**Diary Entry – 15th December**
The air was biting cold as I left the office, my breath forming little clouds. My car was dusted with a delicate layer of frost, and I wasted no time turning on the heater, rubbing my gloved hands together as warmth slowly seeped in. The wipers cleared the icy residue from the windscreen, and I pulled out into the sluggish evening traffic. Every set of lights seemed intent on turning red just as I approached. The high street was a sea of brake lights—Friday evening chaos.
Passing the shopping centre, I impulsively turned in, figuring I might as well browse for Christmas presents while waiting out the rush. But the car park was packed, every space taken. Just my luck. I could’ve stayed on the road, inching forward, rather than wasting time here.
Then, in the rearview mirror, headlights flared—an SUV reversing out of a spot, as though yielding it to me.
Inside, the shopping centre was swarming, stiflingly warm despite the December chill outside. I unbuttoned my coat, loosened my scarf, and wandered past shelves lined with tinsel and baubles. Bright colours, flashing fairy lights—it was dizzying. I dropped a few glittery ornaments into my basket, a pair of silver reindeer, some towels with Santa prints, a set of champagne flutes etched with festive wishes.
For colleagues and friends, these would do. For Mum and my husband, I’d find something more substantial later. The queue at the till stretched forever, and I regretted coming at peak time. I should’ve waited for Saturday morning.
At last, my turn came. The cashier scanned my items, and I winced at the total—far more than I’d intended. Oh well.
Clutching the bulging bag, I wove through the crowd, careful not to let anyone jostle it.
“Emily!”
I barely registered my own name, kept walking.
“Parker!”
My maiden name. I paused, earning a few exasperated sighs from people behind me. I stepped aside, scanning the faces.
“Hey, Em,” came a voice right beside me.
I turned. A bearded man stood there, a worn black beanie pulled low over his brow. He grinned, revealing a missing front tooth. His clothes hung off him, dishevelled. Already, I wished I hadn’t stopped.
“Don’t recognise me?” he asked. “Knew it was you straight away. You look a million quid.” His laugh was raspy, but there was something familiar in it.
“We were in the same year. Secondary school.”
“Robert?” I gasped. I wanted to ask what had happened to him, how he’d ended up like this, but the words stuck in my throat.
“That’s me,” he said, still grinning. “Changed much?”
“A bit,” I admitted. “What… what happened?”
“Long story. Fancy a cuppa? There’s a café here.” His hopeful look twisted my stomach.
I couldn’t reconcile this man with the boy I’d known—the one I’d cried over for months when he started dating that girl, the one I’d secretly fancied for years. Now, standing beside him made my skin prickle with shame.
“Sorry, I’ve got to go,” I muttered, glancing away as if searching for an escape. But the crowd flowed past, indifferent.
Robert waited, expectant.
“Alright, but just quickly,” I relented, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else.
He brightened and ushered me towards the café, chattering away.
Inside, it was packed.
“Over there,” he pointed to a dim corner table.
*At least it’s out of sight,* I thought, relieved.
The waiter handed us menus. Robert’s eyes darted over the pages, his throat working as he swallowed.
“Just coffee for me,” I said.
The waiter barely glanced at him, his disdain obvious. *What’s a woman like her doing with someone like that?*
Robert ordered—a full meal. The waiter arched a brow at me, and I gave a tiny nod.
“Coffee’s decent here,” Robert said once the waiter left. “I eat here a fair bit.”
“You work nearby?”
He nodded, shame flickering across his face. Not a manager, then. Maybe a cleaner or stockroom hand. I didn’t press.
“You became a doctor, yeah? Like you wanted.”
“You remember that?”
“Course. Endocrinologist, right?”
Another nod. Approval? Resignation?
“Got presents for the family?” He gestured at my bag.
I didn’t answer. “Are you married?”
“Was. To Jenny. Remember her? Proper piece of work. It’s ’cause of her I ended up… like this.”
Jenny. The name sent a cold ripple through me. The girl he’d chosen over me.
“I was young. Stupid. She wouldn’t leave me alone, and before I knew it, we were at the registry office.” He hesitated. “I liked you, you know.”
*And I liked you,* I almost said.
The food arrived. Robert ate quickly, eyes down. A man at the next table caught my eye, smirking until his wife elbowed him.
I sipped my coffee, desperate to leave.
“What happened?” I asked bluntly.
Robert set down his fork.
“Started off fine. Nice flat, good job—engineering degree, decent wage. But Jenny wanted more. Said we should start a business, her dad would front the cash. Mate of hers suggested a car parts shop. So I jumped in.”
He exhaled sharply. “Went tits up. Don’t even know how. She called me useless, filed for divorce. Moved back with my parents. Then these blokes turned up, said I owed her dad money. Sold my car, my parents dipped into savings. Cleared the debt, but I was skint.”
His voice cracked. “Dad had a heart attack a month later. Jenny married my old business partner. They’re doing well. Reckon they set me up, bled me dry. Could’ve just told me she didn’t love me.”
He rubbed his face. “Drank. Lost everything. Only sticking around for my mum now.”
“You could’ve sued them.”
“Was in no state. Jenny paid people off anyway. Threatened me when I said I’d get even. Had two lads rough me up—spent two months in hospital.” His laugh was hollow. “Not complaining, mind. Just wish I’d seen it coming.”
The waiter loomed. I reached for my purse.
“Got it,” Robert snapped, slapping down crumpled notes.
We left in silence. Outside, frost glittered under the streetlights.
“Em, don’t worry about me. I’m alright.”
“I should go,” I said, cutting him off. “I’ve got the car.”
He watched me walk away, shoulders hunched against the cold.
At home, my husband arched a brow at my lateness.
“Just shopping,” I muttered, slipping off my coat.
“Something wrong?”
I hesitated, then told him.
“He’s given up,” David shrugged. “Could’ve fought back. Weak.”
“He’s not weak. He’s—”
“Pity won’t help him.”
Still, I asked David if he could give Robert a chance at his firm. Reluctantly, he agreed.
A week later, I went back. The security guard shrugged when I asked after Robert.
“Gone. Month now.”
“What do you mean, *gone*?”
“Not our problem. Blokes like him come and go.”
I left my card. “If he comes back, tell him to call.”
The guard pocketed it without looking.
Once, I thought I saw Robert on the street. But it wasn’t him.
I tell myself he straightened out, found work. But he never called. And I try not to wonder what really happened.
Some doors, once closed, stay shut forever.
