I only asked for a drink, is that too much? he shouted, pacing the cramped room.
Im exhausted, Im sorry, she whispered, a chill running down her spine.
You all ignore my needs! he banged the table, the sound echoing like a warning.
A call from one of Olivers friends diffused the tension; his anger melted into a strained smile as he stepped onto the balcony, phone pressed to his ear.
Days turned darker. Naomi noticed money disappearing faster than usual. One night she checked the bank statement and saw a large sum withdrawn at a nightclub on the same night Oliver claimed to be staying with a mate.
Why are you checking on me? he snapped when she showed him the statement.
Can you even afford to relax? she asked softly.
What does it matter? We share everything! he retorted.
Something finally cracked in Naomis heart. She realized she had never known the real Oliver; she had only been enchanted by the image he painted during courting. The true Oliver was lazy, irresponsible, perhaps even deceitful.
The last straw was the disappearance of her mothers heirloom ring. Margaret had given Naomi a rubyset family ring, a relic passed down the womens line. Naomi kept it in a special box, intending to wear it at her aunts birthday. When she opened the box, it lay empty.
Her pulse seized. Oliver, have you seen Mums ring?
He averted his gaze, murmuring, I needed cash urgently. A friend was in trouble; I couldnt refuse. Ill pay him back, I promise.
Naomi sank onto a chair, the truth clear. There was no friend, no job huntonly a man exploiting her, living off her money, selling her belongings.
I want a divorce, she whispered.
Olivers face twisted with fury.
You cant do that! Im your husband! We swore to stand together in sorrow and joy!
Sorrow was more than enough, Naomi replied with a bitter smile. Joy never came.
Youll regret this! he threatened.
Fear tightened around her. That night, while Oliver was out with his mates, Naomi packed the essentials and fled to her parents house, breaking down as she recounted the whole tragedy to Margaret.
Mum, why didnt I listen when you warned me not to rush? she sobbed.
Margaret stroked her hair, whispering, Itll be alright, love. Youll find happiness again, I promise.
A week later, when Naomi summoned the courage to return for the remaining belongings, the flat was turned upside down. Appliances were gone, jewelry vanished, even some clothing missing. Oliver had stripped the place of anything that could be sold and vanished.
Naomi collapsed onto the floor amid the wreckage and, absurdly, laugheda bitter, raw laugh. Her marriage lay in ruins, as did the flat.
A month later, Naomi filed for divorce. Oliver never appeared in court; rumors claimed he had fled to Manchester. Naomi now faced the loans he had taken out in her name, forged signatures and all.
Margaret gently folded the wedding dress back into the cedar chest, wondering if Naomi would ever wear a white gown again, perhaps for a man who truly deserved it.
That evening, after Naomi returned from her shift, Margaret brewed a pot of tea and said, You know, love, a wedding is just one day. True happiness takes years to build, with someone worthy of the effort.
Naomi gave a faint smile. I understand now, Mum. Better to be single than with someone who makes you miserable.
Every day Naomi took tiny steps toward a new life. She picked up a parttime job to clear the debts, enrolled in a professional course, and spent weekends strolling in HydePark with old friends she had neglected during her marriage.
One afternoon she flipped through old photographs and found the wedding album. In one picture she stood radiant in her white dress, bouquet in hand, Oliver smiling beside her. She stared at it long, then decisively tore the photo apart.
It was a symbolic actshe shredded not just the image but the illusion that happiness could be handed over like a wedding cake. Real joy, she learned, had to be built brick by brick, day by day, starting with herself.
That night, for the first time in many months, Naomi fell asleep with a light heart. She did not know what lay ahead, but she vowed never again to live by others expectations or make hasty decisions. She would still have a chance at a true, sturdy, happy family.
For now, she was learning to be content alone, because happiness is not a stamp in a passport or a white dress; it is a state of the soul that does not depend on marital status. And she was walking toward that state, one sure step after another.
