James pushed open the window and climbed onto the ledge. The darkened pavement below both beckoned and unnerved him.
Life sometimes feels like a winding forest path—you never know where it leads or what awaits around the next bend. James Sherwood never imagined he would lose, then somehow find happiness again.
He hadn’t rushed into marriage, waiting instead for a kindred spirit. When he spotted Emily at a café, his heart instantly knew—she was the one. Without hesitation, he sat beside her and introduced himself. They loved the same books, the same films, both adored ice skating, and dreamed of a loving family with children.
Everything unfolded just as they’d hoped—except children never came. Emily visited doctors, sought treatment, even traveled to holy sites, refusing to give up hope. Then, one day, she believed she was pregnant. She waited before going to the hospital, wanting to be certain. Only when her belly began to swell did she finally see a doctor.
It wasn’t a long-awaited child—it was a tumour. Each time James accompanied Emily to the oncology centre, he saw the hollow stares of patients, as if they were listening closely to their own fading breaths. Soon, he recognized that same look in Emily’s eyes.
James never left her side. He took leave, then unpaid time off, until finally, a sympathetic doctor signed him off. But his boss called him in—either return or resign. James handed in his notice.
Day and night, he cared for Emily. He held her hand when she struggled to breathe, begging God not to part them—to take him too, if it must be.
It made no difference. Three months later, Emily was gone.
After the funeral, James returned to their empty flat. Emily’s dressing gown still hung on the chair, untouched for weeks. He hoped she’d rise and slip it on again. Her boots stood by the door, the coat they’d bought last spring on sale still hanging on the rack. Everywhere he looked, memories of Emily—his love, his life, taken too soon—flooded back.
James buried his face in her pillow, breathing in the last traces of her scent, and wept. Later, he bought two bottles of whisky. The next morning, he could barely stand. The grief he’d drowned the night before surged back, fiercer than ever. He poured the unfinished liquor down the sink. Not that it mattered. Without her, he didn’t want to live.
Days were bearable, but nights were unbearable. One evening, he stood at the window, staring at the city below. What kept him here? The flat? Let it burn. No job, no wife, no children. James pushed open the window and stepped onto the ledge. The blackened pavement far below both tempted and terrified. Fourth floor—not so high. What if he didn’t die instantly?
The doorbell rang. One brief glance downward, then James climbed back inside and opened the door. His neighbour stood there.
“Trouble sleeping, I see. Came to check on you. Been too quiet. And why’s there a draft? Window open?” She studied his face. “You weren’t thinking of—”
“Just airing the place,” he muttered.
“Right. Well, don’t do anything daft. Jump out that window, and you’ll never see Emily again. Suicide’s a mortal sin—won’t be together in heaven.”
“It’s fine, Auntie Rose.” He ushered her out, but the urge to jump had faded. He’d heard the same warnings before.
Sleepless, he brooded until dawn. Then he packed a bag, grabbing the photo where he and Emily remained forever side by side. Savings long gone—spent on her care. His gaze caught on her abandoned dressing gown. Jaw tight, he turned away and left.
At his mother’s doorstep, roses still bloomed in the front garden. The gate creaked as he pushed through. His mother rushed out, arms wide.
“Jamie! Oh, my boy! Why didn’t you call?”
He hugged her, breathing in the scent of home—linen, lavender, warmth. He thought he’d cried himself dry at the funeral, yet his eyes burned again.
They talked for hours, shared grief, memories. His mother mourned Emily with him, soothed him, fed him.
“Good you’re here. Home heals. What’s there for you alone? Remember when you’d run back from school—”
Her voice lulled him, and for the first time since Emily’s death, the sharpness of loss dulled. This house held no traces of her.
That evening, he noticed lights next door.
“Mum, who lives there now? Didn’t Aunt Beth pass?” he asked.
“Sarah moved back. Left her husband—gambler, got locked up. Came with her little boy, and there’s another lad, ten. Ran away from drunk parents. No papers, no school. Only told me the truth—scared social services’ll take him. She cleans at the shop, and the boy minds her son. Sometimes I help. What else is there?” She caught herself. “Sorry, love. Rambling.”
“It’s alright.”
That night, sleep wouldn’t come. His thoughts flickered between Emily and his first love—Sarah. Back in sixth form, she’d chosen Mark from the parallel class.
Days passed. He glimpsed her through the window. Time had barely touched her. But his heart stayed still.
Then, one night, a flickering glow beyond the pane jolted him awake.
“Fire next door!” His mother burst in.
He dashed outside—only boots grabbed on the way. Neighbours already ran with buckets. Sirens wailed in the distance. By the fence stood Sarah in her nightdress, clutching her toddler. A thin boy clung to her side.
“Sarah—come inside.” James led them to his mother’s.
She fussed, lending Sarah a robe, putting the kettle on.
“What happened?”
“No idea. Woke coughing, smoke everywhere. Grabbed the boys, ran out. No time for anything. Papers gone. What now?”
They stayed. Days later, James drove them to his flat.
“You take the big room—kids need space. I’ll manage.”
She hesitated. “This was a mistake.” He shook his head.
“Empty flat’s no use. You’ve nowhere else.” He finally moved Emily’s dressing gown to the wardrobe.
The neighbour, Auntie Rose, scowled.
“Found a replacement quick, didn’t you?”
“Not like that. Her house burned. Where else could she go?” He left before she could argue.
That night, over tea, he and Sarah talked.
“I’ll always love Emily. But we help each other survive. I’ll get my job back, sort your papers, find work for you. The boy needs school—we’ll hire tutors.”
But the boy vanished next day.
“Probably realized school’s unavoidable. He’ll survive,” James said.
Living together made distance impossible. Young, free, their old school romance stirring—both knew it. He planned to leave, but she stopped him.
“I’d be kicking you out. I should go—”
“How? You’ve no savings.” He exhaled. “I’ll never forget her, but seeing you every day—”
“James, wake up. I love you.”
Grief can’t last forever. Life moves on.
But that’s another story.
