The Gulf Between Us…
After her divorce, Emily couldn’t pull herself together for the longest time. Deep down, she’d suspected her husband’s infidelity, but facing the truth still shattered her. Their family, their well-ordered life full of dreams and plans—gone. Just like that. James walked out of their home, out of her life.
Summer was fading, but Emily barely noticed the sunshine, the hum of London, or the rainbows after a storm. One sweltering night, tossing and turning, she realized she couldn’t go on like this. James was moving on, while she was barely living—just slowly withering away.
“Everything here reminds me of him, of us. But there is no ‘us’ anymore. I have to leave, even just for a while. Not to some crowded holiday spot abroad, though… somewhere quiet. The countryside. Nana’s cottage—we all come from there, don’t we? It’s our roots, our sanctuary. Why didn’t I think of this sooner?” Emily sat up in bed, her nightdress sticking to her damp skin.
Nana had passed three years ago after a long illness. James had convinced her to go to Italy anyway. “Nothing will happen in ten days,” he’d said. News of Nana’s death reached them in Naples. “We can’t change anything now,” James reasoned. “Switching flights is a hassle. We’ll visit her grave when we’re back.” And, as always, she’d listened to him.
Mum’s husband had a weekend place—a big house with land just outside the city. Mum had talked about selling Nana’s cottage for ages but never got around to it.
Emily hadn’t been back since university. Not even to visit the grave. She couldn’t remember why anymore.
Impatient, she grabbed her phone to call Mum about the keys, but the glowing screen showed it was the middle of the night. She sighed and set it down. At least now she had a plan, a way to claw herself out of this pit of grief and anger. She imagined packing her things, arriving at the cottage… and finally drifted off.
Morning came easily. She rang Mum right away.
“About time you started thinking of something besides James,” Mum said, picking up their old argument.
“Mum, please. Platitudes don’t help. Just find the keys.”
“They’re in the hall drawer. Come over later—I’d like to see you. The cottage is fine. Auntie Margaret was there in May—did I tell you? No? Well, you weren’t listening then. Anyway, she mentioned it’s still in good shape. Asked if we’d sell. Her grandson’s keen—loves the village. Maybe we should go together?”
“No. I need to go alone.”
The director at her design agency, another divorcee, listened sympathetically. “Take the time you need,” she said, though disapproval flickered in her eyes.
That evening, Emily collected the keys, packed light—just essentials—and slept surprisingly well. At dawn, she sipped coffee, checked the flat, and stepped out into the quiet streets of waking London.
The drive to Dorset was familiar despite the years. The cottage stood as she remembered it, the front yard neatly trimmed. Stepping out of the car, she was struck by the silence—not emptiness, but the hum of crickets, birdsong, a distant dog’s chain clinking. Compared to the city, it felt like another world.
Inside, the air was damp and musty. She threw open the curtains, fetched water from the well, scrubbed the floors, and managed to light the stubborn wood burner. When flames finally roared, she grinned like she’d conquered something.
Villagers eyed her car and peeked through windows but didn’t intrude.
Later, the cottage stifling, she walked to the river behind the village, slipped off her sandals, and waded in. The water was warm, soothing.
“Thought you were a fish splashing about,” a voice said behind her.
She turned. Thomas. Older, broader, but unmistakable—her first love. He held a fishing rod and a string of trout.
Her heart lurched. Memories crashed over her.
This was why she’d stayed away. Because of him. Once, she’d wanted to stay in the village for him. Mum had forbidden it. “Nothing good comes of teenage romance.”
She’d begged him to come to London. He’d agreed but never showed. Then Nana mentioned he’d married. After that, Emily never returned. At university, she’d met James—more out of spite than love—and married him.
“You’re alone? No husband?” Thomas asked.
“Divorced. How’d you know about him?”
“Visited once. Saw you together.”
She remembered—a fleeting glimpse of a familiar face outside their flat before it vanished. She’d brushed it off.
“Came to explain,” he said. “About Lucy… I’m not proud of it. One night, and then she claimed she was pregnant. What could I do? Married her. Danny’s in Year 3 now. Then came little Mia.”
Emily scoffed.
“I know what you’re thinking. Danny—that was an accident. But Mia… It’s never worked between us. Everything I say is wrong. You’re from the city; I’m just a country bloke. Worlds apart. Lucy’s one of us—or so I thought.”
Standing there in her swimsuit, she felt his gaze. She tugged on her sundress, but the damp fabric clung.
“Cold?”
They walked back. At the village edge, she suggested they separate.
“Everyone knows everything here,” he said, slowing his pace for her. “But don’t worry.”
“You did the right thing coming. The city’s just noise. Here, it’s peaceful. Fancy mushroom hunting tomorrow?”
She said she’d think about it.
That night, the cottage’s unfamiliar creaks and rustlings kept her awake. At dawn, she wandered into the woods—sticking to the logging tracks, too nervous to go deeper.
A sudden crackling—like something large crashing through brush—sent her sprinting back. She halted, breathless, realizing she was lost.
“Need help?” Thomas emerged from the trees.
“Got spooked,” she admitted.
“Wild boars.” He glanced at her nearly empty basket. “Here.” He poured half his haul into hers.
“Don’t—”
“Plenty to go around. Lucy’s sick of cleaning them.”
On the walk back, she caught his glances, feeling flustered but oddly exhilarated. It struck her—she hadn’t thought of James once in two days.
“Go straight ahead—you’ll hit the village,” he said. “Best not be seen together.”
She bit back questions and walked on.
Back home, she cleaned mushrooms, humming, replaying his looks. Then the door banged open.
Lucy stood there, eyes blazing.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed. “City men not enough for you? Stay away from Thomas. Or else—”
“Or else what?” Emily narrowed her eyes. She was done being pushed around.
“You’ll see. Leave, before I do something awful.”
The stove hissed as water boiled over. When Emily turned back, Lucy was gone.
Later, Auntie Margaret visited.
“Your mum mentioned selling. We’ll buy it—name a fair price.”
“We haven’t decided yet,” Emily said.
“Suit yourself. But mark my words—Lucy’s trouble. Saw her yesterday, screaming at Thomas. Then she went down on her knees, begging… Nasty business.”
Emily froze.
“Watch yourself. That girl’s got a temper.”
Emily wasn’t leaving. She liked it here. If Lucy was jealous, that was her problem.
Two peaceful days passed. Then, in the dead of night, Emily woke to smoke and crackling flames. Coughing, she grabbed her bag and keys, but fire blocked the door. Strong arms yanked her through the blaze.
Outside, the cottage was an inferno.
“Thomas moved your car,” someone said.
Auntie Margaret helped her up. “Told you she’d do something mad.”
Lucy stood among the onlookers, smirking.
“Thomas?” Emily croaked.
“Fine. Carried you out himself.”
At dawn, Emily prepared to leave.
“Smart,” Auntie Margaret said. “No proving it was her. Village sticks together.”
On the road out, Thomas waited by the hedgerow. He climbed in.
“Drive to the next village,” he said.
She obeyed.
“Lucy ruins lives,” he muttered. “Tried leaving before—she threatened to kill the kids, then herself. Lucky you’re alive… though I’ll miss the cottage.”
“Come with me,” she whispered, glancing at him.
“Can’t. Won’t abandon the kids. And she’s mad enough to act first, think never.” He exhaled. “Stop here.”
She did. He climbed out.
“Seeing you… it’s enough. I’ll manage.”
Through tears and dust, she watched him fade in the rearview mirror.
Three years later, standing in the half-built nursery of Thomas’s new home, Emily finally understood that some bridges, no matter how far apart, were meant to be crossed.
