Congratulations, Emily Whitaker! Youre now the regional director, a voice announced, its tone oddly echoic. The leather chair is still warm from the previous boss, and you already sit in it as if it were made for you. Honestly, Emily, Im thrilled they chose you instead of that posh bloke from London.
Sarah Clarke, head of HR and a longtime friend, slammed a plump folder onto the polished oak desk and flopped into the visitors armchair with a grin that seemed to say shed earned the promotion herself.
Emily smiled, trailing a fingertip across the smooth surface of the desk. It felt strange. She had toiled for fifteen years at the firm, starting as a humble administrator, catering to capricious clients, burning the midnight oil on reports, fixing other peoples mistakes. And nowa private office with a panoramic view of the city, a company car, and a salary that had once seemed a fantasy whispered in the dark.
Thank you, Sarah. If you hadnt backed me up when I wanted to quit three years ago, none of this would have happened, Emily said.
Dont be silly! Sarah brushed off the compliment. You wouldnt have walked away. You have ironclad resolve. Remember how low you were then? Divorce, a bout of depression, Markyour exdraining the last of your nerves. Yet you clenched your teeth and kept going. This is your reward for endurance. By the way, you wont believe who I saw in the supermarket yesterday.
A cold shiver ran through Emily; the name Mark still sent a faint chill down her spine, even after three silent years of rebuilding the selfesteem he had methodically eroded during their decade together.
Who? Him?
Mark himself. And he looks anything but a soaring eagle. Remember how he used to parade around like a tortured poet? Im a creative soul, Im searching, and you dont appreciate me. Well, his search has landed him in the clearance aisle, rummaging through worn jackets that were once his pride, buying the cheapest dumplings and bargainbin beer.
Maybe hes just having a rough patch, Emily shrugged, a sly satisfaction bubbling beneath her calm exterior.
Rough was his excuse when he decided his new flame would fund him the way you once did, Sarah snorted. Enough gloom. Fancy a celebration tonight?
Definitely. But lets make it tomorrow. Tonight I just want to get home, run a bath, and soak in the fact that Im the big boss now.
Emily craved quiet. That evening she parked her brandnew crossover in front of the sleek block that now counted as upscale living. She had bought the flat a year earlier, when her earnings finally allowed a mortgage, and was almost done paying it off. The concierge gave her a polite nod as she entered.
She stepped onto her floor, a book waiting in her mind, when the lift doors opened to reveal a man standing in the hallway. He shifted from foot to foot, clutching a silly bouquet of three halfwilting roses wrapped in clear film.
Her heart missed a beat. It was Mark.
Time had etched its marks on him: dark circles under his eyes, thinning hair, the glossy confidence vanished. When he saw Emily, his smile stretched into something that once hypnotised her, now oozing with cheap flattery.
Emily! Hi! I thought Id surprise you. I rang the intercom, nobody answered, a neighbour stepped out and I slipped in. Figured Id wait.
Emily approached the door, keys still in her hand, torn between fleeing and the strange pull of curiosity and newfound selfassurance.
Hello, Mark. How did you end up here after three years? If I recall, during the divorce you begged me to disappear from your life forever, so you wouldnt spoil your karma with my whining and groundedness.
Mark chuckled nervously, tugging at the plastic wrapper around the flowers.
Ah, the past is a messy thing I was emotional then, didnt know what I was doing. Midlife crisis, you know? You look radiant, Emily! That suitexpensive, I bet? It suits you.
Lets get to the point, Mark. Why are you here?
Maybe youll let me in? Its hard to chat on the stairwell. We arent strangers; we shared a decade. Thats not a trifle.
Emily hesitated. Letting him into her meticulously refurbished sanctuary, where there was no room for his socks or his complaints, seemed unthinkable. Yet leaving him at the door, a sentinel for tomorrow, felt even more foolish.
Come in, but not for long. I have plans.
She opened the door and Mark stepped inside, eyes darting around the airy, lightfilled space. The flat was a showcase of bright tones, designer furniture, expensive canvasesno visual clutter, only spacious elegance. He slipped off his shoes, revealing grubby soles that smeared the immaculate carpet.
Wow, these are palaces he muttered. Do you live here alone?
Alone.
And I heard you went up the hill. They say youre a director now? A serious post, huh? Salary must be astronomical.
Emily drifted into the kitchen, and Mark followed, perching at the sleek stone countertop.
How do you know all this? Are you spying on me?
The citys small, gossip travels fast. Mutual friends told me. They say Emilys now a highflying bird. I was genuinely happy for you! Remember I always said you had potential?
Emily nearly choked on the water she was sipping.
You kept telling me I was a dull mouse, that my career was just shuffling papers, and that I should be grateful a talented man like you lived with me. You called my job office servitude.
I was motivating you! By the opposite, to make you angry and prove me wrong. Look, it worked! So I have a share in your success.
He stared at her, waiting for a grateful outburst, but Emily saw only a pitiful, desperate man trying to cling to her shine. The proud, confident man she once loved had dissolved into an ordinary failure.
Tea? she asked dryly.
Yes, and something to go with it. Im starving.
What do you do now?
Temporary taxi driver. The crypto project you remember stalled; partners bailed. Im looking for a new line. And Nataliemy new partnercouldnt handle me. She only wants money. Where do I get it while the startup flops?
Emily placed a cup and a plate of biscuits before him.
So Natalie dumped you?
We broke up mutually! Well, sort of. She called me a loser. Can you imagine? Me, with two degrees, stuck buying her a coat, dreaming of the Maldives. Wheres the soul? Wheres the support? You, Emily, you were different. You understood, you could wait.
He reached across the table, trying to lay his hand over hers. She recoiled.
I didnt wait, Mark. I worked. While you lounged and searched for yourself, I took side jobs, studied English at night, endured your jokes. When I got my first promotion, you threw a fit, accusing me of neglect. Then you packed up and went to Natalie because she was lighthearted and inspiring.
Wrong, Emily! he slammed his fist on the table, eyes darting to the marble top. I was a fool, blinded by youth and passion. It was all surface. Ive realised true love is what we hadsoulmates. Ive thought of you these three years.
Really? Even when you drove our car away and carted off my laptop with work files?
Why bring that up? I needed money for a startup Emily, lets start over. Were perfect together. Youre successful, strong. You need a man whos proud of you. Ive changed. Ill carry you, run the house while you work. Ill be your everything.
Emily saw not a repentant spouse but a shark smelling blood, or rather the scent of money. He surveyed the flat, noted the new car, the directors title, and thought: heres a quiet harbour where he could feast, sleep sweetly, and do nothing.
You want to come back? To me?
To us! he corrected, brightening. I left a few things in the carjust the essentials. If you forgive me, I could stay. Why wait? Were adults. Loneliness is terrible, Emily. A woman alone struggles. She needs a man in the housefix a shelf, mend a tap.
Emily burst out laughing, a clear, ringing sound.
You need a shelf? I have an app called Handyman on Call. Need a shelf fixed, a person with tools shows up, does it in twenty minutes, cleans up, and it costs a hundred pounds. No need to feed him years, wash his socks, listen to his lectures on unrecognized genius.
Marks face tightened.
Youve become cynical. Money spoiled you. Im offering a family, warmth, and you talk about a handyman.
Im realistic. Youre not offering a family, Mark. Youre looking for a sponsor. Natalie threw you out, you have nowhere to live, no cash. Then you hear your former grey mouse became a director. Bingo! You could return, throw a few compliments, hand over a wilted bouquet, and cling again.
Its not true! he shouted, eyes flickering. I love you!
At that moment his phone rang, a shrill, jarring tone. He glanced at the screen, grimaced, then pressed a button.
Whos that? Emily asked.
Just work.
The phone rang again.
Answer it, she said. Might be urgent.
Mark reluctantly hit the speaker, his voice trembling.
Hello?
Mark! Its your mother, Zinnia. Are you with Emily? Did you talk? Has she agreed?
His face turned the colour of a beet, hands fumbling.
Mum, Im busy, Ill call back
Dont! Tell her about the loan! Say collectors are calling, you cant live. She has no money now, help your exhusband! You gave her the best years of your life! And tell my mother I need a spa. Make her feel pity. Women love that!
Mark finally hung up, a hollow silence filling the kitchen. He looked at Emily with the desperate stare of a schoolboy caught with a cigarette.
Emily rose slowly.
Make her feel pity? You mean your mother?
Shes old, she doesnt understand. She just worries about me. Im in debtbig debt. Natalie we took loans for trips, for the car we crashed. Im stuck, Emily. Help me, will you? You have money, dont you? Ill pay you back someday.
The knightinshiningarmour façade fell away, revealing a pitiful beggar.
Mark, three years ago when you left, I asked you to at least leave the washing machine. Id just paid for your dental treatment and had not a penny left. You said, Earn it. I owe you nothing. Remember?
I remember, he muttered. But now Im rich!
The situation is the same. I owe you nothing. Your loans are your own burden. Your housing problems are the result of your choices.
So youre kicking me out? On the street? In the night?
You have a car. Drive to your mother. Shes waiting, judging by the call.
Emily, dont be a bitch! Its inhuman! Were family! Give me a chance! Ill work! You could put me in your firm, even as a driver. A director needs a trusted person, right?
Trust? You? You betrayed me when I was down. Now you try to swindle me while Im up. What trust?
She walked to the hallway and opened the front door.
Leave, Mark. Take your wilted flowers and go. Ill tell the concierge not to let you back in.
Mark shuffled into the corridor, breath ragged, a mix of hatred and desperation in his eyes.
Youll regret this! he spat. Money wont bring you happiness! Youll die alone in your golden cage! Who needs you, old careerchasing spinster? You only needed me, and you
Enough! Emily snapped, her voice steelhard, the tone of a commander used to giving orders.
Mark bolted for the exit, nearly tripping on the threshold. Emily slammed the door shut, turned the lock twice.
She leaned against it, closed her eyes. She expected tears, sorrow, a sting of guilt. Instead a light, intoxicating wave of triumph rose within her.
She had not given in. She had not let guilt or ghosts of the past ruin her present.
Returning to the kitchen, a halfempty cup of tea and three wilted roses lay on the table. She pinched the flowers between two fingers and tossed them into the bin, shoved the cup into the dishwasher, wiped the surface with a disinfectant wipe as if erasing the memory of his visit.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Sarah:
Nice, boss lady? Bubble bath or a glass of champagne?
Emily smiled and typed back:
Champagne. And sushi. The most expensive. Im celebrating not just a promotion. Ive finally divorced the past in my mind.
Half an hour later she lounged on her plush sofa, gazing at the city lights, marveling at how oddly life unfolded. Sometimes you need someone from the past to try pulling you back into the mire before you realize your wings are truly yours.
The next morning, stepping into her new office, Emily felt transformed. She greeted the secretary politely, led the first briefing, handed out directives. At one point the junior secretary, Lily, peeked in, eyes wide.
Emily Whitaker, theres a man screaming at the reception. He says hes your husband, something urgent. Security wont let him in, hes causing a scene.
Emily didnt look away from her screen.
I have no husband, Lily. Have security escort him out. If he resists, call the police.
Will do, Lily nodded and disappeared.
A few minutes later muffled shouts echoed from the hallway before silence fell. Emily walked to the window. From the tenth floor, the people below looked like tiny ants. She saw a figure in a battered jacket being led out by two guards past the business centre gates. He waved, pleading, but the doors shut.
Emily turned from the window and returned to her work. She had too many tasks, too many plans, and a life far too interesting to waste on phantoms of yesterday. She chose herself, and that was the truest decision of her fortyplus years.
