Ten Days Later: The House Stood Empty
When Eleanor returned from work to their modest flat in Leeds, she froze on the doorstep. Something was amiss. She wandered through the rooms, and her heart clenched with grief—her husband’s belongings were gone. Summer clothes, his razor, his toothbrush. Standing in the middle of the bedroom, she felt tears sting her eyes. He had done it. Left her, abandoned her without so much as a word.
Months earlier, she and Edward had dreamt of a holiday. He insisted on a trip abroad, and Eleanor, caught up in his enthusiasm, agreed. She pictured herself strolling along golden sands, the sound of waves filling the air. They had decided to each pay their own way—their finances had always been separate. She had grown used to it, though it often left a bitter taste.
But then she had spent all her savings on a medical procedure. Edward knew this, yet still asked where she would find the money for the trip. His words cut like a knife. Swallowing her pride, Eleanor asked to borrow the difference, promising to repay him after her summer bonus at work. He merely shrugged and buried himself in his laptop, muttering something vague.
Edward had a hard rule: never lend money. But wasn’t she his wife? Wasn’t she worth breaking foolish principles for? In a proper marriage, such questions wouldn’t exist. Yet here she was, sometimes begging him just for grocery money. It shamed her, but she had clung to hope, believing he might change.
She had tried to speak with him, pleaded for help, but Edward stayed silent. He repeated that their holiday plans stood, yet his words rang hollow. Eleanor waited, made plans—then his leave came. And he left. Alone. Without her.
When she realised he had slipped away to the coast without a word, her world crumbled. He hadn’t just gone—he had betrayed her, choosing money and comfort over their life together. Resentment choked her as she sat in the stifling flat, every corner a reminder of him. She called her mother, sobbing as she poured out her heart.
“How could he, love?” Her mother’s voice trembled with anger. “Your father and I shared everything. Come home, darling. There’s nothing for you in that empty place.”
Eleanor agreed. She couldn’t stay surrounded by the ghost of his betrayal. Packing her things, she left for her mother’s house in the countryside. There, among familiar comforts, she felt warmth for the first time in ages. A few days later, her brother William and his wife announced their seaside trip. Noticing her sorrow, her sister-in-law offered, “Ellie, come with us! Enough of this misery.”
The kindness brought Eleanor to tears. Such simple, heartfelt words made her realise how distant her husband had become. Edward had never valued her, never sacrificed for their future. He lived for himself, while she had deceived herself into believing in their love.
By the sea, Eleanor finally breathed freely. She laughed with her nephews, walked the shore, and the ache in her chest began to fade. There was no going back. Edward had shown his true self, and she refused to remain in his shadow. Returning to her mother’s, she made her choice. Gathering her things from the flat, she left a note on the kitchen table:
“I’ve gone. Took my things. Expect divorce papers. Hope you enjoyed your holiday.”
Ten days later, Edward returned to Leeds. He fumbled at the door—his keys, of course, were missing. A neighbour took pity and lent him the spare. Inside, the flat was suffocatingly still. Eleanor wasn’t there. The note waited, each word a blow.
Edward slumped into a chair, the paper trembling in his hands. He saw his mistake, but it was far too late. Eleanor, whom he had taken for granted, had left only emptiness behind. She had chosen herself—and he knew, with crushing certainty, she would never return.
