Reflections and Regrets

Daniel’s p.o.v.

I sat at my home office desk, the quiet hum of my laptop filling the room. It was my lunch break, and the stillness of the house gave me time to reflect. As a portfolio manager, my work is demanding, but today, my thoughts drifted far from spreadsheets and market trends.

I found myself thinking back to Emma, to when we first met. I remembered how I had jokingly commented on her underweight figure, trying to lighten the mood. “Have you been skipping meals?” I had said, trying to mask my concern with humor. Her response was sharp, and it struck a chord in me. I remember feeling uneasy, like I had crossed a line. It was the first hint of something deeper, a worry that I shouldn’t let go of this topic.

In the weeks that followed, I started following her on social media. I saw pictures of Hello Kitty dolls she had collected and laughed at her quirky sense of humor. Then there was the one of an old woman in traditional Anatolian attire playing an electronic guitar. I couldn’t help but giggle. It was a glimpse into the charm that made Emma unique, and it drew me closer to her.

Despite my insecurities about my own appearance, I found myself falling for her. I was still dealing with the weight of my past, having gained pounds after losing my first love in a tragic accident. I knew I looked different from the boy who had once been complimented for his baby face, but I thought, why not take a chance? I asked her out, not expecting much, but hoping for a spark.

When Emma accepted, I arranged a dinner at one of the most luxurious restaurants in the city. I was nervous, worried that she might see me as unworthy. I even questioned if she would be satisfied with my appearance. But when she smiled and took my arm, I felt a rush of joy. We spent the evening talking, and I watched as she ate with a hunger I hadn’t seen in her before. I delighted in filling her plate, finding happiness in her enjoyment.

At the end of the night, I gave her my watch as a token of our first date. She hesitated at first, but I insisted. “You know,” I said, trying to sound casual, “I’m sure we’re going to end up together.” I meant it, though I didn’t think she’d take me seriously.

That night, I didn’t binge eat. Instead, I lay in bed thinking about her, dreaming of a future where she was a central part of my life.

As our relationship developed, I was always careful with Emma. I knew about her past trauma, and I made sure never to rush her. When we finally were intimate, I was gentle, wanting to be sure that she felt safe and loved.

Emma’s passion for running marathons was something I admired. Her parents disapproved, concerned about her health, but I ran alongside her. We walked for hours, talking about everything and nothing. I lost the weight I had gained, and we shared countless moments of connection.

When she faced injustice at work, I was furious. No one could hurt what was mine. I used my connections to make sure the person responsible was held accountable. It was a way for me to show my love and protect her.

I remember when my father was dying. I had always looked up to him, though he and my mother had divorced when I was young. I was raised by my grandparents, and while I loved them, they were too conservative. My father took me away, paid for my education, and sent me to the country’s best schools. But we grew distant after he remarried, as I disapproved of his choice. When he was on his deathbed, I felt lost. Emma was the only light in my life during those dark days. Proposing to her at our favorite restaurant was like a breath of relief, as if it was meant to be.

Our honeymoon in the Maldives was the best time of my life. We spent hours in the jacuzzi, talking about our dreams. I wanted to give her everything, and seeing her happy made my heart swell.

When we returned and I learned Emma was pregnant, we were both shocked but excited. I felt that we were on the brink of something wonderful, a new chapter in our lives.

Lily’s birth was a miracle. She took her beauty from Emma and her blondeness from me. I hoped she would have a bright future, free from the worries that plagued me. I remembered Emma muttering, “I hope her nose won’t look like mine when she grows up.” I never understood why she disliked her nose. To me, it was part of her unique beauty.

Now that I think about it, I never said a proper “thank you” to Emma for bringing Lily into the world. It’s one of my regrets, among many.

It’s true that I had female friends and flirted with them, but to me, they were harmless. Emma was the only one I truly loved. I am certain of that.

But where did I go wrong? I told her I loved her, countless times after we made love. I stayed committed, and I gave her everything she wanted. What more could I have done for a happy marriage?

Maybe she was just overreacting to my conversations with other women. Maybe it was just a temporary crisis, something that would pass with time.

As I sat there, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had missed something crucial. I wanted to fix things, to make her understand that my love for her was real. I needed to believe that this was just a rough patch, and that we could find our way back to what we once had.