The taxi pulled up at the train station. Excited about their upcoming trip, Emily hopped out into the drizzly autumn rain, followed by Olivia.
“Liv, don’t get soaked—take Emily inside, I’ll catch up,” said Mark.
Olivia took their daughter’s hand and obediently headed for the station. Mark watched her go as the taxi driver unloaded the suitcases from the boot.
Six years married, and he was still as smitten as a schoolboy. Still terrified of losing her. Still burning with jealousy. Still convinced he was somehow unworthy of standing beside her.
***
Mark had fallen for Olivia the moment he saw her in their first uni lecture. A stunning blonde who drove half the lads mad. Plenty tried their luck, asked her out. Some moved on after the first rejection—but not Mark. He suffered, he seethed, but he loved her anyway, even when she started seeing Paul Winters.
Had Mr. and Mrs. Winters ever considered the teasing their son might endure, naming him Paul? Not that anyone dared mock him. Paul Winters wasn’t the type you messed with. Confident, disciplined, a black belt in karate by sixteen.
Then there was Mark Dawson—average bloke, no sporting accolades, unless you counted strumming a guitar and pretending to be Ed Sheeran with extra rasp. Confidence wasn’t his strong suit, but stubbornness and sheer audacity were.
That audacity won Olivia over. Well, sort of. Not entirely fair play, but hey—all’s fair in love and war, right?
Girls flocked to Paul. He was selective, never one to settle. But Mark only needed one to ruin things. And fate, ever the joker, handed him the perfect opportunity.
One girl in particular was relentless—mildly pitied, mildly laughed at. One evening, she cornered Paul at the bus stop. No Olivia in sight. Heart laid bare, tears unleashed. Paul, ever the gentleman, gently let her down. But women’s tears? A man’s kryptonite. He tried comforting her—hugs, reassurances, the whole bit.
From a distance? Looked like lovers making up. And who happened to stroll by? Mark. Phone out, video recorded, sent straight to Olivia with a caption dripping in faux concern: *”While you’re cramming in the library, Paul’s busy comforting someone else.”*
Next day, Olivia arrived puffy-eyed, ignoring Paul entirely. The uni grapevine buzzed. Mark, ever the opportunist, slid into the role of sympathetic shoulder.
It worked. Heartbreak and spite led her straight into his arms. They slept together—twice. Paul, upon hearing of her betrayal, retaliated with a very public dating spree.
Then—plot twist—Olivia announced she was pregnant. Mark’s stomach dropped. Was it even his? But she’d told *him*, not run back to Paul. That had to mean something.
So he manned up. Braved the awkward parental chat. Proposed. She said yes. What choice did she have?
Mark strutted through campus like a peacock. Noticed Paul’s lingering glances. Olivia’s too. But soon enough, problem solved: Olivia took a leave of absence before the birth. They never saw Paul again. He graduated, moved away.
Oddly enough, their marriage thrived. Mark adored their daughter, doted on Olivia. She grew to appreciate his devotion. Once little Emily was older, Olivia finished her degree, started working. Money was tight, but they managed—especially saving for their annual seaside trips in September, building Emily’s immunity before winter’s sniffles.
***
Mark paid the driver, grabbed the suitcases, and headed inside. Took him a minute to spot Olivia and Emily by the newsstand—Olivia deep in conversation, Emily craning her neck to stare up at a man.
Jealousy hit Mark like a freight train when he recognised Paul Winters. Gone was the lanky student—replaced by a broad-shouldered, unfairly handsome bloke. Olivia was spellbound, oblivious to Mark’s approach. Paul, meanwhile, looked at her like a starving man at a banquet. They only snapped out of it when Emily broke free and bolted to Mark.
Paul blinked, as if noticing the child for the first time.
“Hey,” Paul said, offering a hand.
Mark pretended not to see it, hoisted Emily up, then muttered, “Hey.”
Awkward silence. Paul retracted his hand. Olivia shot Mark a look.
“Good seeing you. I’d better go,” Paul said stiffly, eyes lingering on Olivia before he vanished.
“What were you talking about?” Mark set Emily down. “Please don’t say he’s heading south too.”
Olivia stayed quiet.
“Right. Got it.”
“Got *what*?” she snapped.
“That you still love him. You should’ve seen your face.”
“Listen to yourself! It’s been *years*. We have a child, and you’re still jealous? Honestly!”
“What was I supposed to think? Plotting a reunion, were you?”
“Mark, *stop*. It was coincidence. I didn’t even see him—*he* approached *me*. He’s *married*, by the way.”
Boarding the train, Mark scanned the crowd for Paul. Imagine the horror of sharing a carriage. But no sign of him. In their compartment, Olivia alternated between chatting with Emily and staring wistfully out the window. Mark bit his tongue. *”She’s mine. He’s not getting her back,”* he fumed to the rhythm of the tracks.
The seaside town welcomed them with sunshine, barbecue smoke, and salty breezes. The summer crowds had thinned; peace settled over the sand.
They checked into a guesthouse, hit the beach. Olivia tilted her face to the sun, smiling softly. Truce, for now.
Then—three days in—Paul materialised like a bad omen. They usually ate at a cheap café, but Olivia fancied a seafront spot. And there he was. Mark noted Paul’s even tan (he himself was peeling like a lobster) and scowled. Paul, sensing the vibe, beat a hasty retreat.
Back at the guesthouse, Mark unleashed.
“You *knew* he’d be there! Admit it! Couldn’t wait to flaunt yourself—”
“*What*? No! It was *random*. I had no idea he and his wife were here. And *do not* drag Emily into this.”
The fights became daily. Every glance from Olivia earned a snipe about “looking for Paul.”
“Enough. Let’s leave. Maybe then you’ll stop this madness.”
“Doubt we can change the tickets,” Mark grumbled, hating himself but dreading the thought of cutting the trip short.
“Then I’m staying indoors. Is *that* what you want?”
They left early. Olivia withdrew; silence festered. Mark’s suspicions festered too.
“Still dreaming about him?” he goaded.
“Not this again,” she sighed.
“Just tell me—do you love him? I *see* it—”
“*No*. I can’t take this anymore. Your jealousy’s out of control.”
“I’m jealous because I *love* you.”
“This isn’t love, Mark. It’s obsession. We *left*. Drop it.”
Logically, he knew he was spiralling. But every street corner had him scanning for Paul. Why else would the man be back in town?
“I don’t even recognise you,” Olivia said finally. “See a therapist. I’m staying with Mum till you sort yourself out.”
“Oh? Running to *Mum*? Or to *him*? Fine—but Emily stays. I’ve got rights too.”
“That’s not how this works,” Olivia said.
She meant a child needs her mother. Mark heard something else.
“Say that again. Emily’s not *mine*?”
“I didn’t *say* that—”
“But you meant it. Christ, I’ve been living a lie. Was I just the safe option? The backup dad? All these *years*—”
“*Enough*.” Olivia yanked out a suitcase.
Mark ranted, raved, blocked the door. When she pushed past, he grabbed the suitcase—the handle snapped off in his grip. Olivia leveled him with a look and left.
That night, the flat felt hollow. He called. Her phone was off.
Morning came. He took Emily’s unwashed cup—still smudged with her lip prints—and went for a paternity test.
Three days of torment. He missed them desperately. Realised he couldn’t live without them, results be damned. *He* was Emily’s father—not Paul.
The lab handed him the envelope. He pocketed it, unopened. Went to Olivia’s mum’s.
“Let me talk to her,” he demanded.
“Hadn’t you said enough?” His mother-in-law moved to slam the door. Mark wedged his foot in.
“*Liv!*” he bellowed.
“Daddy!” Emily came tearing out. Olivia followed.
“Come home. I’m lost without you. I’m sorry—As he held his family close, Mark finally understood that love wasn’t about possession—it was about trust, and that was a lesson he’d never forget.