**Diary Entry**
I’ll always have you with me…
Emily flipped the sizzling pieces of meat in the pan, covered it with a lid, and heard the hum of an engine outside the open window, followed by the crunch of tyres on the gravel path. William was home, and she hadn’t finished dinner yet. She checked the apple pie in the oven, pulled vegetables from the fridge, and began washing them.
“Em, I’m home!” William called from the hallway. “Smells amazing,” he said, stepping into the kitchen and inhaling deeply.
“Hungry?” Emily turned off the tap and faced him. “You’re early. Dinner isn’t ready yet.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’ll wait. Is there pudding for after?”
“Yes, apple pie. Can you hold on a bit?”
“Course.” He wandered off to the living room while Emily chopped vegetables for the salad. She hated multitasking, especially cooking two or three dishes at once—she’d lose focus and burn something. But tonight, everything came out perfectly. She set the table and went to fetch William. He was sprawled on the sofa, eyes closed, watching the telly as the news played. She hesitated, unsure whether to wake him, but he opened his eyes before she could decide.
“You look exhausted,” she murmured, searching for the right words.
“A bit. Dinner ready?” He got up, and they walked to the kitchen together.
“Brilliant. Looks lovely, smells even better,” William said, eyeing the spread.
“Fancy some wine? We’ve got a bit left,” Emily offered.
“Not tonight.”
She loved watching him eat—heartily but neatly. She loved him, full stop. Loved cooking for him, ironing his shirts, falling asleep on his shoulder. He wasn’t perfect, but she loved him exactly as he was—quirks, flaws, and all.
***
They met when both had already been through the wringer of marriage. In her first marriage, Emily hadn’t been able to conceive, despite clean bills of health for both. “It happens,” the doctors said. “Be patient, don’t lose hope.”
While she waited and hoped, her husband hadn’t wasted time—he’d found someone else. A friend told her after spotting him at a shopping centre with a heavily pregnant woman, picking out baby clothes. Emily refused to believe it at first. Must’ve been a mistake. They had a good marriage—he wouldn’t… But then the pieces fell into place.
Make a scene? What good would it do? The baby wasn’t to blame, didn’t deserve to grow up without a father. Heartbroken, she decided not to fight for him. She couldn’t bear the thought of him sneaking off or openly leaving. It wasn’t just an affair—it was love, if they’d gone this far. Which meant he no longer loved her.
He came home late, as usual. Emily hadn’t cooked, hadn’t watched telly. Her chest ached with pain and betrayal.
“Feeling poorly?” he asked, finding her curled up on the sofa in the dark.
“No. I’m fine.”
“Then what? Something with your parents? Just tell me.” He stood there, confused, worried.
“It’s not them. It’s you. You’ve got another family. A baby on the way. When were you going to say anything?”
“So you know.” He exhaled sharply, avoiding her gaze. “Should I leave now, or—”
“Now,” Emily cut in, turning away. She held herself together, fighting the sobs, but inside, she was shredded by pain and anger.
He moved around the flat, packing his things without looking at her. Part of her wanted him to beg on his knees, to stay. Another part just wanted him gone.
The sound of suitcase wheels on laminate stopped beside the sofa.
“Get the rest tomorrow, alright?” he asked.
She nodded without looking up.
The wheels rolled to the hallway. Minutes later, the door clicked shut. All over. Only then did it hit her—this was real. She was completely alone. And she broke down. It felt like nothing would ever be right again—no family, no love, no happiness. Life had ended.
She didn’t sleep all night. Paced the flat barefoot, sobbed into the pillow. By morning, she dragged herself to work with red, swollen eyes and a blocked nose. Colleagues assumed she was ill and sent her home. Walking back into the flat, she noticed immediately—every trace of him was gone. Even his toothbrush. Even the dirty shirt in the washing machine. As if eight years of marriage had never happened.
She didn’t know if that was good or bad. Eventually decided it was good. No reminders, no slow torment. Like ripping off a plaster—quick, sharp, done. Better than him “forgetting” things and popping back in. No agonising over his leftovers. Still, she mourned her marriage for a long time.
Then, a year later, she met William. He came into the bank to ask about a mortgage for a house. Later, he invited her for coffee to celebrate the deal.
“Big house—for your kids?” she asked.
“For me, my future wife, and future kids,” he said, looking at her like he was talking about *their* future.
Emily nearly blurted out how much she wanted that—a home, a family. But she held back. Agreeing to coffee was enough.
William told her how, after their daughter was born, his ex-wife changed—always unhappy, snapping if he didn’t call enough. The complaints snowballed.
“I worked hard, came home exhausted. She barely let me near the baby. I even suggested she take a break—visit a friend in Manchester. Called my mum to babysit.”
She came back different—lighter, happier. Said she’d reconnected with an old university flame, that she was leaving. Packed up their daughter and left.
He didn’t stop her, though it gutted him. At first, he visited Manchester often, bringing gifts. Then his daughter grew distant. His ex said the girl had a new dad now—best stay away.
Two lonely souls found each other. With William, it was easy—like she’d known him forever. When it was time to part, she invited him for coffee… Six months later, they married.
But no children came.
“Don’t fret,” William said. “Been there—nappies, bottles. Still fell apart. You’d be knackered, irritated. We’d start fighting… We’re good as we are, yeah? Plenty live without kids.”
Money went into the house instead. Now they had it—mortgage paid, debts settled, just one year left on child support. Time to enjoy life…
***
“Penny for your thoughts?” William asked.
Emily startled. She’d been lost in memories.
“Nothing. Just thinking… You look peaky.”
“Long day.” He stood, stretched, and yawned.
“Go rest,” she sighed. “I’ll clean up.”
When she finished and went to the living room, William was dozing on the sofa, the telly murmuring.
“Will, bed,” she nudged him.
He blinked awake. “Must’ve nodded off. Knackered today.”
“Clearly. Go on up. I’ll be there soon.”
He rubbed his eyes, kissed her cheek, and shuffled off.
Emily locked up, turned off the lights, showered. When she slipped into bed, William was already deep asleep. She curled up beside him. He turned but didn’t wake. Soon, she drifted off too.
Sometime in the night, she heard it—a choked gasp, like he couldn’t breathe. He thrashed.
“Will? Will!” she screamed, flipping on the lamp. His face was red, eyes bulging. He tried to stand but collapsed. Silent. She scrambled to him, shook him, called his name. Nothing.
She tore through the house for the phone. Dialled 999. Busy. Again. Again. Nothing.
“What the hell?!” She trembled, helpless. Neighbours—she had to get help.
In slippers and a dressing gown (when had she put that on?), she bolted outside, hammered on the neighbour’s gate. A dog barked, lights flicked on. Clive opened the door.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Emily—William—please—”
His wife appeared. “Ambulance won’t answer—help, it’s Will—”
“Stay here, give her valerian!” Clive shouted, sprinting next door.
Emily sobbed, rambling about waking up, Will collapsing…
“Mum, what’s happening?” Their teenage son stood on the stairs.
“Bed. Now,” his mother ordered.
“He’s not—he can’t be—he’s only forty-four. Healthy, never ill—”
Sirens wailed at last. Emily dashed back inside just as the paramedics carried Will out—a sheet covering him completely. She screamed, lunged. Someone held her back.
“Easy, love. You’ll need your strength,” Clive muttered, pulling her close. She fought,She sank to her knees, whispering into the empty air, “You’ll be with me always,” and for the first time since he’d gone, she felt the warmth of his hand in hers, not in memory, but as if he’d never left at all.
