He slipped his key into the lock, turned it, and stepped insideonly to find the flat wasnt his. strangers were lounging on the sofa, a child was playing with a toy, and everything around was unfamiliar.
Excuse me, who are you? Emma asked, startled.
The occupants only noticed him when he spoke. The man and his wife hurled their tablets and phones aside and lunged toward the hallway, intent on shoving the intruder out.
This is our home, youre not welcomepolice will be called! the woman shouted.
What police? I live here! the man protested.
Youre mistaken, sir. Did you get the wrong door? she retorted.
***
It was Friday evening. Emma stared at a cold bag of chips, wondering if Peter would finally show up. She was tired of his endless disappearances. On the shelf sat a small, brightlywrapped boxher own treat, a reminder that you cant expect someone else to pamper you if you dont do it yourself. With her hair loose in soft waves, she glanced at her phone.
Hey, Pete, where are you? Its almost seven, she texted the boyfriend who should have finished work at four. He was notorious for quitting on a whim, or being let go once a month.
She always put up with his antics.
Seven, huh? Im stuck with the lads at the pub, he replied cheerfully over the noisy Friday night background. Ill call you later, okay?
Stuck with the lads right, Emma muttered. Ill probably eat alone then.
Dont worry, Ill try, he said before the line dropped.
Try, Emma whispered to herself, watching the clock.
She lingered a little longer. It was half past eight. In Peters world, Ill try usually meant no promise. He came when he felt like it, left when he fancied.
Four years. Four years together, a rollercoaster of soaring highs when Peter was attentive and loving, and gutwrenching drops when he vanished without warning. He would disappear after arguments, silently and cruelly, while Emma wept in a corner. Sometimes he missed work, other times he simply wasnt home on weekends. To him it was a trivial matterjust a night out, an apology later. To Emma it was a sea of tears.
Today, however, was supposed to be her birthday.
And Peter was missing again.
Eight, nine, ten the numbers on the clock seemed to mock her. She had managed to wash the dishes, fold the laundry, and even cue up that old film they used to watch together. Those days when Peter was truly Emmas Peter were gone.
The dinner plates sat in the fridge; clean dishes were stacked on the shelf.
Around eleven, the phone rang. Emma, weary of arguing with Peter, answered, only to hear Charlies voiceher closest mate and fellow mischiefmaker.
Emma? You home? he panted. Wheres Peter?
Were home, she replied, confused. Why are you calling?
Peters in A&E, Charlie said, breathless. He was in an accident. Do you want the address? Can you come?
Emmas world froze. Her birthday spread, the halffinished tea, the quiet filmall dissolved into a thick fog of dread.
How serious is it? she asked.
Doctors havent said much. Im safe outside, under the arches. Ill send you the location, he replied.
Half an hour later Emma, fists clenched and teeth bitten, was in a taxicab racing toward the city hospital. Peter, the unreliable fruit of her life, had abandoned her on her birthday. If he died today, how would she survive?
She arrived to find no sign of Charlie, despite his promise to wait in the lobby. She staggered down corridors, feeling faint, searching for any direction. Then, around a corner, she heard a loud, unrestrained laugh.
She quickened her steps, nearly running.
There they werePeter and Charlieslumped on plastic chairs outside a ward, clutching their stomachs and guffawing. Peter looked as unscathed as ever, his eyes sparkling with that same reckless mischief Emma knew too well.
Emma! You made it! Peter exclaimed, wiping tears from his face. Got you! We pulled a prank! Youre so gullible. It was just a joke. I cut my finger, you came, and Charlie thought itd be funny to tease.
If it hadnt been for his nearprison sentence, Emma would have thrown him into a real emergency ward then and there.
A prank, she said, her voice hollow.
Exactly, a prank. Youre too serious! We were drunk, thought wed drive the taxi here. Why were you so slow? Thought wed just let you have a birthday treat? Charlies ideagenius! Peter hugged her, but she pushed him away. A birthday prank is the best you could think of?
Emma slung her bag over her shoulder.
Im leaving, she said.
Where to? We were going to celebrate! Peter tried to hold her back. Come on! Did someone call you?
You didnt invite me to celebrate, she replied.
Dont go, Peter begged.
Ill go, Emma said firmly. They stopped trying to persuade her. The night would be merrier without her.
Back home, she slipped off her coat, revealing her nightgown, and moved to the kitchen without turning on the light. The fridge was full, but she had no appetite. She sat at the table, watching the clock tick, still in shock.
An hour later Peter returned.
Emma, what? Its just a joke! he said, sitting on another chair and reaching for a hug, just as he had in the hospital.
Its a joke, he repeated, You know, Im tired of your jokes.
He waved a chocolate bar in front of her face.
Look what I brought as a peace offering. Come on, dont be mad. Im young, I want to go out, not sit at home. Its not my fault you wont agree with me, he snapped.
Emma stood.
Im not holding you back, Peter, she said, but I think Ill go out somewhere else. Ill just go now, she added, glancing at her nightgown. Ill leave, straight away.
Whats next for you? he asked, curiosity tinged with irritation.
Anywhere but here, she replied.
She hoped hed feel uneasy, but Peter merely said, As you wish, Your Highness. Ill go find Charlie then.
***
Three days passed without Peter. Emma didnt call him, and he didnt call her. She kept busy, trying not to think of him, yet his absence lingered in every corner of the flatan empty chair at the table, a halfread novel on the nightstand, his favourite mug in the dishwasher.
On the fourth evening, as Emma tried to relieve stress by painting a numbered picture, Peter appeared at the door, brandishing a lavish bouquet of soft pink rosesher favourite.
Hi, he said, I brought these. You love them, right?
Emma stared silently, not taking the flowers.
I know youre angry, Peter continued, stepping forward. Thats your right. I wont make excuses. Im young, I want to have fun, not sit at home. You once said youd love anyone. You know that.
I know, Emma replied, Im fed up, Peter. I dont want to talk, and I dont need a cheap bouquet as a consolation prize.
Its not cheap
What difference does it make if youre not giving it from the heart, but just as a token to get me to forgive you?
Its not about forgiveness, Peter sighed. Youre a homebody, I like to spice things up. I wont apologize.
I wont forgive you either.
She eventually forgave, though it took days for the frost to melt. How could she live without Peter? Yet during those days she felt something strange. One brightmorn, after a vivid dream, she felt nauseous. The next morning the same. She bought a pregnancy test; two lines appeared.
She didnt know how to tell Peter.
Fate seemed to intervene.
Shed always wanted a child, and Peter often said he wanted one too. She thought perhaps the news would make him settle down.
Peter, Im pregnant, she announced.
Peters face flickered through surprise, fear, and bewilderment.
Now youre pulling another prank? he asked.
No, look, she handed him the test. Its sudden, I know
Youre kidding? A baby is happiness! Peter exclaimed. Ive been hoping for this! Everything will change, I promise!
But the next day he vanished again, this time for a whole week. He and Charlie drove to a country cottage to celebrate the upcoming fatherhood, joined by other friends and, as Emma later learned, an exgirlfriend, Kate.
Emma was left alone, with the news that should have transformed their lives. She tried calling him, but his phone was off. In that moment she realised nothing would ever change.
When Peter finally returned, he carried an extravagant bouquet, hoping to smooth over his weeklong absence. But he didnt come home; he stepped into a flat that wasnt his. He turned the key, only to find strangers insidea child on the sofa, unfamiliar décor.
Excuse me, who are you? Peter asked, bewildered.
Only when he spoke did the occupants notice him. The husband and wife tossed their tablets aside and rushed down the hallway, intent on throwing the stranger out.
This is our flatare you asking us why were here? Leave, or well call the police! the woman shouted.
What police? I live here! Peter protested.
Youre mistaken, lad. Did you get the wrong door? she replied.
Mate, how did my key fit this door then? the man grumbled. Thief! Or maybe a scammultiple tenants? We need to call
Peter, still in shock, fumbled for his phone.
He dialed the landlord.
Mr. Green! Whats happening? Whos in my flat? he demanded.
Silence answered from the other end.
Peter, you moved out Emma told me a week ago you were leaving, so I cleared the flat. Its empty now. I gave Emma the deposit. What do you want?
What? Emma left? Were moving out? Peter stared, stunned. He loved sudden disappearances, but this was different.
He stood on the stairwell holding the bouquet, which he hadnt yet tossed. The flats owners threw him out. A neighbour, Vicky, who he sometimes chatted with, approached with two large gym bags.
Hey, Pete, she said, handing over the bags. Emma left them here. She asked you to collect them.
Peter lifted the heavy bags, filled with his belongings.
He drove to Emmas mother, Mrs. Thompson, convinced Emma was staying with her.
Mrs. Thompson met him at the door, pushing up her glasses and rubbing her eyes. What do you need, Peter? she asked. Ive been comforting Emma all week.
I need to see Emma. Shes pregnant. I have to talk to her
Seeing a future grandchild, Mrs. Thompson relented.
Come in. Im not thrilled at the thought of her being a single mother, but you can speak and apologise.
Peter barged into Emmas room, accusations spilling out.
Are you resting? Im out on the street, my roof almost fell in, and youre nowhere! How can you be so careless?
Emma, however, was not about to let him off the hook.
When was the last time you paid the rent, Peter? she snapped. You never thought about the bills, the groceries, the mortgage. You vanished for weeks, then returned to a tidy flat. Welcome to reality: you must pay for a roof, buy pasta and bread, and no one will wait with open arms for you at any hour.
I came to talk, but you
She kicked the door as she left.
Peter tried to borrow money from friendsCharlie, othersbut everyone refused. It was fun to hang out with him, but lending to someone who lives paycheck to paycheck was another matter.
Late that night, exhausted, he returned to Mrs. Thompsons house. Emma wouldnt let him in, but Mrs. Thompson emerged from the flat.
Emma, you cant do that, she said, pitying Peter. Leaving a man on the street The child needs a father. He may be reckless, but youre supposed to guide him.
Mother
Emma, he can stay here tonight. Then youll decide how to raise the child.
Peter stayed. Mrs. Thompson gave him an ultimatum: If you want to remain, stop roaming. Marry Emma. Think of the babys future.
Peter agreed, and for a while things seemed to improve. He stopped disappearing, even helped Emma with grocery runs. Yet the peace was shortlived.
One afternoon, while Emma was at work, Mrs. Thompson returned home early. The bedroom door was ajar, faint whispers drifting out. She peeked insidewithin seconds, a woman burst out, shrieking.
Mrs. Thompson! I Peter leapt up as well.
Enough, Mrs. Thompson said, Better to have no father than one like this.
Emmas story ends with a simple truth: no matter how often youre let down, you must learn to stand on your own, cherish selfrespect, and understand that true security comes from within, not from the promises of an unreliable heart.
