How it aches…
Emily was on the phone when Daniel peeked into the office. Charlotte rolled her eyes in Emily’s direction, signaling that the call was important and they weren’t in the mood for interruptions. Daniel’s head vanished as the door shut.
Ten minutes later, Emily hung up and set her phone aside.
“Daniel came by for you,” Charlotte said.
“For me? Maybe for you,” Emily shot back, flushing.
“I’m married. Haven’t you noticed how he looks at you?”
“How?” Emily lifted her gaze from the monitor.
“Interested,” Charlotte replied with a sly grin.
Of course Emily had noticed. She had eyes, didn’t she? Yes, he was handsome—just her type. If only he weren’t so much younger…
Work piled up, and Emily skipped lunch with Charlotte. Daniel slipped into the office and set a steaming cup of coffee on her desk.
“Take a break. Buried in work?” he asked.
“Always,” Emily smiled, sipping the hot drink gratefully.
“Fancy a film tonight?”
“Sorry, I’ve got my little Sophie to look after.” She took another sip, avoiding his eyes.
“I know. Couldn’t your mum watch her for the evening?”
Emily finally met his gaze. At last, he’d made the first move, after all that silent flirting. Handsome, always smiling. If he were just a few years older, she wouldn’t have hesitated to respond to his attentions.
She looked younger than her age—but not young enough to hide the gap between them. After her painful divorce, she’d steered clear of men for years, wary of new mistakes and heartbreak. Time dulled pain, though, and caution too. She felt ready to love again—but Daniel? Really?
“Well? Did he come by?” Charlotte asked when she returned from lunch.
“Who?” Emily pretended ignorance.
“Why do you dodge him? He’s decent. If I weren’t married—”
“Don’t be daft,” Emily cut in. “I’m years older than him. It’s ridiculous.”
“So what? You don’t look it. And a bit of male company does any woman good, especially a lonely one. I see how you light up when he’s around—rosy cheeks, smiling more. Admit it.”
Emily stayed silent.
“You’ve been alone for years. Said yourself you’re ready. While you wait for some ‘age-appropriate’ bloke, some pretty girl will snatch Daniel up. Give him a chance. Just for fun, for your own sake.”
Emily said nothing. But Charlotte was right. Maybe a film wouldn’t hurt?
She called her mum, arranged for Sophie to stay the night. The film would run late, and she’d fetch her in the morning before nursery. Her mum squinted, studying Emily’s face, but stayed quiet.
The evening was lovely—she hadn’t been to the cinema in ages, let alone concerts or anything fun. It ended in bed. Not that she minded. Why wait? She was free, so was he. For her own sake, then.
“Well? How was it?” Charlotte asked the next day. “Don’t play clueless. You’re glowing.”
Emily stayed silent, making it clear she wouldn’t discuss her private life. But secrecy didn’t last. Daniel dropped by, throwing her loaded glances that made her pulse race and thoughts scatter. Charlotte noticed, of course—smirking knowingly, looking away.
Their fling gathered speed. They met daily—always at hers. Daniel still lived with his mum. At first, he’d arrive after Sophie was asleep, leaving before she woke. Sometimes he lingered. The girl never questioned why her mum’s friend sat drinking coffee in the kitchen at dawn. She liked it, actually—her mum never raised her voice when he was around, even if Sophie dawdled getting dressed.
When Emily married, her ex often suggested selling both their flats for a bigger home once kids came. She’d refused—hers was a gift from her father before he died. Small, yes, but who knew what life held? Turned out, the flat was useful after all.
With Daniel in her life, Emily started dreaming of more space. Sophie was growing up, understanding things. But after the divorce, she’d bought a second-hand car and was still paying off the loan.
“Ever thought about a mortgage?” Daniel asked once.
“Yes, but I’ve still got the car loan.”
The question unnerved her. How long would this last? Years flew by; a woman’s youth didn’t. Aging together was one thing—but Daniel was just hitting his prime. How much longer would she look this good? Soon, the gap would show. Cosmetics, treatments, surgery—all expensive. And still, youth slipped away. She’d seen films where women ruined themselves chasing it, only to lose their lovers anyway. If she tied herself to a mortgage, then he left, she’d be stuck paying it off alone, barely scraping by.
But Daniel grew on her daily. If some girl smiled at him, jealousy stabbed Emily’s chest like a splinter, clouding her mind. How could she not fall for him? Her heart was free—it wanted love. She wasn’t old yet.
So she hesitated, waited.
Then Daniel left for a two-day work trip. With nothing urgent at the office to distract her, loneliness gnawed. At lunch, she walked out for air—chilly but dry, though snow was forecast. After one stop, she turned back, ducking into a café for coffee. She shrugged off her coat—then froze. There was Daniel. Across from him, a young blonde. They leaned close, foreheads nearly touching, hands clasped. That look—no mistaking it. He’d said he was away. Her chest burned, breath vanished. She fled before he noticed.
She’d known this would come—just not so soon. She’d thought they’d part lightly when the time came. But she hadn’t planned on falling for him. What now? A row? Throw him out? Revenge? But it hurt—oh, how it hurt.
That evening, she snapped at Sophie for misbehaving. The girl cried; Emily hugged her tight, sobbing too—rage, hurt, disappointment spilling out. Would she ever have a proper family, grow old with someone, see grandchildren?
She tucked Sophie in but lay awake. If Daniel came, lied about returning early, desperate to see her… she’d forgive him. Maybe she’d misseen? They’d been side-on. Should she have approached? No—it was him. She’d ironed that shirt that morning. If she confronted him, she’d spew venom.
She barely slept, waking groggy and irritable. Sophie, cranky and slow, refused nursery after Emily’s scolding. That evening, Daniel would return. Better Sophie didn’t witness their row. Emily called her mum, asking her to keep Sophie overnight.
After work, she paced, waiting. The doorbell rang. She let him in, stepping aside.
“Hi. Where’s Soph? At your mum’s? Good—I missed you,” he murmured, kissing her. She pulled back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked warily.
“Headache. Might be a cold. Didn’t want Soph catching it. You got back today?” She stared hard.
“Yeah, an hour ago. Came straight here.” He nuzzled her hair—and she caught a whiff of foreign perfume.
“I saw you today. With a blonde, at the café.” She shoved him off. “How long have you lied? Just tell me if you’ve found someone else—I’d let you go. But you’re like all the rest.”
“Em—” He reached for her; she recoiled.
“Please, leave. I’ll bring your things to work.”
He pleaded, but she locked herself in the bathroom, drowning him out with the tap. When she emerged, he was gone. She nearly crumbled—then called Charlotte.
“Meet me. I’m falling apart. Not at home.”
They met at a pub. Wine loosened her tongue, lightening the weight.
“Didn’t think I’d react like this—this jealous, this torn up. I know it’ll pass, but right now…”
Charlotte refilled her glass. The wine helped—the hurt felt smaller with each sip. Charlotte listened, offering no advice. What was there to say?
Emily barely felt drunk—until she stood. The room spun; nausea rose. Charlotte hustled her outside.
“I need to fetch Soph. Hail a cab.”
“Like this? Get her tomorrow.”
“My husband’ll kill me,” Charlotte muttered, flagging a taxi. She bundled Emily inside.
“Take her home. Wordsworth Street, number fifteen. I’ve got your plate, just so you know.”
“Thought you were in a hurry, not hammered,” the driver sighed.
“Bad night. Just get her home safe.” She paid upfront.
Emily woke stiff and head-splitting in the backseat.
“Awake?” a man’s voice asked.
“Who—why am I here?”
“Cab driver. Your mate asked me to take youAnd as Emily stepped out into the crisp morning air, she realized that sometimes the right person appears when you least expect them, not in the dazzling heat of passion, but in the quiet calm of an ordinary dawn.
