Fate Repeats Itself
The winter evening settles quickly over the cityby half past five, dusk has deepened and streetlights bathe the roads in an even yellow glow. Inside Davids London flat, the air is warm and inviting: the soft golden light from a floor lamp spills over the living room, highlighting the shapes of furniture and casting gentle, shifting shadows into the corners. On the coffee table, beside a small porcelain dish of biscuits, two cups of tea steam quietly, their mint and honey fragrance curling through the room. Outside, fat snowflakes swirl and cling to the sash windows before lazily piling on the silvery ledge where a soft drift has already gathered.
David has just finished setting up the tablehes chosen his favourite mugs, arranged the biscuits with care, and even lit a little scented candle to deepen that homely atmosphere. At that moment, the doorbell rings. He hastens to the hall and opens the doorTom stands on the threshold, slightly dishevelled and red-cheeked from the cold.
Frozen to the bone, Tom mutters, stepping quickly inside and giving his overcoat a brisk shake to rid it of snow. His collars dusted white, and delicate crystals cling to his eyelashes and brows, melting in the hallway heat. Weather like thisyoure best off staying home, you know.
We are staying in, David replies warmly, taking his friends coat. Come through, we were just about to have some tea with Emma. I think youll appreciate it.
They step into the living room. Tom heads straight to the coffee table, eager to warm up. Sinking into a plush armchair, he grabs a mug of tea, wrapping both hands around the ceramic and savouring the heat as steam swirls gently over his face. For a moment he closes his eyes, comfort returning with each breath.
So, whats so urgent you came round on a Friday evening? David asks with a half-smile as Tom tests his teas temperature and nods, clearly pleased with it. Werent you supposed to be taking your wife and son round your mother-in-laws tonight?
I was. Didnt go, Tom replies, his smile twisting a little, taking another sip.
Right. Hows Alice, hows Oliver?
Tom pauses, as if weighing how to start; then brushes aside invisible thoughts with a wave.
Theyre alright, I suppose. He tries for casual, but a flicker in his voice tells David theres more hidden beneath that pale alright.
Tom sits there, nervously turning his empty mug in his handsgripping, rotating, tracing the pattern as if the idle motion might help him gather himself. His eyes flit around the roomto the bookshelf, an old watercolour of the South Bank, the tables worn oak edgeanywhere but at David.
Finally, on a long exhale, Tom says quietly but distinctly:
Ive filed for divorce.
David freezes. His teacup shudders faintly, sprouting a ripple across its surface. He stares at his friend in shock, as if searching his face for affirmation that he heard correctly.
Seriously? With Alice? he asks, his voice raising a notch without meaning to.
Tom nods, staring out at the windowhis eyes reaching for distance, searching the spinning snow for some sort of answer.
Yes, he at last replies. Ive met someoneRachel. With her, its like Im actually alive for the first time. Shes a light in the window, you know?
You sure this isnt just a fling? David tries to keep his voice level, though anger starts to edge in. Youve got a child, Tom! Oliver is only two! Whats he going to do without his dad? Remember your own childhood!
Tom snaps his head up. A certain resolution flares in his expression, like hes already rehearsed this argument a thousand times alone.
I am sure, he states, steady and unflinching. Ive thought about it long enough. I cant keep living like thiswaking up every day just going through the motions. Thats not a life, David. With Rachelits different. I want to get out of bed, Ive got dreams, I finally feel Im doing something for myself! And for OliverIm not abandoning him. Im not my father.
David falls silent, lost in memory. The playground of their school, a chilly autumn morning, just the two of them sharing a bench at break. Back then, teenage Tomeyes bright, voice unwaveringvowed hed never be like his dad. He just walked away without even trying. Ill never do that. When I marry, Ill fight for my familyalways, hed said.
Those words echo back now. David glances at his friendno longer the headstrong boy he was, but a man weighed down in the armchair opposite. Softly, almost a whisper, he asks:
Do you remember saying at school that youd never make his mistakes?
Tom stiffens instantly, hands clenching into fists on his knee. He lifts his chin, defensive already.
I remember. So?
Youre doing exactly the same, David says gently but firmly. Walking out on Alice and Oliverleaving them to fend for themselves.
Tom leaps to his feet, pacing twice before turning back with a fire in his eyesa flare of anger, maybe, or desperate self-justification.
Its not the same! Dad legged it, no word or warning. Vanished. Im not hiding from Alice. We talked, we discussed it all. Im not runningIm trying to do the right thing, hard as it is. OliverIm not leaving him! Ill see him all the time, weekends, whatever! My situation is nothing like what my dad did, nothing.
David doesnt rush to answer. He runs his hand along the table edgeslow, thoughtfulthen meets Toms gaze with genuine worry.
Do you really mean that? he asks, voice even but heavy. You think Oliver will feel better just because you openly walk out? For a child, the explanations arent what matter. They only know Dad doesnt come home anymore, Dads not there at bedtime, not playing cars. Do you really think your honesty will make that pain any easier?
Tom stands rooted, Davids words bringing him to a halt. He drops his gaze, searching the rug for answers.
A kaleidoscope of memories flares across Toms mind: being a seven-year-old on a cold school bench, scanning for a mum late from her shift; thirteen, at the window, stifling tears while mates mockWheres your dad? Didnt bother showing up again, did he?; sixteen, sitting in his room, throwing that cheap birthday guitarthe only thing from his fatherso hard it cracked, the splintering echoing for years.
He remembers, too, Davids familyreliable, steady, some effortless model of togetherness. Davids dad: patient, present, the type who took his boy fishing, fixed bikes, came to parents evenings, knew all the teachers. Tom sometimes envied that familys easy love.
Your dads like Superman, hed once told David, watching them glue a model Spitfire at the kitchen table.
He just loves me, thats all, David had replied, barely looking up.
The meaning of those words only settles on Tom now, years later.
Sitting across from David, Tom feels a tide of conflict swelling within; memories so sharply vibrant they blur the moment. But Davids voice hauls him back to the present.
You dont get it, Toms voice wavers imperceptibly. He swallows, grasping for words to explain whats simmered inside for years. Im not him. Im not runningIm trying to start again, not vanish.
David studies his friend in that quietly searching way he always had.
Did you ever try saving what you had? he asks, tilting his head. Really try? Or did you just decide its simpler to start again?
Tom pales, knuckles whitening on his knee as he gazes at the carpet.
I tried, he says eventually, meeting Davids eyes. Year after year. We talked, we tried. But nothing changed. It was as if we were both stuck in a never-ending rutno joy, no understanding.
David leans forward, tone insistent but not harsh. But what did you actually do? Whens the last time you bought her flowersnot for a birthday, just because? Took her to dinner? Paid her a compliment?
Enough! Tom snaps louder than he means, bitterness threading his words. Youyour lifes always been perfect. Perfect family, perfect dad. Easy for you to preach!
The words carry not anger but weary resentment, pent-up over years. His hands relax, self-aware of his own anger.
David remains seated, sighing deeply, brushing a tired hand across his face.
Its not about perfection, he replies gently but firmly. Its about choice. About not making the same mistakes as those who hurt us.
Tom rounds on him, tension carving his face.
You dont understand! he bursts out, raising his voice. You cant know what its likegrowing up without a dad, knowing youre unwanted! He says it as though speaking aloud reopens the raw wound.
David rises slowly, his posture open and unthreatening, simply seeking to be heard.
And so you want your own son to relive it? he says quietly. You keep saying youre not your father, but look what youre doing, Tom.
Tom halts by the door, hand resting on the handle but not turning. Slowly he looks back, all the fire goneonly confusion, a kind almost desperate regret.
You just dont understand he almost whispers.
Dont understand what? That youre walking out on your wife and child just because someone new came along? David shakes his head. I dont understand, no.
You know what? Keep your lectures! Tom says over his shoulder, pulling open the door and letting it slam behind him.
The echo of the door reverberates through the flat, rattling quietly before settling into an uneasy hush in the living room. David remains standing, eyes on the empty armchair Tom had only just left, as though he expects his friend to return and mutter some apology. But nothing.
He eventually lowers himself onto the sofa, rubbing his face as if to smudge away the bad taste of the argument. Leaning back, he closes his eyes, as scattered thoughts skitter like raindrops on glass.
A few minutes later, Emma appears from the hallway, wrapped in her dressing gown and still rubbing her hair with a towelprobably fresh from a bath. Worry traces her features as she surveys the room, the open door, then David.
What happened? I heard shouting, she asks softly, settling beside him. Her tone is gentle but troubled.
David sighs, fighting for wordsnot wanting to relive every detail, the shock still too bright, the argument too raw.
Toms leaving his family, he finds himself saying at last, looking straight ahead. Says he met someone else. Hes filed for divorce.
Emma gasps, hand to heart, eyes wideblending disbelief and compassion into one.
But hes got a toddler! And Alice they always seemed so happy together at birthdays, parties she shakes her head, as if hoping sense might reveal itself in her words. They looked genuinely happy
Exactly, David says, bitterly tracing the arm of the sofa. Now he doesnt even see it. Hes just repeating his fathers mistakesthough he never believed he would.
Emma sits quietly, letting everything sink in before she ventures gently: Maybe hes just lostconfused, not sure what he wants. Sometimes people get so lost, they convince themselves anything is change.
David shakes his head, lost in a gaze youd think had looked straight through the room.
Anyone can be confused. But he isnt even trying to figure himself out. Hes doing exactly what he always said he hated his father for doing. Hes silent then, words slipping away unresolved. I never thoughtnever thought hed be like this.
Emma sighs, hand resting on his shoulder. She wants to comfort him, but knows at times there are no right words. She simply sits beside him, ready to listenor just to keep him company.
Outside, snow continues to blanket the city, white and muffling. Indoors, the only noise is the quiet ticking of the clockmeasuring the minutes that can never be reclaimed.
***
A week later, David and Emma find themselves at Alices door. The pavement outside is white and icy, the wind whipping little snowdrifts along the curb. Emma holds a carefully boxed apple pie with a ribbonnothing extravagant, just enough to make the visit feel warm, not intrusive.
David adjusts his jacket, checking on Emma briefly before pressing the bell. The muted chime rings inside, and soon the front door opens. Alice stands there, surprised, clearly unprepared for guests.
David? Emma? What are you she begins, momentarily lost for words.
We wanted to see how youre doing, Emma says, proffering the pie with gentle intent, her voice soft and sincere. Can we come in?
Alice hesitatesher gaze sweeping over them, uncertain, perhaps not sure what to say. Then she nods and pulls open the door.
Yes. Pleasecome in.
Inside, the house feels unusually quiet. Where once there had been little Olivers running feet, giggles, and the background of cartoons, there is now a peaceful, almost untouchable hush. Emma instinctively listens, as if for some childish interruptionbut silence reigns.
Hes at nursery, Alice explains, catching Emmas searching glance. Theyve got a puppet show today, so Ill pick him up later.
They move into the kitchen. Alice switches on the kettle, fetches cupsher movements careful, habitual, as though these actions help steady her. She invites them to sit, and Emma sets the pie on the table, untying the ribbon and letting the aroma spread. Alice pours tea, cradling her cup but barely drinking, focusing instead on the comfort of her hands wrapped around the china.
How are you coping? David asks, voice gentle, threading lightly so as not to intrude.
Alice shrugs, eyes lingering on her mug before darting awayperhaps seeking solace in the tablecloths embroidery.
I manage, she almost whispers, then steadies herself: Work helps. It fills the day, keeps my mind from wandering.
A pause, then she continues, voice brittle around the edges: Olivers too little to understand yet. Sometimes he asks where his dad isI say hes working, just busy. Im not sure if he believes me, but at least he doesnt cry.
Her voice falters at cry, but she regains composure, attempting a faint, reassuring smile.
Emma silently lays a hand over Alicesjust a simple, honest gesture, warm and wordless. Alice squeezes her fingers, gratitude flickering as she lowers her eyes again.
When she speaks next, her voice quivers with pain, a fine thread stretched thin. She clears her throat, sits taller, but Emma notices her struggle and offers soft reassurance:
If you ever need anythinganything at alljust ask, Emma says firmly but kindly. Were here. Always.
Alice looks up slowly. Tears shine in her eyesnot wild with grief but somehow relieved, as if letting them show eases a pressure thats built for weeks. She doesnt wipe them away; she lets them gather and slide.
Thank you, she whispers, her voice shaky but not weak. I honestly didnt know who to turn to. Its like everything fell apart at once, and suddenly the worlds empty.
A pause. She finds a little more strength:
I used to think my friends were everywhere. Turns out when you really need themtheres no one you can ask.
David leans closer, to meet her gaze directly.
You can always ask us, he replies. Dont even have to say it, really. Well come if you need anything.
His words are simple, without frills, but steady: precisely the kind of promise Alice needs. She nods, this time not trying to compose herselfthe tears come freely, cathartic and grateful.
Emma gives her hand a last gentle squeeze, then turns to the pie.
How about we have that tea before it goes stone cold? The pies not perfectoverbaked it a hintbut it should still taste alright.
Her tone, a light and familiar nudge, helps Alice reclaim composure. She laughs quietly, dabs her face, and smiles againtentatively, but genuinely.
Wouldnt want good tea going to waste, would we?
And as she reaches for a spoon, that small actfor the first time in a long whilefeels like a step towards finding her feet again.
***
Three years pass and a sunlit day transforms the park into a balm of green. Five-year-old Oliver zooms after a bright red football, his laughter pealing along the path as passers-by smile. Emma gently rocks a pram, their baby daughter sleeping within. Sunlight dapples the lace bonnet and skips along the edges of the carriage.
David sits beside her, never taking his eyes off the boy. His face softensover the years, his affection for Oliver has deepened until its nearly paternal.
Hes grown so much, Emma says, glancing from the pram towards the grass. Full of beans, that one.
Yeah, David agrees, watching Oliver dodge an imaginary opponent, ball between quick feet, before scoring an invisible goal with a triumphant shout. Alice is amazingputs her whole heart into it.
Emmas smile fades, replaced by a seriousness that only comes from worry. She tucks the blanket neatly around the pram and murmurs:
Its hard for her. Especially when Tom misses yet another birthday or cancels last-minute. Even yesterdaysupposed to have Oliver for the weekend, but texted at sunrise, Caught up at work.
Davids jaw tightens. Hes watched the pattern for years: Tom diving in with lavish gifts bought in haste, grand promises of outings only to cancel or vanish at the hint of inconvenience. Sometimes hell show up at random, sit Oliver down for a serious talk, then grow restless and dash off, claiming business.
Ive tried to talk sense to him, David admits, one hand resting along the bench. Told him: Olivers not a toyyou cant just pick him up and put him down. He needs you present. He needs to know youll always be there. Tom just snaps, You dont understandIm going through a rough patch.
His rough patch has been three years, Emma says sadly, her tone not angry, only tired. And Olivers starting to realise. Last night he asked Alice, Does Daddy not love me any more? She could hardly say anything at all.
David clenches his fist, then releases it, forcing down his frustration.
Sometimes I think Tom just doesnt want to see the truth. He swore up and down hed never be like his dadsaid he knew, firsthand, what it was growing up fatherless. Now
Now he is exactly the same, Emma says softly, firmly. He just finds new ways to excuse itfinding myself, or sorting my life outbut really, hes running away from being a parent.
At that moment, Oliver rushes up and, flushed and panting, beams, Uncle David! Watch this! He demonstrates an impressive football trick, then is off again with infectious energy.
Emma watches after him, maternal pride in her eyes.
Hes lucky to have you, she tells David quietly. At least one grown-up never lets him down. He feels it. To him, youre the one whos always there.
David nods, gaze on Oliver as determination hardens within him. If Tom wont be a fatherthen David will make sure Oliver never feels the ache of abandonment. The story will not repeat itself. Not again.
The sun keeps shining, Oliver keeps laughing, the baby sleeps on, and David grows ever more certain: whatever the past, children need not perfection, but a presentsomeone who stays. And for Oliver, thats exactly what he will be.
