The dimly lit streets of Manchester stretched before Andrew as he trudged home after another endless workday. His mind was heavy, an uneasy knot tightening in his chest. The windows of their fourth-floor flat were dark. “Where’s she got to this time?” he thought. Stepping inside, the silence hit him like a slap. Before he could even kick off his shoes, the doorbell rang. Their neighbour, face drawn with worry, delivered the words that shattered his world: “Emily’s been taken by an ambulance.”
Andrew froze, refusing to believe it. His life—a mess of wrong turns and missed chances—collapsed in an instant, leaving only regret.
The realisation had struck him like lightning earlier that evening. He’d paused mid-step, the pavement swaying under him. “How could I have been so blind?” he muttered, shaking his head. It had been so obvious, yet he’d missed it all. At home, Emily waited—the woman he’d once adored but long since taken for granted. He pictured her usual greeting: a flat “You’re back then?” before she vanished into the kitchen without so much as a glance. “Dinner?” she’d ask, her voice stripped of warmth.
There was a time when Emily cooked with love—baking pies, collecting recipes, pickling jars of chutney. But lately, something had shifted. For the kids, when they visited, she still made an effort. For him? She barely pretended to care. Her meals tasted half-hearted, as if resentment seeped into the seasoning. When patience wore thin, Andrew would fry up eggs or slap together a sandwich, biting back complaints. Emily ate in silence, never thanking him. Her indifference stung, but he swallowed the words to keep the peace.
She hadn’t always been like this. Once, she’d been tender—her hugs warm, her presence a comfort. She used to curl into him, sharing quiet moments that felt like home. But those days were long gone. Now, her affection felt obligatory, like a chore she resented. When had it started? Maybe when he’d stayed out drinking while she waited up, or when he’d skipped picking her up after their youngest was born because he was “celebrating with the lads.” Back then, he’d shrugged it off—”It’s just one night!”—but the hurt in her eyes still haunted him.
Emily had withdrawn. She grew quiet, retreating into herself, flinching at his sharp remarks. “So what if I spoke my mind?” he’d fume. But her silence cut deeper than any shout. When the kids visited, she lit up—bustling, laughing, alive. With him? A wall. “Who’s she fooling?” he’d wonder. Life slipped by, their marriage reduced to empty routine.
Andrew had given up his nights out years ago. Worked as an engineer, earned well, never strayed. But Emily didn’t seem to care. She made her own money, fiercely independent. So why stay? For the kids? They’d long since flown the nest. He couldn’t fathom it. Once, he’d tried to understand—then gave up. “If this is how she wants to live, fine.” Yet secretly, he ached for more: a wife who greeted him with joy, missed him when he left. For love, long faded.
Now, the truth bit deeper: she’d never loved him. Maybe not truly. He thought back, baffled—why had someone as sharp and spirited as Emily chosen him? Maybe he’d just been convenient—tall, decent-looking, good genes for the kids. “Knew they’d turn out handsome,” he thought bitterly.
He stepped into the dark flat, the quiet ringing in his ears. “Where is she?” Panic clawed up his throat. Then, the doorbell. The neighbour couldn’t meet his eyes. “Andrew… the ambulance took Emily an hour ago.”
He ran through the streets, tears burning his lungs. For the first time in years, he prayed—”Please, don’t take her. God, I can’t lose her. I’ll fix everything, I swear it! Just let her live!”
But he never saw her alive again. The hospital said her heart gave out in the ambulance. His world crumbled. Days passed in a fog. Kids, mates, family spoke—he heard none of it. One thought pounded: “I never said sorry.”
Now, Andrew lives alone. The kids offered him a room, but he refused. He visits the little church nearby often. There, in the hush and scent of candles, he almost feels Emily beside him. The old stone walls seem to cradle his grief. He stares at the stained glass and whispers, “Forgive me for not seeing you.”
But the silence never answers—just stays, his only companion now.
