**Exhale**
Yesterday, Kate turned forty-seven. Two years ago, her life had shattered. Strange how such a clichéd phrase could encapsulate everything that had happened to her so perfectly.
A few days before her birthday, Kate found a dress. She called her mum and told her she’d bought a blue one. Her mum insisted on seeing it in person immediately. When Kate put it on, her mother was ecstatic. “You look absolutely darling in it. But blue? That’s teal.” What a generation. Probably because they had seamstresses, discussed designs, picked fabrics. Every dress used to be an event.
So, the teal dress—now aware it wasn’t just “some blue thing”—waited for its debut.
For this birthday, Kate invited all her few relatives and friends. The restaurant had set a table in a cosy corner of its small dining room.
Her cousin Emily gave a toast that lasted ten minutes. She recounted how, at sixteen, they’d gotten drunk and tried hailing a taxi, unable to remember the plural of “church.” They’d repeated to the driver five times: “Don’t you understand? We live by the church! By the church! Little Hedgeford! Just drive to the centre—we’ll show you!” She then suggested they all get blind drunk so no one would remember their address, only for someone to ruin the romantic notion by reminding her they were all staying at the same hotel as the restaurant. “No bloody romance left,” Emily laughed. Her husband chimed in, “We don’t climb through windows for our women anymore—only because our windows have mosquito nets! Otherwise, we’d still be at it. Especially me.” Kate smirked, “Well, you do live in a bungalow.” The table erupted in laughter.
Then came the toast from Alex, her other cousin’s husband. He reminisced about their trip to Brighton a lifetime ago. At first, everyone kept winning. Then they lost every last penny. As they left the casino, Kate had said, “What would you lot do without me? I tucked away a tenner for drinks and snacks.” So they’d all gone back to the hotel, drank the tenner dry, then strolled along the pier singing *Those Were the Days*. “To the woman who saved us from sober starvation!” Her stepfather, Geoffrey, lamented that the restaurant didn’t have scales for a proper *Bruderschaft* weigh-in. Soon, everyone whispered the song like the famous sauna scene.
The evening was wonderful. Her husband, of course, didn’t give a toast—he never did. He always joked he was an IT guy, not an orator.
The next morning, they all met for breakfast and a walk through Hyde Park. By evening, everyone had left, and Kate was alone at home with her husband.
Staring at the corner with his computer desk, he said they needed to talk. A cold unease settled over Kate—though, truthfully, she’d felt off all day. She thought she hadn’t drunk much, yet her insides trembled. He told her he’d met someone, fallen in love, and was leaving now. He hadn’t wanted to ruin the celebration.
The following year was the Year of P. Pain, packing, pints, paralysis.
On her forty-sixth birthday, Kate decided to change the letter. She woke and walked along the shore. Even on the darkest days, she made herself walk every morning. It was chilly—January—and the beach was empty. The crisp solitude, or maybe the sea’s energy, lifted her from within, and she knew, with absolute clarity, she had healed. She’d never believed in energy nonsense, but at that moment, she physically felt the darkness vanish.
She just couldn’t quite exhale fully.
Kate decided the next year would be the Year of N. New faces, a new *her*—but *no pasarán*!
That same day, she made a dating profile. Of all the men who messaged, she liked one. They met. That was a year ago.
Hard to believe her life had swerved so sharply again. Did it show in her palm lines? Maybe her life line broke and restarted somewhere new. Right now. Kate breathed in the morning air deeply—still, she couldn’t quite exhale.
She called her mum before leaving.
“I told Sarah you’re off travelling, and she insists you stay with them,” her mum said.
“Lovely, I adore them. I was going straight to the Cotswolds, but I’ll stop at theirs in London. It’s barely a detour—just a hop to Sarah’s by lunch.”
By evening, she reached London. Sarah and Daniel had set the table and warned her not to fill up on starters—they had a surprise. Twenty minutes later, the “surprise” walked in.
“Kate, meet William. Our neighbour. Sadly, he’s moving to Edinburgh soon. But tonight, he’s treating us to sea bass—his secret recipe.”
“Pleasure,” William said.
“Likewise.” Kate liked him instantly—enough to feel a twinge of guilt for David, the man she was meeting in Scotland tomorrow.
William was around fifty. Not classically handsome or athletic, but with an open, intelligent smile.
“Right, youngsters, who’s ready?” Daniel raised his glass.
William poured Kate and himself a whisky. “Shall we drop the formalities? We *are* the youth.”
“Gladly.” Kate smiled.
William grinned. “Youth ready! Cheers!”
They drank, laughed, and the sea bass was better than any fish she’d had.
Later, as they yawned, William stood. “Time I left. Kate—if you’re ever in Edinburgh, my door’s open.”
The moment he left, Sarah clapped. “He *fancies* you. Don’t be shy—go see him!”
Kate sighed. “Sarah, I’ve been messaging David for a year. He visited me in Cornwall. Nothing happened, but he invited me to Scotland. How do I just *cancel* that?”
Sarah relented. “Fine. Do as planned. But William’s moving to your town, you know?”
The next afternoon, Kate arrived at her friends’ in the Cotswolds.
James greeted her. “Brilliant you’re here. Leave your bag—I’ll play gentleman while my wife fries spuds.” He laughed. “Come on, poor Max is losing his mind.”
The golden retriever nearly bowled her over. Kate sat, letting him lick her face. “You *remember* me! Guess what I brought you?” She handed him a chew toy, and he bolted inside.
In the kitchen, Olivia hugged her. “Wash up, settle in, and food’s in ten.”
Upstairs, Kate texted her mum, then got a message from David—he’d been in Oxford, was heading home, and they’d meet tomorrow as planned.
Downstairs, she relayed the update.
“Tell him to come *here*,” Olivia said.
Kate called. David agreed, arriving an hour later.
They drank, laughed, and David brought bourbon—which went down well.
Later, Olivia checked her phone. “The boys texted at the same time. Again.”
“They’re not together?” David asked.
“No. The eldest is thirty-one, in Manchester. The youngest’s ten—at his grandparents’. A twenty-year gap.”
“Impressive.”
James grinned. “First was conceived in a tent after our A-levels. The second—during that Halloween storm when the power was out for weeks. Romantic, eh?”
David smirked. “Now I know how to *properly* celebrate Halloween.”
That night, as they prepared for bed, David scowled when Max nudged him.
“Not a fan of dogs,” he muttered.
Kate offered him her room, taking the sofa instead.
She lay awake, replaying moments she’d brushed off—like when he’d sneered at her mum’s friend: *“Can’t stand frumpy women.”*
Morning came.
Max nearly shoved her off the sofa. She took him for a walk, then breakfasted with Olivia and James.
David strode in. “Just coffee. We’re leaving soon.”
Kate stiffened. No *“How’d you sleep?”* No *“Thank you.”*
As he grabbed his bag, Max bumped his arm—coffee splashed on his shoe.
“Bloody—” He cut himself off, but his glare said enough.
Kate stood. “I’m not going with you.”
He left without a word.
Olivia hugged her. “Well?”
“Done and dusted,” Kate sighed. “Max saved me.”
A month later, back home, she decided to adopt a dog.
Her mum called. “Don’t be cross—Sarah gave William your number. He *adores* you.”
Kate laughed. “What if he’s another David?”
“Then bin him. But for now—wait for his call.”
That night, her phone rang.
“Kate. It’s William. The sea bass expert.”
She grinned. “You in Edinburgh yet?”
“Actually… I’ve moved next door. Thought it’d be nice to have a neighbour to borrow onions from.”
She laughed, feeling lighter than she had in years, and finally exhaled all the way, knowing whatever came next would be just fine.
