**Diary Entry**
The snow has nearly melted in town, the pavements gritty with sand pressed into the ice. Yet, at the cemetery, the snow still lingers—settled, sodden from the rain. Emily wandered a long while between the snowy paths, past the wrought-iron fences, before she found her parents’ grave. They lay side by side, though her father had died in an accident when she was in Year Nine.
The grave was marked with a shared headstone. Her mother passed three years ago. Emily had chosen a photo where they both looked the same age—as she remembered them when her father was still alive.
She’d just retired, left her London flat to her son’s family, and returned to her hometown two days ago. After tidying the house, this morning she drove to the cemetery.
*”Forgive me, Mum, for leaving you then, for running off to London. I couldn’t stay. Thank you for understanding, for not holding me back.”* She brushed the packed snow from the headstone.
After a while, she said her goodbyes and walked back along her own footprints. She was nearly at the gates when a voice called out behind her.
*”Emily?”*
She turned. A man, around her age, stood there—strange yet familiar.
*”Do I know you?”*
*”Don’t recognise me? It’s me, Ben Harris.”* He smiled, and suddenly she remembered.
*”You’ve changed,”* she said, returning the smile.
*”I knew you straight away, though it’s been—”* He hesitated, counting. *”Thirty years.”* He moved closer.
*”Thirty-two,”* she corrected.
*”You haven’t aged a day. Visiting your parents?”* He nodded toward the graves.
*”Yes. You?”*
*”Sarah.”* His gaze flickered away.
*”Sarah’s gone? When?”* Emily felt no anger—just pity. The old resentment had long faded.
*”Six months ago. Cancer. Took her painfully. Now it’s just me.”* His voice wavered—not quite a sob, but a heavy sigh. His face remained still.
*”We never had children. That’s how it goes. And you—did you come alone?”*
*”Yes. Retired, left the London flat to my son. Came back to where I started.”* She deliberately didn’t mention a husband.
They reached the gates.
*”I’ve kept you—you must’ve been on your way…?”*
*”I was leaving Sarah’s grave. I’ll visit Mum another day. Suppose I didn’t want to risk you vanishing again.”* He gave a dry chuckle.
Emily sighed as the last bus pulled away.
*”I’ve got my car—let me drive you.”* He gestured to a row of parked vehicles.
She didn’t particularly want his company but didn’t fancy waiting by the cemetery either. The car was chilly inside. He started the engine, the heating humming to life. They passed the cemetery fence, a snow-covered field earmarked for future burials, then rows of terraced houses. She’d never understood how people could live so close to a graveyard.
*”All these years, I never understood what happened between us. When you left, I was lost. More than anything, I wanted to know—why?”*
Emily frowned.
*”Sarah said she was pregnant. Found out later she’d lied—couldn’t have children. But by then, it was too late. And Sarah—you should’ve seen her when she found out you’d left with her fiancé. Raged all the way to London to hunt you both down. So tell me, Emily—why did you run?”*
*”You seriously never worked it out? I’d have gone with anyone, just to get away.”*
*”What do you mean?”* He turned sharply; the car skidded on wet tarmac.
And so, sparing neither herself nor Ben, she told him.
***
People say some friendships are one-sided. Emily and Sarah’s was like that. Emily had joined the school mid-term. A straight-A student, she instantly drew resentment.
Sarah, the prettiest girl in class, took her under her wing. They walked the halls together, shared homework, exchanged answers during tests. Thanks to Sarah, Emily was accepted.
Ben Harris had trailed after Sarah—gangly, ears sticking out—while she laughed at him.
*”Why are you so cruel? He’s decent. You’ll see—he’ll grow into himself,”* Emily defended.
*”When he does, maybe I’ll care,”* Sarah shrugged.
They dreamed aloud about the future.
*”I’m not rotting in this backwater. I’ll move to London. Come with me?”*
The offer was tempting, but Emily refused.
*”I can’t leave Mum.”*
*”Suit yourself. If you’re happy to wither here like she did, fine. I’m marrying rich—a millionaire, ideally.”* Sarah sighed theatrically.
*”Oh, I’m sure London’s full of them just waiting for you,”* Emily muttered, half-believing it.
Sarah *was* stunning—blonde, brown-eyed, with a figure most actresses envied. Men adored her.
She failed her A-levels, went to beauty school instead. Her father insisted—no London unless she studied.
*”Emily, visit me. It’s lonely here. The girls are all snakes—always scheming.”*
*”Come home, then.”*
*”Never.”*
Emily’s mother raised her strictly—no makeup, no nonsense. Before school dances, Emily would sneak to Sarah’s to dab on mascara, scrubbing it off before returning home.
*”Be independent. Men are fickle. With an education, you’ll never struggle,”* her mother insisted.
Sound advice. But at seventeen, careers seemed dull. She envied Sarah’s freedom.
Then she bumped into Ben after his Army service. Broad-shouldered now, though the ears remained. He walked her home, asked her to the cinema. They started dating. He’d landed a cushy job as the mayor’s chauffeur—suit, nice car, the works. A year later, he proposed. She convinced him to wait until she’d finished university.
The mayor even pulled strings to get him a flat. Emily stayed over often.
One night, leaving the cinema, they ran into Sarah—unrecognisable at first, dressed like a magazine cover.
*”Emily!”* Sarah hugged her, drenched in expensive perfume.
Sarah gushed about her upcoming wedding, her Italian gown.
Back at Ben’s, they drank wine.
*”Look at you—handsome, with a flat. Why aren’t you two married yet?”* Sarah asked.
*”We are. Three months—after my finals,”* Emily answered, oblivious.
Ben looked away.
*She’s engaged anyway. He never mattered to her,* Emily told herself, but unease twisted her gut.
Sarah teased, eyeing Ben. *”If my fiancé were as fit as you, he’d be perfect.”*
Two days later, after acing an exam, Emily headed to Ben’s. She had a key. Her mother was visiting family—no explanations needed tonight.
She bought wine, steak, let herself in—then froze.
High heels—just like Sarah’s—lay discarded in the hall. Laughter spilled from the bedroom.
She cracked the door open.
Ben half-covered on the sofa, eyes shut in pleasure. Sarah’s head on his chest, trailing her hair across his skin, giggling.
Emily fled. On the stairs, a stranger caught her—nearly falling.
*”Running from a fire? Or a ghost?”* The man steadied her.
She sobbed into his coat. He sat her down, handed her a handkerchief.
*”Who hurt you?”*
She told him.
*”She never cared for him! She’s about to marry some rich Londoner—why do this?”*
*”This friend—Sarah, by any chance?”*
Emily paled.
*”She lied—said her mother was ill. She wasn’t. I came to check.”* He exhaled. *”So she’s up there with your fiancé?”*
He took her to a café. *Charles*, he introduced himself—a self-made businessman, once married, disillusioned.
*”Thought Sarah was different. Turns out she just hunts men with prospects.”*
*”What about the wedding?”*
*”Cancelled. Easy.”*
He drove her home—mercifully empty. No painful retelling tonight.
The next day, Ben came begging. She wished him happiness with Sarah and shut the door.
A week later, Charles arrived unannounced—roses in hand.
*”Checking on a fellow wounded soul,”* he grinned.
Her mother, bewildered, let him in.
*”Fancy the opera? Strictly platonic—I’ll have her home by tomorrow.”*
Her mother agreed.
After the show, he booked her a hotel—He proposed that night, she accepted out of weariness rather than love, and forty years later, kneeling at her parents’ grave, she wondered if settling had been the right choice after all.
