Alina, don’t rush into marriage. Happiness won’t slip away—the words echoed in her heart like her grandmother’s voice.
Alina woke at dawn, not just to get ready for work but to make Ewan’s favourite pancakes. She glanced at her sleeping fiancé, yawned, and quietly slipped into the kitchen. As she set the first batch on the table, Ewan shuffled in, rubbing his eyes. She placed a plate before him—golden pancakes, a spoon, a pot of clotted cream, and the sugar bowl—then turned back to the stove.
After a few bites, Ewan sighed.
“Listen, Alina, we’ve got the money for a holiday. But maybe we should be sensible. I want to buy a car. Might need a loan, but it’s more practical. We can always go to the seaside later.”
The money wasn’t theirs—it was hers. Ewan had been saving for a flat in a new build, refusing to live in the one Alina inherited from her nan. They lived in her cosy little place in central York, but Alina had dreamed of escaping, her suitcase already packed. His words made sense, though, so she nodded, swallowing her disappointment.
Before she could reply, the doorbell rang. She asked Ewan to watch the pancakes and went to answer. There stood his mother, Margaret, and behind her, his younger brother, Jamie, hauling a massive suitcase.
“I spoke to Ewan last night,” Margaret said, toeing off her shoes and barging past. “Jamie’s staying with you. He’s started uni, and it’s a forty-minute trek from ours. From here, it’s a ten-minute walk. No kids yet, mind—and let’s not rush that, eh?”
“Mum, it’s too early. I haven’t even finished eating,” Ewan grumbled, helping Jamie with his bags.
Alina froze. The acrid smell of burning snapped her back—she’d asked Ewan to watch the stove. She lunged to turn off the gas, but it was too late. Margaret and her sons crowded into the kitchen.
“Good grief, Alina, are you trying to burn the place down? Pay attention!” Margaret scolded, piling the charred pancakes onto her plate.
“I was answering the door,” Alina murmured.
“About the car—I agree with Ewan. You can holiday at our cottage. And Sarah can help with the motor—her husband’s selling his. Nearly new, that one!”
Alina knew from Ewan that his sister’s husband had been trying to offload that car for a year, asking far too much. But before she could argue, Ewan whined, asking her to unlock her nan’s room, sealed since her passing.
“We’ll set up the sofa bed for Jamie, and that old armchair should go to the cottage,” he added.
Her nan had died two months ago. She’d raised Alina after her mother remarried and left her behind. Alina knew she was ill but never imagined she’d go so soon. Ewan had been her comfort, and thoughts of the wedding, however reluctant, had dulled the ache. But forgetting her was impossible. The room stayed shut—Alina only visited sometimes, sitting in the quiet, remembering the woman who’d been her whole world.
Now she stepped inside, closed the door, and collapsed into her nan’s chair, sobbing into her hands. Ewan’s family had pushed her too far. Then, warmth—like a hand on her shoulder—and a whisper: *Alina, don’t rush into marriage. Happiness won’t slip away.* Her nan’s favourite advice, the words that had saved her before. But without her, who would remind her now?
Five minutes later, Alina wiped her tears. She called work, moving her holiday forward by two weeks. The kitchen clamour drowned her words. Then she rang her friend at the travel agency—a last-minute deal, leaving that evening. Luck was on her side.
She dressed quietly, grabbed her savings and suitcase, and slipped out. At the agency, she finalised the details, then texted Ewan: *It’s over. No wedding. Emily’s picking up the keys—don’t linger. Goodbye.*
She called her neighbour Emily, arranging for the keys to be collected, hoping Ewan wouldn’t call. Then she turned off her phone and headed to the airport. For the first time in ages, she breathed—free.