The door to the office swung open, and a tall, sun-tanned young man stepped in, his gaze settling on Emily as he spoke in a warm voice:
“Good afternoon, Emily Whitaker. I’m James, your new business partner.”
A jolt of electricity ran through her, and she managed a polite smile despite her nerves. “Hello, do take a seat,” she said, trying to steady herself as conversation soon flowed between them.
Outside, rain pattered against the window—well past midnight. Emily glanced at the kitchen clock before storing her untouched dinner in the fridge and heading to bed. These days, she no longer called her husband or waited up for him. She was exhausted from overthinking, or perhaps just resigned to this lonely routine. There was no point in hysterics.
She loved Michael—they’d married for love after meeting at university. A year and a half later, their son Oliver arrived. He was five now.
Her parents had gifted them a flat in a new development as a wedding present. Though comfortable, they’d planned to upsize eventually.
Right after graduation, Michael and his friend Daniel had gone into business together. Daniel, a doctor, had started in a clinic before opening a private practice. Michael, an economist, became his partner, and Daniel soon recruited more former classmates. The practice expanded, even opening two branches in London.
Emily stayed home, raising Oliver. She’d wanted to work—she was an economist, too—but Michael had insisted.
“Em, focus on Oliver. I’ve got us covered. Once he starts school, you can think about work,” he’d said.
“Alright. Though it’s a bit dull at home,” she admitted.
“I know. But let’s stick with this for now.” She hadn’t argued.
Life was good. They vacationed in Spain each year, never wanting for anything. For her birthday, Michael even bought her a car. But as his success grew, so did his temper. The kind, cheerful man she’d fallen for had faded.
Evenings were lonely. She’d wait past midnight for him, sometimes feeding him, but he’d often just collapse into bed. The distance between them grew—no more heartfelt conversations.
“I need a change,” she decided one day, booking an appointment at the salon.
Freshly styled and dressed in a new gown, she surprised Michael at work.
“Emily? You look incredible!” he said, though his smile seemed forced. “Let’s go out tonight.”
Dinner was lovely—flowers, a small gift, compliments. She was thrilled her makeover had worked, and they’d actually enjoyed time together.
“Michael, maybe we should think about another baby,” she suggested.
“Another?” He hesitated. “I hadn’t considered it. We’ll see.”
She was nearly asleep when the phone rang. The hospital urged her to come immediately. Trembling, she asked a neighbour to watch Oliver and rushed out, dread clawing at her. Had Michael been in an accident?
The trolley in front of her held a bloodied man. Michael—her husband—lifeless. She screamed, wept, denied it. But reality settled in. Broken phrases echoed: *crash, resuscitation, a woman…*
After that night, Oliver stayed with her parents. Emily locked herself in the flat for days, drowning in grief and brandy. Photos taunted her—happy memories now shattered.
Police said someone had swerved into oncoming traffic, colliding with Michael and Daniel’s car.
Time crawled. Her parents wouldn’t leave her alone.
“Love, you can’t dwell. Oliver needs you. You’ll have to work now,” her mother said.
Emily knew she’d inherit Michael’s share of the business. Steeling herself, she went to the clinic. A new receptionist sat at the desk.
“Hello. Where’s Sophie?”
“You must be Emily Whitaker? I’m filling in. Sophie’s in hospital—didn’t you know?”
“No. What happened?”
“She was in the car with Michael… the crash.”
Fragments resurfaced—*resuscitation, a woman*. Emily visited the hospital days later.
Sophie turned pale when she saw her. “How’s Michael? And Daniel?”
“They’re gone,” Emily whispered.
Sophie wept silently. Weeks later, Emily learned Sophie was being discharged.
“Sophie and the baby are fine. She leaves tomorrow.”
“Baby? She’s pregnant?”
“You didn’t know?”
Sophie had no visitors. Emily returned, finding her stronger now, cheeks rosy.
“Your husband picking you up?”
“I don’t have one.”
“The father, then? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I—I was scared of you.”
“Me? Work won’t be an issue—you’ll take maternity leave as normal.”
“It’s Michael’s baby,” Sophie blurted, face burning. “I’m so sorry.”
The words hit like a freight train. First his death—now this betrayal. Emily stormed out, driving aimlessly until she stopped outside the city.
“How could he? And now—this?” A dark thought surfaced: maybe it was better he’d died. She couldn’t have borne him leaving her for Sophie.
She didn’t fire Sophie. When maternity leave came, Emily barely thought of her—until the call came early one morning.
“Sophie passed during childbirth. The baby’s fine. You were her only emergency contact.”
“Thank you,” Emily said numbly.
Another blow. The child would go into care—but he was Oliver’s half-brother. Their shared blood gnawed at her.
Coffee brewed, barely tasted. Then—resolve.
She took him home. Paperwork, endless appointments. Finally, little Arthur was hers.
“Oliver, meet your brother. Daddy sent him to us. You’ll love him, won’t you?”
“Yeah! He’s tiny though. Will he grow fast?”
“Just like you did.”
At Michael’s grave, she cradled Arthur.
“He’s yours, Michael. I’ll raise him. Oliver already adores him.”
Life moved on. Emily worked; her mother helped with the boys. The business thrived. Daniel’s brother Thomas inherited his share but remained in Germany—until the day he walked into her office.
The spark between them was instant, staggering. Emily recovered first, inviting him to sit.
They talked for hours. Soon, Thomas settled into work.
A new chapter began—one Emily prayed would be free of heartache. Thomas, too, was ready for happiness after a failed marriage left his daughter in Germany.
Life, relentless and surprising, went on. And sometimes, from the deepest wounds, new hope emerges.
