A Christmas Farewell and a New Year’s Miracle
The kitchen was filled with the rich scent of roasted meat and potatoes, candlelight flickering warmly upon the table as Emily adjusted the tablecloth, her heart fluttering in anticipation of her husband’s return. Tonight, she had put in extra effort—the New Year was approaching, and she longed for the evening to feel special. Yet, William was late—two whole hours. The food grew cold, and so, too, did her heart, just a little. But when he finally opened the door, she rushed to greet him, relief washing over her—her beloved was home.
They sat in silence at the table. Emily smiled hesitantly, but William stabbed listlessly at his plate with his fork. Abruptly, he set it down, avoiding her eyes, and spoke bluntly:
“The meat’s tough again. Actually… I’m leaving. There’s someone else. Has been for a while. I don’t love you, understand? Maybe I never did. I don’t even know why we married.”
The words stung like slaps. Emily couldn’t utter a sound, motionless with a bite of that very meat still in her mouth. Seven years of marriage—erased in a single supper.
“What about me, William?” she whispered. “What do I do now?”
“Live. You’re young; you’ll meet someone. No children binding us—nothing to hold you back. And Margaret, the woman I’m leaving for—she’s wonderful. Older than me, with a daughter who calls me Dad. I love her like my own. And she cooks better, by the way…”
He said it casually, as if discussing holiday plans. The flat could stay hers—he wasn’t that much of a cad. He’d take the car—it was on his finance. Fair was fair. He even added,
“Happy New Year, Emily. Hope next year brings you happiness.”
With that, William left, leaving behind only the faint trace of his cologne—and silence.
Margaret. A girl who called him Dad. God, how it ached.
Emily sank into the armchair, staring blankly. On the armrest lay his old t-shirt, the one he often slept in. She pressed it to her face and wept—quiet, wrenching sobs, the kind that come when not just love, but an entire life, collapses.
But morning brought resolve. The shirt went into the bin. She dried her tears, stood tall, and murmured, “Enough. I won’t break.”
She skipped the office party—no heart for merriment. Colleagues pitied her, especially Sarah from accounts, to whom she’d foolishly confided. Their sympathy hurt worse than the pain itself.
Her mother, upon hearing the news, merely sighed:
“Maybe he’ll come back? Forgive him, love—these things happen…”
“I don’t want him back, Mum. He never loved me. And I… I don’t think I ever knew what love was.”
“Come stay with us for the holidays—”
“No. I need to be alone. To adjust.”
On the 31st, Emily bought satsumas, ready-made salads, champagne, and a jar of caviar. She strung up fairy lights, as she did every year. Then she remembered an old childhood tradition—writing a wish on a slip of paper.
“I want to meet my soulmate and be happy,” she wrote, folding it neatly beneath her pillow.
Her spirits lifted slightly. As Big Ben chimed midnight, she stepped onto the balcony, gazing skyward with a wry smile.
“Well then, where are you, my soulmate? Don’t judge me for my cooking or leave me for a Margaret. Just come.”
“What kind of music do you like?” came a man’s voice from below.
“Who—what?” Emily startled.
“Thomas. From downstairs. Overheard you. Apologies…”
“I love classical. And opera.”
“Perfect. I don’t spend evenings glued to a screen, and there’s no Margaret in my life. I’m alone too… recently divorced.”
“Thomas… Very nice. You know what? Come up. We’ll listen to some music.”
“Just a moment—I’ll grab a jar of marmalade and a bottle of bubbly!”
They welcomed the New Year together—dancing, laughing, eating satsumas. Emily couldn’t recall when she’d last laughed so freely. It was a magical night.
Then came dates—ice skating, cafés, long conversations. Thomas was kind, genuine. She fell for him deeper each day.
At the divorce hearing, Emily wore a white blouse and a smile. William was stunned.
“You… You’re happy?”
“Yes. And grateful. For my freedom. I think I’ve finally found my soulmate.”
She walked away without looking back—truly happy, for the first time.
Sometimes, to truly begin living, all you need is to greet the New Year with an open heart.
