Oliver encountered his ex-wife, and envy made his cheeks turn quite visibly green. With force, he slammed the refrigerator door shut, the contents rattling with the impact. One of the magnets that held fast on the door clattered to the floor with a noise.
Emma stood across from him, pale and her hands balled into fists.
“Well, does that make you feel any better?” she exhaled, lifting her chin.
“You just drive me crazy,” Oliver snapped, though he tried to keep his voice steady. “What kind of life is this? No joy, no future.”
“So, it’s all my fault again?” Emma smirked bitterly. “Of course, everything’s not like in your dreams.”
Oliver wanted to say something but only waved his hand. He opened a bottle of sparkling water and took a sip directly, setting it on the table without hesitation.
“Oliver, don’t stay silent,” Emma said with a trembling voice. “Just tell me straight for once, what bothers you?”
“What’s there to say?” he grimaced. “I’m fed up with all of this. To hell with it!”
They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Finally, Emma took a deep breath and headed to the bathroom. Oliver sank heavily onto the couch. From behind the door came the sound of running water—Emma probably turned on the tap to drown out her own tears. But he didn’t care at all.
A Life Turned Routine
Three years earlier, they had gotten married. At first, they lived in Emma’s flat, a gift from her parents, and then moved to a house in the countryside, transferring the flat to their daughter. They lived in a spacious but unrenovated home, with furniture that seemed to be relics of a previous era.
Initially, Oliver was content: central location, conveniently close to work. But over time, everything started to irritate him. Emma liked her “family haven” with its brown wallpaper and antique sideboard passed down through the generations, but Oliver saw stagnation in it.
“Emma, just be honest,” he repeated. “Don’t you want to replace this terrible yellow linoleum? Update the interior, make it modern?”
“Oliver, we don’t have extra money for renovations right now,” Emma responded calmly. “I dream of changes too, but let’s wait for the bonus.”
“Wait?! That’s your whole philosophy—grin and bear it!”
Oliver often remembered falling for Emma. Back then, she was a modest student, her sincere blue eyes and tender smile enchanting him. He used to say to friends, “She’s a bud that will surely bloom.” But now it felt like the flower never bloomed and had withered instead.
Emma didn’t consider herself unnoticeable. She simply lived as she saw fit, enjoying small pleasures—a cup of mint tea, a new napkin, a quiet evening with a book. But Oliver saw stagnation and routine in it.
They weren’t quick to divorce—Oliver didn’t want to move back in with his parents, and living separately wasn’t feasible at the time. Emma’s mother, Margery, always took her daughter-in-law’s side:
“Darling, Emma’s a good girl. Be glad you have a flat.”
“Mum, you don’t understand anything!” Oliver retorted, frustrated.
His father just shrugged:
“Let him sort it out himself.”
At home, Oliver grew more indifferent: “She’s like a shadow, a gray phantom…,” he thought. During one argument, he exclaimed:
“I once saw a beautiful flower in you! And now? I’m living with a frozen bud…”
Emma cried for the first time in many months then.
And on that day when everything finally fell apart, Oliver quietly said:
“Emma, I’m tired.”
“Of what?” she asked.
“Of this life, of the endless routine.”
Emma picked up a bag and left. Oliver hoped she would come back and ask him to stay, but she left calmly:
“Maybe you should indeed live separately. Move out.”
Oliver exploded:
“I won’t leave!”
“This is my parents’ house,” Emma said coldly. “And I no longer want to live with someone who considers me a burden.”
Oliver had no choice but to go. A few weeks later, their divorce was finalized.
The Meeting That Changed Everything
Three years passed. Oliver still lived with his parents, trying to start anew, but luck never seemed to favour him. Work brought little money, and only small joys grew.
One spring evening, while strolling down the street, he passed by a café and, catching a look inside, he froze. Emma was there at the entrance.
But this wasn’t the Emma he remembered. Before him stood a confident woman with a neat hairstyle, an elegant coat, and a set of car keys in her hand.
“Emma?” Oliver uttered in surprise.
She turned around, recognized him, and smiled.
“Oliver? Hi! How are you?”
“Well… okay,” he mumbled, unable to tear his eyes away from her.
“Are you doing well?” she asked, composed.
“And it looks like you’re doing even better… Still with the same job?”
“No, I opened my own floral studio. It was scary, but… someone supported me.”
“Who’s that?”
From a table in the café emerged a tall man in an expensive coat, gently wrapping an arm around Emma’s shoulders:
“My love, they’ve just cleared a table for us, shall we?”
“Oliver, meet Victor,” Emma introduced, addressing him. “It was nice seeing you.”
“Happy for you,” Oliver murmured quietly, feeling the sting of sharp envy inside.
“Thank you,” Emma replied calmly.
Victor nodded, and they walked into the café together, leaving Oliver standing on the cold pavement.
Once, he had said, “I’m living with a frozen bud.” But the bud had indeed blossomed. Just not alongside him.
