Edward sat in the darkened living room, listening to the quiet hum of the night. Outside, a car pulled up, its engine cutting off with a gentle thud. A door clicked shut, and light footsteps echoed briefly before fading into the hallway. Then, at last, the turn of a key in the lock.
He held his breath, straining to catch every sound. The rustle of fabric, the faint creak of cautious steps. *Afraid to wake me—didn’t even put on slippers*, he thought bitterly.
The door eased open. Emily tiptoed into the bedroom, the dim streetlight revealing the untouched bed, still neatly made. She froze, sensing his gaze, and turned.
“You scared me,” she said sharply. “Why are you awake?”
“Waiting for you.” He stood, flicked on the light. Emily flinched at the sudden brightness.
“Where were you?” Edward studied her pale face, her smudged makeup.
“Sorry, I forgot to tell you—” Her eyes darted to the floor.
“Don’t say you were at a friend’s. Just tell me the truth. It’ll be easier for both of us. How long have you been cheating?”
She recoiled as if struck. Then, barely shaking her head—
“Two months,” she whispered, lifting her eyes just for a second. “I meant to tell you sooner, but… I’ll go now.” She hurried out. The sound of movement in the hallway followed—shuffling, the scrape of something heavy.
Emily returned with a suitcase, dropped it onto the bed, and yanked open the wardrobe. Hangers clattered as she pulled out dresses, jumpers, tossing them beside the suitcase.
“Maybe do this tomorrow when I’m not here?” Edward grabbed a pillow and left.
He collapsed onto the sofa in the other room, still dressed, dragging a blanket over himself. Sleep was impossible. He wanted to smash everything, to scream, to wipe away the traces of another man’s touch from her skin. He forced slow breaths, fighting the storm inside.
***
They’d gone to Brighton Beach to celebrate the end of term. Stripped down, raced into the waves. Then Tom and James went for beer, leaving Edward to guard their things.
Perched on his jeans, he watched kids splashing near the shore. A girl emerged from the water—tall, golden-skinned—and walked straight toward him. She grabbed a towel from a nearby blanket, drying her dark hair. Edward couldn’t look away from the droplets glistening on her skin.
She caught him staring and turned sharply. He didn’t look away fast enough. For a second, he felt like a guilty child, but then she smiled. By the time Tom and James returned, they were laughing like old friends.
Seeing the lads, Emily started gathering her things. She pulled a sundress over her head, vanishing for a second beneath the fabric. Tom shot Edward a knowing smirk; James gave a thumbs-up.
Then the dress settled, Emily adjusted it, smiled at them, and walked off.
“Go on,” Tom said, shoving Edward’s shoulder.
“Emily, wait!” He scrambled into his jeans and chased after her without a word to his mates.
He came home late.
“Where were you? We called a dozen times!” his mother snapped.
“Sorry, my phone died after the exam. I’m getting married,” he blurted.
“What?”
“He’s getting married. Good timing—third year, twenty years old. We’ll have a grandchild by graduation,” his father said calmly.
“No, it’s not like that. I met the girl I’m going to marry, that’s all,” Edward corrected.
“You just met her tonight?” his mother demanded. “David, are you hearing this?” Her eyes darted between them.
“Relax, Sarah. He’s in love. Let him dream. He’s alive, happy—that’s what matters. We’ll talk tomorrow.” His father guided her to bed.
Two weeks later, he brought Emily home. His mother grilled her—shared student housing, no permanent address—and declared it all a scheme for a London flat. She waited until Edward returned from walking Emily out.
“You don’t like her?” he asked, crestfallen.
“What matters is that you do,” his father said.
They married after New Year’s. His dad handed them keys.
“Cheers. Didn’t expect this.”
“It’s my old flat. Started the renovations—you can finish.” His father hugged him.
***
He drifted off near dawn, waking to Emily standing over him with the suitcase.
“Sorry, I woke you after all,” she said, moving toward the hall.
The weight of last night crashed over him. He wanted to stop her—but the front door clicked shut. He thought she’d return in a day or two.
She didn’t.
Her keys sat abandoned on the hallway table. The silence was unbearable. He called—no answer, no returned messages. Once, he waited outside her university, only to see her leave arm-in-arm with another man. He ducked behind a tree.
Empty flat. Empty life. He went to his parents’.
“I never liked her. Found someone with more money, didn’t she?” his mother muttered.
“Enough, Sarah. He’s hurting,” his father said.
The divorce was final a month later. On the way home, he bought a bottle of whiskey, ready to drown in it.
His father showed up unannounced. They drank, talked all night. His dad confessed his first wife had died—hit by a drunk driver while pregnant. He’d nearly lost himself, until he met Sarah and little Eddie.
Edward never drank like that again.
Six months later, his mother announced her friend’s niece was visiting from Manchester.
“She’ll stay until she finds work and a flat. You can show her around.”
“Trying to matchmake? Did you invite her just for me?”
But the girl was sweet—slight, with a tousled pixie cut that made her look like a teenager. She squinted adorably, too shy for glasses. *This one’s trying to conquer London?* He took her under his wing, showed her the city, coached her for interviews, helped her find a cheap flat.
“Try the pie. Sophie made it. Her cooking’s brilliant. Lucky man who marries her,” his mother praised.
*Why not? Emily’s moved on. Time I did too.*
“Right. I’ll marry her,” he joked.
“Think carefully. Last time you rushed. I won’t let you hurt her,” his mother warned.
They married quietly after graduation—just family, no fuss.
Sophie was nothing like Emily—gentle, fragile. Maybe that’s what he needed. But nights were heavy with regret.
A year later, they wandered a shopping centre, hunting for his father’s anniversary gift. Sophie lingered by a toy display.
“Look how sweet these are. I had a bear like this. Should we get one?”
He barely heard her. Outside the store, Emily walked by.
“Back in a sec.” He sprinted after her, catching her by the escalator.
“Hi. That your wife?” Emily asked. “Pretty. You’ve changed. Happy?”
He shrugged. “You?”
“Didn’t work out. Sneaking around’s one thing—living together’s another. Your mum told me you remarried.”
“She never mentioned seeing you.”
“She never liked me. Does she like *her*?” Emily’s stare cut deep.
“Where are you living now?”
“Renting. Still got my number? Call me sometime. Got to run.”
Sophie’s voice cut in: “That her?” Holding a plush bear, watching him.
“Ex-wife. You bought it?” He forced calm, dragging her toward the exit.
“What about the gift?”
“We’ll find one later.”
After that, Sophie grew quiet. He didn’t notice—too busy thinking of Emily.
One night, locked in the loo, he called. Emily answered eagerly.
“Come over. I’ve missed you. Seeing you that day—I realized what I threw away. You still love me. Otherwise you wouldn’t have chased me.”
“I’m married.”
“So? You don’t love her. Just talk, Eddie. That’s all.”
He resisted for days. Then caved.
Emily welcomed him flushed, in a frilly apron. The flat smelled of dinner.
“Wine?” She offered red.
“Driving,” he refused, chewing tough meat while she beamed, refilling his plate.
Later, she pressed against him, breath hot in his ear.
“Start over with me. I’d give you a son—”
“I’m married.”
“You don’t love her.”
He woke at midnight, disgusted with himself. Dressed silently, fled.
Sophie stirred as he slid into bed.
“Where were you?”
“Just water. Go back to sleep.”
At breakfast, she cracked.
“You were with her.”
“Ran into Tom. Lost track of time.” He checked his jacket—no phone.
Panic spiked. *Left it at Emily’s. She’ll call Sophie.*Edward picked up the phone as Sophie slept beside him, deleted Emily’s number for good, and finally let go of the past, choosing instead the quiet love that had always been there waiting for him.
