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MidReal Story
The Scandalous Marriage To The Twins
Scenario:A 23-year-old Korean man. A doctor A husband A father Emma's husband Reginald thore Davis is a doctor A love story his wife is Emma Richardson
Create my version of this story
Emma Richardson
A young adult white woman with an hourglass figures. Reginald’s wife
Dylan Blake
workaholic husband seeking divorce,relationship with Paulina and his new love interest,tall with sharp features and cold eyes,ambitious and detached
Jungkook Reginald thore Davis
A 23-year-old Korean man. A doctor A husband A father Emma's husband
I took out my phone and dialed a number.
"Hello, this is Dr. Reginald Thore Davis speaking. Can I talk to Mrs. Emma Richardson?"
"Who is this?"
"Mrs. Richardson, it's me, Reggie."
There was a long pause before I heard her voice again.
"Reggie?"
"Yes, love. It's me. How have you been?"
Another pause before she spoke.
"What do you want, Reggie?"
"I want to see you, love. Can I come over to your place? I have something important to tell you."
"I don't think so, Reggie. I'm busy."
"Please, love. Just hear me out, okay? I promise I won't take much of your time."
"Fine," she muttered.
"I'll be there in about an hour."
"Okay, love. Thanks! I'll see you soon!"
I hung up the phone and smiled broadly.
I had a feeling that today was going to be a good day.
I looked at my watch and saw that it was already half past five.
I decided to leave the clinic early so I could prepare myself for my meeting with Emma.
I walked into my office and called out to my secretary.
"Get me a bouquet of flowers and a diamond ring!"
"What size is the ring, sir?"
"Ask Mrs. Richardson's size from her records."
"When is the delivery, sir?"
"It will be in about an hour. Make sure everything is ready by then."
"Yes, sir!"
I adjusted my tie in the rearview mirror of my parked car and checked that the flowers and ring were secure in their boxes on the passenger seat.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the hospital parking lot, and I started the engine of my car.
Traffic moved slowly through downtown, each red light testing my patience.
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, rehearsing the words I would say to Emma.
My phone buzzed with a message from my secretary, confirming that she had found the ring size.
I drove through the familiar streets leading to Emma's neighborhood, remembering all the times we had walked together hand in hand.
I pull into a spot across from Emma's modest townhouse, my hands trembling slightly on the steering wheel.
The roses and ring sit on the passenger seat, their presence both reassuring and anxiety-inducing.
Through her front window, I catch a glimpse of movement - Emma's silhouette passing by.
My throat tightens as I gather the bouquet, checking one last time that the ring is secure in my pocket.
The concrete path to her door feels longer than ever.
Each step brings back memories of our last conversation, her hurt expression, my fumbled explanations.
I take a deep breath and knock on the door, ready to face whatever comes next.
The door swings open and Emma stands there, a cream sweater hugging her curves, her dark hair loose around her shoulders.
Before I can launch into my rehearsed speech, she gives me an unexpected smile and steps back, gesturing for me to enter.
I hesitate on the threshold, the roses clutched awkwardly in my grip.
The familiar scent of her vanilla candles drifts from inside.
My prepared words dissolve as she takes the flowers, her fingers brushing mine.
She leads me down the hallway into her living room, where photos of us still sit on the mantel.
Following her into the living room, I sink into the familiar leather armchair.
She disappears into the kitchen and returns with a crystal vase, expertly arranging the roses.
My fingers absently trace the velvet ring box in my pocket as I watch her graceful movements.
The afternoon sunlight streams through her bay windows, illuminating dust motes dancing between us.
When she sits across from me on the sofa, hands folded in her lap, I clear my throat and lean forward.
"Emma, I need to tell you something," I begin, my voice cracking.
She looks at me, her eyes soft but searching.
"I know, and I've been thinking too," she replies, her voice steady.
There's a pause before she adds, "I found the letter you wrote last month."
I lean forward in the armchair, about to pull out the ring, when a strange shimmer catches my eye.
The roses in Emma's crystal vase begin to emit a soft golden light.
Emma freezes mid-sentence, her eyes widening as individual petals detach and float upward.
The petals transform before our eyes, becoming delicate white butterflies that drift through her living room.
I grip the armrests, stunned silent, while Emma slowly stands and reaches toward the nearest butterfly.
The magical creatures swirl around us in a gentle dance, casting moving shadows across her face.
My heart pounds as I slide off the leather chair onto one knee.
The ring box trembles in my hands.
The magical butterflies swirl closer, their wings brushing my shoulders.
I open the velvet case, and the diamond catches the golden light, throwing sparkles across Emma's stunned face.
She stands motionless by the vase, one hand still reaching toward a butterfly.
I clear my throat, trying to steady my voice.
The words I rehearsed flee my mind, leaving only raw emotion.
My fingers shake as I hold up the ring, the butterflies creating a glowing halo around us.