The husband left a letter and walked away: “I’ve fallen for somebody else.”
“Your brother’s getting divorced—your mother called,” Emily said over dinner, watching her husband closely. William sat silently, staring at his plate. “Why aren’t you saying anything? You support him? He’s leaving his three children!” Emily felt anger rising inside her.
“Em, calm down,” William pushed his plate away. “He’s not abandoning them. If they’re divorcing, there must be reasons.” He stood and left the kitchen, leaving her bewildered. His coldness cut deep. The next day, when Emily came home from work and saw the letter on the table, she froze as if struck by lightning.
Emily and William had spent twenty-seven years together in their cosy flat in Manchester. And now—divorce. How was this possible? How could two people who had walked side by side for so long just drift apart? And their daughter? Emily couldn’t believe their life was crumbling.
They’d met when Emily, a young student from a small town, had moved to Manchester to attend university. After her exams, she and a friend had wandered the River Irwell promenade. A group of lads were strumming guitars on a bench, and Emily—always drawn to music—stopped to listen. That’s when William had approached her, smiling, eyes full of warmth. That was the start of their story.
They dated despite the distance. Emily studied remotely, visiting for exams, and between visits, they wrote letters—no mobiles back then. Love grew, and within a year, they had a modest wedding. They rented a flat. Emily worked, studied, cared for William’s ailing mother. Children took time—eight years before their daughter, Lily, was born. Emily called her their miracle.
The word “divorce” felt like a death sentence to Emily. The end of everything. She couldn’t picture life without William. He had been her rock: tall, steady, with family always coming first. They weren’t perfect—Emily worked long hours, the house often fell to him. But until recently, it had worked.
Everything changed when William’s brother announced his divorce, leaving his wife with three children. Emily panicked—what if her husband had someone too? “Midlife crisis,” she thought, watching William over dinner. His silence terrified her.
“You support your brother?” she blurted. “He’s abandoning his children!”
“Em, don’t start,” William said sharply. “They have their reasons.”
She didn’t let it go. She began checking on him—calling endlessly, eavesdropping on conversations. She’d never been jealous before, but now, every move he made felt suspicious. William pulled away, feeding the fire.
That summer, Lily was off to university in London. Emily went with her to help find a flat. Leaving, she never imagined coming home to emptiness. William didn’t meet her at the station. Didn’t answer calls. On the kitchen table, a letter. She unfolded it, and her world shattered.
“Emily, I don’t know how to say this… I’ve filed for divorce. Lily’s grown—I waited for this. You didn’t see it, but I changed. For her sake, I endured your nagging, kept the house running while you were always at work. We have nothing in common anymore. The love died. We’re strangers. Four years ago, I met someone. We have a son—he’s three. I’m leaving to be with them. I won’t abandon Lily; I’ll still provide. The flat is yours. Forgive me, if you can.”
Emily collapsed. No tears—just numbness. She looked around the flat, but nothing brought comfort. Her life had splintered. How would she tell Lily? How could she live knowing he’d loved another for years, stayed only out of obligation?
She stepped outside. Rain had poured all week, matching her grief, but today, the sun shone. At the entrance, she spotted her neighbour, Margaret. Five years ago, Margaret had been in a car crash with her husband. He hadn’t survived; she’d been left in a wheelchair. Every day, Emily saw her in the park, alone but smiling.
“Lovely day, Emily,” Margaret said. “Could you help me down?”
Silently, Emily did. Margaret thanked her, then suddenly asked, “Fancy a walk together?” Emily nodded, not understanding why. They weren’t close, but right then, she needed something—anything—alive beside her.
In the park, they sat under an old oak. At first, silence. Then Margaret spoke. “When Andrew and I crashed, we had dreams—a family, a country home. Gone in an instant. The other driver lost control. Andrew didn’t make it. I woke up thinking, ‘Why go on?’ Recovery was hell. But one night, Andrew visited me in a dream. ‘Live, Maggie!’ he said. ‘Enjoy every sunrise, every drop of rain. Live for me!’ So I did. Found remote work, reconnected with friends. Met a man last year. He asked me out. I feared the wheelchair would scare him, but he didn’t care. Now, we’re together. Life feels brighter.”
“Sorry, I’ve rambled,” Margaret said. “Should I go?”
“No,” Emily murmured. “You’ve helped me. My husband left today… I thought it was the end. But you’re right. Life doesn’t stop.”
Margaret smiled. “You’ll be alright. He was honest in leaving, not stringing you along. It’ll get better.”
Emily glanced ahead. By the café, a man waved at Margaret. She wheeled toward him, and Emily whispered, “I’ll be alright too.”
That meeting changed her. Divorce was pain, but not the end. Life went on—and Emily was ready to face it, stronger.
