Ten Days Later: The House Stood Empty
Emily stepped into their cramped flat in Manchester after work and froze. Something felt off. She wandered through the rooms, her heart clenching as she noticed the missing items—her husband’s summer clothes, razor, toothbrush. She stood in the middle of the bedroom, tears stinging her eyes. He’d actually done it. Left her without a word.
Just months ago, she and Oliver had dreamed of a holiday. He’d insisted on a resort abroad, and Emily, caught up in his enthusiasm, had agreed. She could already picture herself walking golden sands, waves lapping at her feet. They’d decided each would pay their own way—their finances had always been separate. She’d grown used to it, though it sometimes left a bitter taste.
But recently, she’d drained her savings on an emergency surgery. Oliver knew this, yet still asked where she’d get the money for the trip. His words cut like glass. Swallowing her pride, she begged him to lend her the difference, promising to repay it after her summer bonus. He’d only shrugged and muttered into his laptop, barely glancing up.
Oliver had one unbreakable rule: never lend money, not to anyone. But wasn’t she his wife? The one exception to his stubborn principles? In normal families, such questions didn’t exist. Yet here she was, sometimes having to plead just for grocery money. Humiliating, but she’d held onto hope—that he’d change.
She’d tried talking to him, begged for help, but Oliver stayed silent. He kept saying the holiday was happening, yet his words rang hollow. Emily waited, made plans—until his leave arrived. And he left. Alone. Without her.
When she realised he’d slipped away to some sunny paradise without a word, her world crumbled. He hadn’t just left—he’d betrayed her, choosing money and comfort over their marriage. Anger choked her as she sat in the stifling flat, every corner whispering his absence. She called her mother, voice ragged with sobs.
“How could he, love?” Her mother’s voice trembled with outrage. “Your father and I shared everything. Come home, dear. Why sit alone in that dreadful place?”
Emily agreed. She couldn’t stay where betrayal lingered in the air. Packing her things, she fled to her mother’s cottage in the countryside. There, wrapped in familiar warmth, she finally breathed. Days later, her brother William and his wife announced a seaside trip. Her sister-in-law, sensing her grief, nudged her. “Em, come with us! Enough moping.”
The kindness undid her. Those simple words laid bare the truth—Oliver had never valued her. He lived for himself while she’d clung to an illusion.
At the coast, Emily laughed with her nephews, walked barefoot on cool sand, and felt the weight in her chest ease. There was no going back. Oliver had shown his true colours, and she refused to fade into his shadow. Returning home, she packed the last of her things and left a note on the kitchen table:
“I’m gone. Took what’s mine. Expect divorce papers. Hope the holiday was worth it.”
Ten days later, Oliver returned to Manchester. He fumbled at the door, keys mysteriously missing until a neighbour took pity and lent him a spare. Inside, silence swallowed him. Emily was gone. The note waited, each word a blow.
He slumped into a chair, hands shaking. Too late, he understood what he’d done. Emily, the woman he’d taken for granted, had slipped through his fingers. She’d chosen herself. And he knew—she wouldn’t return.
