Emma could not pretend to love her children, she thought, as she trudged along the snowpacked footpath. The words You cannot not love your kids rang in her head, yet all she felt was fatigue, anger and a relentless helplessness. Once, when David was still alive and she was expecting their fifth child, a neighbour from the flat above, convinced that Emma had shut the door and would not hear her, told her husband:
People have babies just for the benefits, and the children end up abandoned!
Emma sobbed until she was hiccupping, hurt by the remark. Yes, she managed to work while caring for four youngsters, but they never stayed alone for long: her mother came to stay while she could, then they hired a nanny. She loved her job and refused to quit simply because the kids were small. What will I be when they grow up? she wondered.
When David passed away, her wages barely covered the familys needs, but they did. She left her pension untouched, keeping it in a savings account for the childrens future. Still, being a widow with five youngsters proved almost impossible.
The snow fell all night, turning the once narrow lanes into an indistinguishable white blanket. Emma had to drag Ethan and Lily to the school and back, a struggle on the icy path. She stared at the ground, trying not to slip into her low boots, and didnt see the man walking toward her. They collided; he kept his footing while Emma collapsed into the drifts. He offered his hand, and a large red heartshaped balloon slipped from his grip.
Stupid Valentines Day! Emma muttered under her breath.
Earlier that day she had been gluing felt boots onto her middle child Grace and helping her son Poppy with a school project, while calming older daughter Ruby, who was in tears over a huge pimple on her forehead. Ruby was convinced that a boy she liked would give her a Valentine and ask her out the next day. Meanwhile the younger ones had pilfered acrylic markers and smeared the white cupboard, linoleum and each other. Their teacher, Mrs. Smith, called them little rascals the next morning and suggested a bottle of nailpolish remover.
Sorry, I didnt see you, the stranger apologised.
Two feelings warred inside Emma: anger that he hadnt noticed her fall, and embarrassment for the lost balloon, which must have been meant for someone special. The embarrassment won.
Dont worry, its my fault. What a pity about the balloon.
He glanced upward.
Nothing. The birds will still be celebrating.
Your wife might be upset, he added, smiling. Its for my daughter. Ill buy another.
Tears suddenly welled in Emmas eyes. The man seemed disconcerted, unsure what to do.
Im sorry, she sniffed. I didnt mean to it was an accident.
No harm done Did something happen?
Emma rarely spoke of her widowhood, but this stranger was a total stranger, and she was exhausted.
He listened, then said:
You should meet my wife. Shes obsessed with having a third child, and I keep telling her to enjoy herself a bit first. Im not saying many children are bad theyre wonderful. I even want a third myself, but sorry, Im rambling. Im terrible at comfort.
Emma waved a hand dismissively. Sometimes I look at them and think Im supposed to love them deeply, but Im more often angry and irritated. Wheres that love?
Its there, the man answered confidently. Its just buried under the snow, like this path. Do you remember what grows here in summer?
What?
Dandelions.
Emma sensed his meaning, yet the emptiness lingered.
He walked her to her car and wished her a good day. In the vehicle she refreshed her makeup and drove to work, a heaviness in her chest. Memories of past Valentinescards tucked under mirrors, flowers on the back seatsurfaced. Her husband had been gone four years, and the holiday always left a hollow ache. That afternoon a meeting loomed where the irksome Simon Fletcher would drone on about his results for half an hour.
The office buzzed with a lowkey cheer. Though Valentines wasnt formally marked, Emma spotted a few bouquets, heard giggles, and saw most men looking tense the usual when womens expectations loom. As she entered the conference room she thought shed walked into the wrong door and stepped back; a vase of red roses sat on the table. The room was still hers, and she approached cautiously, studying the flowers as if they were exotic animals, unsure whether they would claw or purr.
A card lay beside them. Emma picked it up.
I never dared, but why not today? In your eyes I see the universe; your smile sets my mood. Dinner? L.
She tried to recall any colleague whose name began with L, but the thought felt surreal. The card listed a restaurant at 7p.m. Possible names: Leo, Lewis, or Liam. None had shown any interest. If it were Leo, she remembered a fleeting crush before her fifth pregnancy, when shed just returned to work and craved romance. He was friendly, theyd shared a few lunches, even felt butterflies until a pregnancy test revealed she was actually expecting again, and then David fell ill. Leo faded from memory.
Emma spent the day pondering whether to go. She scanned Leo, Lewis and Liam, but all behaved normally. Perhaps it was a joke? And what about a date when she had no one to watch the kids? Her mother, now in her seventies, never left the house, there was no money for a nanny, and Ruby would likely run off to a date herself. So she dismissed the idea.
Ethan and Lily handed her a crooked heartshaped balloon, a reminder that even kindergartens now taught children to make Valentines. She bundled them into her coat and trudged to the car, recalling the stranger with the red balloon. The thought made her eyes well up again.
The children argued over which cartoon to watch and demanded a stop at the shop for chocolate bars because it was a holiday. Exhausted, Emma gave in, bought three bars for the older ones and a packet of dumplings, lacking the energy to cook.
At home a surprise awaited: the smell of fried potatoes and cherry compote filled the kitchen. Ruby announced that a boy had asked her friend out, leaving her without a boyfriend but proudly claimed the pimple on her forehead had grown larger. In celebration she decided to cook dinner. The middle children tidied the rooms and erased the marker stains from the white cupboard. Emma felt a surge of emotion, embraced her children, and finally realized she did love themnot just when they behaved well, but always. She dug out a tiny black dress from the wardrobe, dusted off a bottle of perfume from the oldest, and borrowed a lip gloss from the middle child.
Moms going on a date! Ruby shouted, delighted.
Ethan began to cry; she soothed him, promising shed be back soon.
At the restaurant Emma arrived nervous, unsure what awaited her. It felt odd to go on a date with a stranger yet she did know the man, just not exactly who. It was like the secretSanta dilemma of picking a gift for someone you barely know. If it were Leo, she could have chosen a simple present; if it were the head of supplies, perhaps a bike; but the man she saw waiting was none other than Simon Fletcher himself, the same boreheaded colleague from the office. He stood tall, staring at the door. When he saw Emma, his cheeks flushed, yet his gaze never left her. She felt a mix of embarrassment, fear and irritation. What cosmic joke was this?
I was afraid you wouldnt come, he said.
Normally they spoke formally, but Emma sensed that after such a strange day anything could happen. She took a breath and followed the waitress to a window seat. Hearts of various sizes hung from the ceiling, and Emma thought perhaps it was Ruby who should be on a date, not her. She wished she could have asked her daughter to call and say the house was on fire.
The conversation stalled. Simon was clearly nervous, alternating between chatter and silence, his eyes fixed on Emma with a melancholy that made her feel sorry for him. She wanted to flee, not chew on eggplant and slice steak. Let something happen! she thought. The younger ones could paint the walls, the middle ones could bathe the cat, and Rubys friend could realise shes a traitor and ask for peace!
Her silent prayer seemed answered when, after the third bite of steak, her phone rang. The screen showed Rubys name.
Mom, we need to get the kids, she heard, voice shaking. Theres a fire! Pavlov tried to fry cheese sticks, the oil caught fire
Emmas blood rushed to her head. She felt her heart thudding as if about to burst.
What happened? Simon asked, startled.
A fire Emma breathed.
He reacted with surprising calm. In one hand he grabbed the card, called a waitress over, and in the other he dialed the fire brigade, confirming the address while directing the children: Put on your shoes, run outside, knock on neighbours doors, dont try to save anything.
The fire engine arrived within fifteen minutes. Residents clustered around the sobbing children as smoke poured from the kitchen window. I will never think I dont love them again, Emma declared, clutching her children close, amazed by the strangers coats and hats draped over their shoulders. She had always known the world held kind people.
Fortunately the fire was contained quickly; only the kitchen was damaged, the rest of the house smelled of soot, and Ruby even managed to rescue the cat.
This place isnt fit for staying the night, Simon said. Well need repairs. How about you come to my flat?
What do you mean? Emma asked, eyes widening.
Simon looked straight at her and replied, Whatever you want. You can just visit, or stay forever if you like.
The children stared at Simon with curiosity, as if seeing him for the first time. Ethan wailed again, Pavlov scowled, and Lily asked if he had cartoons.
Yes, I have, Simon promised. And a cat and a dog. Shall we go?
What kind of dog? Pavlov asked, still frowning.
Just like David, Emma thought tenderly.
A beagle, Simon answered, and Emma realised Pavlovs longing for that dog had finally been answered.
Ruby, ever practical, said, Ill pack our things. Ethan, stop crying and help pull the prams.
Emma looked at her daughter with gratitude. Ruby gave her a cheeky wink, growing up so fast, while Pavlov would never see that change.
Alright, well spend the night here. Thank you, Emma said. Tomorrow Ill figure something out.
Mom, look! shouted Grace, pointing to the sky where a red heartshaped balloon floated by. Emma smiled and replied, Even the birds are celebrating.
Simon slipped his hand into hers. His hand was warm and gentle, unfamiliar yet comforting. Emma didnt rush to let him take her away, but she finally felt a quiet certainty settle over her: love isnt a grand feeling that appears all at once; its the steady choice to care for those who rely on you, day after day.
