**Diary Entry**
The chasm between us…
Emily struggled to pull herself together after the divorce. She’d suspected her husband was unfaithful, but the truth still cut deep. There’d been a family, a life built on dreams and plans… now, nothing. James simply walked out of the house—out of her life.
Summer faded, but Emily barely noticed—not the sun, not the hum of the city, not even the rainbows after the showers. One sweltering night, tossing in bed, sleep evading her, it struck her: *This can’t go on.* James was happy, while she was merely existing, wilting away.
*Everything here reminds me of him—of us. But there is no “us” anymore. I have to leave, even if just for a while. Not somewhere crowded, not abroad—somewhere quiet. The countryside. Nan’s old cottage. That’s where my roots are. My place of peace. Why didn’t I think of this sooner?* She sat up, her nightdress clinging to her back.
Nan had passed three years ago. The end had been slow, inevitable. But James convinced her to take that trip to Spain. *Ten days won’t make a difference.* The news came while they were in Barcelona. *No point rushing back now. Changing flights is a hassle. We’ll visit the grave when we return…* So she listened, like always.
Mum’s husband had a cottage—a proper house with land, not far from town. Mum had been meaning to sell Nan’s place for ages, never got round to it.
Emily used to spend every summer holiday there as a girl. Once uni started, she never went back. Never visited the grave. Couldn’t even remember why now.
Her palms itched with impatience. She grabbed her phone to call Mum about the cottage keys—then saw the time. The dead of night. She tossed it aside. It didn’t matter. She had a plan now, a way to claw herself out of this pit of grief. Thoughts of packing, of breathing in that country air, lulled her to sleep.
At dawn, she rang Mum.
*”Finally, thinking about something other than that James of yours. The world doesn’t revolve around him.”* Mum was picking up their old argument.
*”Mum, don’t. Empty words don’t help. Just find the keys.”*
*”They’re in the hallway drawer. Come over—I barely see you. The cottage is fine. Ran into Auntie June back in May—did I tell you? No? Suppose you weren’t listening. Well, she was here for her granddaughter’s wedding. Asked if we were selling. Said her new son-in-law fancied it. Fancies the whole village, truth be told. Maybe we should go?”*
*”No. Just me. Please. I’ll get the keys after work.”*
All day, her mind strayed to the cottage. Her boss—another divorcee—listened as Emily fumbled through her reasons. *Tried burying the emptiness with work—didn’t help. Need to get away.* With a sigh, she relented.
That evening, Emily grabbed the keys, packed light. What if it didn’t help? What if she turned back after a day?
Oddly, she slept soundly. At dawn, she gulped coffee, double-checked the flat, and left.
The city still slept. Golden light crept over rooftops. She hummed along to the radio, nerves buzzing.
Though it’d been years, the route came back easily. The cottage stood firm. Even the garden had been mowed—neighbours, likely. Stepping out of the car, she inhaled the quiet. It wasn’t silent—crickets chirped, birds sang, a distant rooster crowed, a dog’s chain clinked—but compared to the city, it felt like peace.
Inside was musty, curtains drawn. She refused to regret coming. Fetching water from the well, she scrubbed floors (though they weren’t dirty), hauled firewood. When flames finally roared in the stove, she grinned—victorious.
Villagers passed by, eyeing her car, peering through windows, but no one knocked. You didn’t here.
Soon, the cottage baked. She aired the bedding, dried cushions by the stove. No hanging them outside—too many prying eyes. She headed to the river behind the village, kicked off her sandals, waded through sun-scorched grass. The water looked dark, almost thick.
Further downstream, she shed her sundress and plunged in. Warm. Soft.
*”Thought I heard splashing. What’s this—a mermaid?”*
She spun. Daniel stood there—older, broader, but unmistakable. Her first love. A fishing rod in one hand, a string of trout in the other.
Her heart hammered. A flood of memories crashed over her.
*Why haven’t I come back? Because of him.* Once, she’d begged Mum to let her stay with Nan—for him. Mum refused. *Nothing good comes of young love.*
Emily had begged Daniel to move to the city. He’d agreed, then never came. Then Nan said he’d married. She never visited again. At uni, she met James—married him more out of spite than love.
*”Just you? No husband?”* Daniel’s gaze flickered over her.
*”Just me. How’d you know about him?”*
*”Came by once. Saw you both.”*
*”When?”* But she remembered now. They’d been heading to a wedding. James had collected her; they’d left together. A familiar face in the crowd—gone before she could place it. She’d shrugged it off.
*”Came to explain. About Lucy… Not making excuses, but she—took advantage. One night. Then she said she was pregnant. What could I do? Married her. Jack’s in Year 3 now. Then came Lily.”*
Emily smirked.
*”Know what you’re thinking. Fine, Jack—an accident. But Lily… Me and Lucy? Never worked. Never will. Whatever I say, it’s wrong. You’re city. I’m country. Worlds apart. Lucy’s one of us. Or so I thought.”*
Standing there in her swimsuit, his stare prickled her skin. She yanked her sundress on—wet fabric clung. Goosebumps rose.
*”Cold?”*
They walked back. At the village edge, she suggested parting ways.
*”Place is a fishbowl. Feels empty, but someone always sees, always hears.”* He slowed his pace for her. *”Good you came. Nothing but noise down south. Here—quiet. Air. Beauty. Mushrooms, too! Fancy the woods tomorrow?”*
She’d think about it.
The cottage now smelled lived-in. She propped the door open, heat spilling out. That night, silence—broken by mice, by creaking floorboards—kept her awake. At dawn, she wandered into the woods, sticking to tractor paths.
A sudden crash—branches snapping, something large barrelling through. She fled, lungs burning, realising too late she was lost.
*”Lost?”* Daniel appeared, scowling. *”Woods aren’t safe alone.”*
*”There was—something.”*
*”Wild boar.”* He eyed her near-empty basket. *”Set it down.”*
*”Why?”* But she obeyed. He tipped half his haul into hers.
*”Plenty to go round. Lucy’s sick of cleaning them.”*
Walking back, she caught his glances—shy, curious. It hit her then: she hadn’t thought of James once.
*”Straight on—you’ll hit the village.”* He jerked his chin. *”Best not be seen together.”*
Questions died on her lips. She glanced back once—he’d vanished.
Village eyes missed nothing. Back home, she cleaned mushrooms, hummed as their scent filled the air.
Then—a slam. Lucy stormed in, eyes blazing.
*”What’re you doing here? Not enough men in the city? Stay away from Daniel.”*
*”Or what?”* Emily narrowed her eyes. No more letting others dictate her life.
*”Or you’ll see. Leave—before I sin.”*
Behind her, boiling water hissed. When Emily turned back, Lucy was gone.
Next came Auntie June, a distant cousin of Nan’s.
*”Hello, love. Here for the cottage? Your mum mentioned selling. We’ll buy it—name a fair price.”*
*”We haven’t decided.”*
*”Suit yourself. Resting, then? Good. What’s down south but noise?”*
Emily laughed.
*”What’s funny?”*
*”Someone else said that yesterday.”*
*”Laugh while you can. Lucy had a fit last night. Saw you two. Told Daniel to leave—go to his wh— Well. Then she begged. On her knees. Poor sod.”*
Emily froze.
*”Watch yourself. Lucy’s fierceThat evening, as fireflies dotted the darkening fields, Emily stood at the cottage gate, watching Daniel’s retreating silhouette—knowing some gaps, no matter how narrow, could never be bridged.
