James sat in the dimly lit room, listening to the sounds of the night. A car pulled up outside, its door clicked shut, and the rapid tap of heels faded behind the front door. Finally, the key turned in the lock—slow, cautious.
He held his breath, straining to catch every whisper of movement. The rustle of fabric, the faintest creak of cautious steps. “Afraid to wake me, didn’t even put on slippers,” James thought bitterly.
The door eased open. Emily tiptoed into the bedroom. Streetlight spilled in just enough to reveal the untouched bed, no one lying there. She froze, sensing his gaze, then turned sharply.
“You scared me. Why aren’t you asleep?” Her voice was clipped.
“I was waiting for you.” James stood, crossed to the doorway, and flicked the light switch. Emily winced at the sudden glare.
“Where were you?” His eyes traced her pale face, her smudged makeup.
“Sorry, I forgot to tell you…” Emily stared at the floor.
“Don’t say you were with a friend. Tell me the truth. It’ll be easier for both of us. How long have you been cheating?”
She flinched as if ready to bolt. Then, barely, she shook her head.
“Two months,” she said, lifting her eyes for just a second. “I meant to tell you, but… I’m sorry. I’ll go now.” She hurried out.
James listened as she shuffled in the hallway.
Emily returned with a suitcase, dropped it onto the bed, opened the wardrobe, and started yanking out clothes. Hangers clattered, dresses and blouses tumbling in a heap beside the case.
“Maybe do this tomorrow when I’m not here?” James grabbed a pillow and walked out.
Still dressed, he lay on the sofa in the other room, pulling a blanket over himself. Sleep wouldn’t come. He ached to destroy something, to strike her, wipe away the traces of someone else’s touch. He forced slow breaths, fighting the storm inside.
***
They’d gone to the beach with friends to celebrate the end of term. Stripped down, they dashed into the waves. Later, Tom and Dave left to grab beers, and James stayed behind to watch their things.
He sat on his jeans, watching kids splash by the shore. Then a girl emerged from the water, walking straight toward him. She grabbed a towel from a nearby blanket, drying her wet hair. James couldn’t look away—her sun-kissed skin glistening, water still clinging to her slim frame. A sudden urge to touch her, to feel that cool dampness.
She turned, catching him staring. He didn’t look away fast enough. Maybe he looked like a guilty schoolboy, because she smiled. By the time Tom and Dave returned, they were laughing together.
When she saw the boys, Emily made to leave. She pulled a sundress over her head, vanishing momentarily under the fabric. Tom shot James a knowing grin; Dave gave a thumbs-up.
Then the dress settled, she adjusted it, gathered her things, waved at the boys, and walked off.
“Go on, then,” Tom said, clapping James on the back.
“Emily, wait!” James scrambled into his jeans and chased after her without another word to his friends.
He came home late.
“Where *were* you? Why didn’t you answer your calls? Your father and I were beside ourselves—” His mother pounced the moment he stepped inside.
“Sorry, my phone was off after the exam. I’m getting married,” James blurted.
“What?” His mother gaped.
“He’s getting married. Good timing, too. Third year, twenty years old. By the time he graduates, he’ll give us a grandchild,” his father said calmly.
“No, I mean—I met the girl. The one I’ll marry,” James corrected in a rush.
“You just met her today?” His mother sputtered. “Robert, are you hearing this?” She looked between them, lost.
“Relax, Linda. He’s in love. People in love dream big. He’s alive, healthy, happy. Let’s all sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” His father guided his mother to their room.
“Thanks,” James called after him.
Two weeks later, he brought Emily home. His mother learned she lived in student housing and declared she was after a flat and London residency—not love. She said it later, once Emily had left.
“You don’t like her?” James deflated.
“What matters is *you* like her,” his father said again.
They married after New Year’s. His father handed them keys.
“Thanks. Didn’t expect that.” James grinned. “Where’s it from?”
“My old flat. We rented it out. Started the renovations—you handle the rest.” His father hugged him.
***
James only dozed near dawn. When he woke, Emily stood there, suitcase in hand.
“Sorry. I woke you after all,” she said, moving toward the door.
Yesterday crashed over him like a wave. He wanted to stop her… The door slammed. He flinched. Thought she’d return in a day or two. But she didn’t. No calls. Her keys lay abandoned on the hall table.
Each day, the ache grew sharper. He’d have forgiven her anything just to have her back. He called—no answer, or her phone was dead. Once, he waited outside her university, only to see her walk out arm-in-arm with another man. He barely ducked behind a tree in time.
The empty flat suffocated him. He went to his parents.
“I never liked her. Found someone richer, I bet,” his mother sniffed.
“Linda, enough. He’s hurting. They’ll sort it out,” his father said. James shot him a grateful look.
A month later, they finalized the divorce. The world crumbled. On the way home, he bought a bottle of whiskey, ready to drown himself.
Unexpectedly, his father showed up. They drank and talked through the night. His father confessed how he’d lost his first wife—a drunk driver hit her while she was pregnant. He hadn’t wanted to live either. Drank himself numb. Then he met Linda, and little James. And chose to live for them.
James never drank again.
Six months later, his mother announced a friend’s niece was coming from Leeds.
“She’ll stay with us while she finds work and a flat. You’ll show her London,” she said.
“Trying to matchmake? Did you *invite* her?” James scowled.
But the girl was sweet, slight, with a pixie cut that made her look sixteen. She blinked shyly, too embarrassed to wear glasses. “And *this* one’s here to conquer London?” James shook his head. Still, he took her under his wing—showed her the city, prepped her for interviews, helped her find an affordable flat.
“Try the pastries. Sarah baked them. You must taste her roast. Homely, clever, keeps a good house. Lucky man who marries her,” his mother gushed.
“Maybe she *is* the one,” James mused. “Emily’s happy elsewhere. Time to move on. Why *not* her?”
“That’s it, then. I’m getting married,” he joked.
“Think carefully! Last time you rushed. I won’t let you hurt her!” his mother fretted.
After graduation, they wed. James refused another big wedding. One was enough. Sarah agreed. They celebrated quietly at a café, just close family.
A new life began. Sarah was warm and tender, nothing like Emily. Maybe that was what he needed. But at night, grief still weighed on him.
Another year passed. They were in a mall, hunting a gift for his father’s birthday, when Sarah lingered at a toy stall.
“Look how sweet these are. I had a bear like this. Should we get one?”
James barely heard her. Through the window, he saw Emily.
“Be right back,” he muttered, darting out.
He caught her at the escalator but didn’t stop her. Only called her name at the bottom.
“Hi. That your wife?” Emily asked. “Pretty. You’ve changed. Happy?”
James shrugged.
“Are *you*?”
“Didn’t work out. Sneaking around’s one thing—living together’s another. Saw your mum. She said you’d remarried.”
“*Mum*? She never told me.”
“She hated me. Does she like *her*?” Emily’s gaze bored into him. An old wound throbbed.
“Where are you living?”
“Renting. Still got my number? Call me sometime. Got to go.” She rushed off.
James stared after her, forgetting Sarah entirely.
“That your wife?” Her voice behind him. Sarah stood there, holding a small plush bear.
“Ex-wife. You bought it after all?” He forced calm, steering her toward the exit.
“What about the gift?”
“We’ve got time.”
After that, Sarah grew quiet. James barely noticed, too wrapped in thoughts of Emily.
Once, he locked himself in the bathroom and called her. EmilyJames whispered into the phone, “Goodbye, Emily,” then hung up, stepped into the kitchen where Sarah stood holding their newborn son, and finally let the past go.
