Shadows of the Past: A Path to New Happiness
James stepped out of work, nearly slipping on the icy steps. Wet snow had fallen the day before, freezing overnight, and now a bitter wind lashed at his face. Cars honked in the gridlock, drivers impatient to get home. Once, traffic would have irritated him, but now it was a relief—he dreaded returning to an empty house.
Something had broken between him and Sarah. Seven years of marriage, beginning in their university days, had dissolved into routine. Whatever love had been there had vanished, leaving only habit. James often wondered—where was the feeling that once bound them? Had it ever existed at all?
Every marriage has its struggles, but without children, theirs had nothing left to fight for. Their relationship had always been steady, never marked by passion. James hadn’t been head over heels for Sarah, but being with her had felt comfortable.
“We’ve been together four years,” she’d said one day at university. “What next? I need to know if I’m in your plans.”
Her words had been a hint at marriage. James hadn’t thought much about it but replied, “Of course you are. Once we graduate, find jobs, we’ll get married. Why do you ask?”
“I just need certainty,” she murmured.
“Don’t worry,” he’d hugged her. “You’ll get it all—the white dress, the wedding, kids.” At the time, he’d believed it.
Sarah didn’t bring it up again until after graduation. They found jobs—she insisted on different companies. They saw less of each other. Before her birthday, she brought up marriage again:
“Mum keeps asking when we’ll tie the knot.”
“What’s the rush?” he deflected.
“You don’t love me?” Her voice trembled. “Why string me along all these years?”
James was used to her. Why look for someone else? On her birthday, he gave her a ring and proposed. Sarah beamed—her mother wiped away tears. At home, James told his parents, “I’m getting married.”
His mother frowned. “Why so soon? Get on your feet first. Or is there… a reason?”
She’d never liked Sarah—too controlling beneath her quiet exterior.
“There’s no reason,” James said. “We love each other. Four years together—why wait?”
“This was her idea,” his mother sighed. “Think it through, son.”
But his mind was made up.
Their May wedding was beautiful. Sarah in white looked like spring itself. Kids? They’d wait—first, a flat, a car. James’ parents helped with the mortgage deposit. They bought a two-bed, furnished it. His father handed over his old car and bought a new one. Life was falling into place.
Then Sarah got an idea—James should start a business. An old classmate sold electronics and needed a partner.
“I’m a construction engineer—I like my job,” he argued. “The market’s too competitive.”
“I thought you’d want to work for yourself,” she pressed. “Everyone needs electronics. You could outmaneuver competitors.”
“I don’t want to,” he said flatly.
Sarah sulked. They had their first real fight, barely speaking for days. They reconciled, but she kept pushing—business would pay off the mortgage faster. James began to suspect his mother was right—he’d rushed into this. Did he even love Sarah?
Luckily, the classmate’s venture failed, ending the argument. They paid off the mortgage, bought James an SUV, then a small car for Sarah. Now, surely, it was time for children. His mother fretted:
“Why no kids? Is something wrong?”
“It’ll happen,” he reassured her, not admitting Sarah was against it.
“All our friends have kids,” he told his wife. “We’re nearly thirty. We’ve got jobs, a home, cars—it’s time.”
“Kids?” She waved a hand. “I won’t give up my career for nappies. Become a housewife? You’d stop loving me first.”
Sarah got a promotion, burying herself in work. Children remained James’ dream.
One evening, he trudged home through the cold. Sarah was glued to her phone.
“Took you long enough,” she muttered.
“Traffic,” he said shortly.
“Emily called—invited us for New Year’s. You’re quiet?”
“You already agreed,” he shrugged.
“And you don’t want to?” she snapped.
“I wanted it to be just us. We’re drifting apart. Candles, romance—just once.”
“Seriously?” She scoffed. “Sit in front of the telly, then your parents, then mine. Boring. I promised Emily.”
She went back to her phone. James tried once more: “Say plans changed.”
“No,” she cut him off.
Emily’s party was loud. James noticed a man watching Sarah. She flirted, laughed too loudly, then danced with him. After, they slipped into a corner, deep in conversation. Without a word, James left.
Sarah returned three hours later, furious.
“You abandoned me!”
“You were busy,” he countered. “Did your gentleman see you home?”
“Yes! And you—” she broke off.
“Me what? He’s rich, I’m a failure? Maybe we should divorce.”
“Fine!” she spat.
New Year’s passed in silence. Divorce was inevitable. Sarah demanded the flat, but James refused—he’d paid the mortgage, financed the renovations. The court split assets. She got a one-bed, some furniture returned to him.
At first, loneliness ached. But James adjusted. He learned to cook, let the washing machine handle laundry, though he still hated ironing.
One evening, parking at home, he heard the door fling open. A woman stumbled on the step, nearly falling—James caught her.
“Heel broke!” she gasped. “Now I’ll be late!”
“Let me help you inside to change, then I’ll drive you,” he offered.
She smiled sadly. “Really? Thank you.”
In the car, she admitted, “I know you. Two months ago, I flooded your flat—I live above you.”
James remembered—she’d seemed older then.
“My son died a year and a half ago,” she whispered. “My husband couldn’t handle it—left. Now he’s got a new family, another baby on the way. You don’t look happy either.”
He didn’t get to reply—they’d arrived. The next day, she brought him a homemade stew.
“Had to thank you. Cooked too much.”
James suggested dinner.
“I’m Catherine,” she said. “My son called me Ladybird, like in the cartoon.”
Tears filled her eyes. Soon, she left.
They exchanged brief greetings in the hallway. When James fell ill, Catherine brought medicine.
“Heard you coughing at night.”
She often shared meals; he fixed her gadgets.
New Year’s Eve, James stayed in alone, ignoring his parents’ invite. He drank champagne, watched telly, feeling marooned. At midnight, the doorbell rang. Catherine stood there—hair styled, in a lovely dress.
“Made too much food. Join me?”
At her table, he dozed off.
“Should go—nearly asleep,” he mumbled.
“Stay,” she pleaded. “Don’t want to be alone. I’ll think of my boy and cry.”
He stayed. Her touch woke him later. Morning brought breakfast.
“Fancy ice skating?” he asked.
“Haven’t in twenty years,” she admitted.
“Me neither. Come on.”
After, they stopped at a café. Back home, he let her into his flat. They parted at dawn when his mother called him for lunch.
Then Catherine vanished. A month passed—no sign. Finally, he cornered her.
“Avoiding me? Why?”
She confessed:
“I liked you straightaway. I want a child—time’s running out. That’s why I… But you don’t love me. I’m older—nothing will come of this. And I’m pregnant.”
James argued—he’d always wanted kids; Sarah refused. Five years’ age gap meant nothing. He’d marry her.
“Alright,” she relented. “But no changes yet. After the baby, we’ll decide.”
James stayed over often, drove her to work and appointments. Then Sarah showed up, begging him back, claiming misery. Catherine walked in.
“Found comfort quickly!” Sarah sneered, spotting her bump. “Elderly women now?”
She hurled insults, then left.
In September, Catherine had a daughter. They married. Love? Perhaps this was it—rushing home to hug his child, cherishing every moment.
New Year’s approaches. May it bring warmth to lonely hearts still searching.
