**Shattered Happiness: A Drama of Lost Bonds**
Emma wakes at dawn, the first rays of sunlight barely piercing the curtains of their flat in the quiet town of Oakwood. While her husband, James, lingers in bed, she prepares breakfast—thin, nearly weightless pancakes. Half stuffed with ham, half with cheese. The aroma drifts through the house, filling it with warmth. James rises when the scent reaches the bedroom. After washing up, he sits at the table, devouring the pancakes with gusto, washing them down with strong coffee. As he finishes the last bite, he looks at his wife and says:
“Emma, we need to talk. Seriously.”
Emma, wiping her hands on a tea towel, turns from the sink.
“Go on,” she says, a knot of dread forming in her chest.
“I’m leaving you. I’ll file for divorce myself.” His voice is calm but firm.
“Leaving? Why? Where are you going?” Emma freezes, her eyes wide with shock.
The Saturday morning had begun like any other. Emma rose at nine, careful not to wake James, and started on the pancakes. She loved these moments—the quiet of the morning, the scent of cooking, the cosiness of their home.
James emerged when the smell filled the flat. Sitting in silence, he ate, sipped his coffee, then dropped the bombshell:
“Emma, I’m leaving you.”
She thought she’d misheard. Turning, she stared at him.
“I know this is wretched of me,” James continued, avoiding her gaze. “Twenty-five years together, and I’m throwing it all away. But I can’t help myself. She’s… incredible. With her, I feel alive again, young again. I’m in love, Emma—madly, wildly happy!”
“And how old is this happiness of yours?” Emma asks icily, fighting to keep her voice steady.
“She’s twenty-eight.”
“So, only five years older than our Lily. And twenty years younger than you. Fascinating. Have you met her parents? Are they thrilled about their daughter’s choice? If Lily brought home a man your age, I wouldn’t be celebrating.”
“Why count the years when love is in the heart?” James exclaims, his voice trembling. “You don’t have the fire that Holly does. You live by these outdated rules.”
“Fine,” Emma cuts in. “We divorce and divide the assets.”
“There’s nothing to divide,” he argues. “You can keep the flat—Holly has her own, a two-bed. I’ll take the car. You barely use it.”
“No, that won’t do,” Emma shakes her head. “You say now you’ll leave me the flat, then in a year or two, you’ll come back demanding every last cup. I’m a solicitor—I’ve seen enough ‘noble’ gestures turn ugly. We split everything now: the flat, the car. There’s no savings left—we gave it all to Lily for her mortgage.”
James is stunned by her composure. He expected tears, shouting, accusations, but Emma only helps him pack. At the door, she wishes him luck, but once he’s gone, she lets the tears fall. Twenty-five years together—through joys and sorrows. She had always believed him to be steady. Now, emptiness.
“Alone?” Emma thinks, dabbing her cheeks. “Not exactly. I have Lily, her husband, little Alfie.”
She sits among the scattered belongings James hastily gathered, memories flooding back. Their wedding—Emma still at university, James nearly finished. Lily was born soon after. They lived in a cramped dorm, passing the baby between lectures. Later, with the university’s help, they got her into nursery.
Their first flat—a tiny room in a shared house. A bed, a cot, and a kitchenette squeezed into eighteen square metres. The bathroom down the hall, the shower in the basement. Back then, James never complained about missing ‘fire’.
The divorce was quick. The asset division didn’t drag on. They sold the car immediately, but the three-bed flat took three months to find a buyer.
Emma bought a snug two-bed nearby in Oakwood. She took out a small loan, but managed. With more free time after work, she picked up old hobbies—knitting, reading.
One day, her old friend Lucy rang, suggesting they swim together. The water soothed her. Months later, Emma felt her confidence returning. Work brought satisfaction, life smoothed out.
She thought of James less and less. When he called, she asked him not to.
Three years passed. Emma celebrated her birthday at a café with two friends.
“Regret the divorce?” Sarah asks.
“Do I have a choice?” Emma smiles wryly.
“I mean—is it better now, or worse? Being alone.”
“Haven’t thought about it,” Emma admits. “In some ways better—I have time for myself. But loneliness isn’t always easy. Thank God for Alfie.”
She isn’t lying. Sometimes, strolling through Oakwood or the shopping centre, she spots elderly couples holding hands. Once, she imagined she and James would be like that. But fate had other plans.
“Have you heard from James?” Sarah asks.
“No. Three years now,” Emma says. “Lily mentioned seeing him with that woman in a shop.”
“Apparently, his ‘madam’ gave him a son,” the other friend, Rachel, adds.
“James always wanted a boy. So, he’s happy.” Emma keeps her tone steady.
A week later, after Lily and her family visit, Emma tidies the kitchen. Just as she starts washing dishes, the doorbell rings. Thinking Lily forgot something, she opens it—and freezes.
James stands on the doorstep.
“What are you doing here?” she frowns. “How did you get my address?”
“Lily gave it to me. I came to talk. Can I come in?”
“Fine.” She steps aside.
James glances around.
“Cosy. And it smells like pancakes. Any chance of some?”
“You wanted to talk. I’ve got swimming soon,” she replies coolly.
“Going swimming? You look great—new hairstyle, glowing.”
“Enough compliments. Why are you here?”
“Just missed you. Wanted to see how you’re doing. Looks like you’re thriving. Divorce suited you,” he says, a hint of regret in his voice.
“Had your fill of ‘young fire’, then?” Emma smirks. “Heard you have a son. Congratulations.”
“It’s so quiet here,” he sighs. “Did you know it’d be like this?”
“Like what?”
“You, in your own flat, living peacefully, swimming, holidays with Lily and Alfie.”
“And what’s stopping you? Buy a place, take your young wife abroad. Why blame me? We split everything fairly.”
“The money didn’t last,” James admits. “The wedding, a trip to the Maldives, a new car… Now I live at hers, like a lodger. Can’t even ask for clean sheets or pancakes.”
“That’s enough, James. I’m late. Goodbye—don’t come back.”
He leaves. Emma grabs her bag and heads to the pool. *”Maybe I’m better off now,”* she thinks, stepping outside.
Meanwhile, James sits in his car, in no hurry to return. His eyes are filled with longing.
