There was a chasm between them…
After her divorce, Evelyn took months to piece herself together. She’d suspected her husband was unfaithful, yet the truth had still shattered her. They’d built a life—dreams, plans—all reduced to nothing. Nathan had simply walked away, vanishing from her world.
Summer waned, but Evelyn noticed nothing—neither the sun nor the city’s hum, nor rainbows after storms. One sleepless, sweltering night, she realised she couldn’t go on like this. Nathan was happy, while she was withering away.
*”Every corner here reminds me of him, of us… but there is no ‘us’ anymore. I must leave—not somewhere crowded like Brighton or abroad, but somewhere quiet. The countryside. The cottage! Gran’s old place. We all come from there, don’t we? It’s where we find our strength. Why didn’t I think of it sooner?”* She sat bolt upright, her damp nightdress clinging to her back.
Gran had passed three years prior, after a long illness. She’d been fading, but Nathan had convinced Evelyn to holiday in Spain. *”Ten days won’t change anything.”* The news of Gran’s death reached them in Barcelona. *”We can’t help now. Changing flights is a hassle. We’ll visit the grave when we’re back, pay our respects…”* And, as always, she’d obeyed him.
Mum’s husband owned a grand estate near the outskirts—a house with land. Mum had long meant to sell Gran’s cottage but never got around to it.
Evelyn used to spend every summer holiday there as a girl. After university, she never returned—not even to visit the grave. She couldn’t recall why.
Impatience prickled her palms. She grabbed her phone to call Mum about the keys, but the glowing screen showed the ungodly hour. She sighed, sinking back. It didn’t matter—she knew what to do now, how to pull herself from this swamp of grief. She imagined packing tomorrow, the cottage waiting for her… and drifted off.
At dawn, she woke briskly and rang Mum.
*”So you’re finally coming to your senses, thinking beyond Nathan.”* Mum’s tone was sharp. *”The world doesn’t revolve around him—”*
*”Don’t. Comforting words don’t work. Just find the keys.”*
*”No need to hunt—they’re in the hall drawer. Come by, let me see you. The place is fine. I ran into Aunt Margaret in May—did I tell you? No? You weren’t listening. Well, she’d come for her granddaughter’s wedding. Said the cottage was intact. Asked if we’d sell. Her new son-in-law fancied it. Fancy a trip together?”*
*”No. Alone, please. I’ll drop by after work.”*
All day, Evelyn’s mind wandered to the countryside. Her boss—another divorcee—listened to her plea: work hadn’t filled the void; she needed time away. Reluctantly, she agreed.
That evening, Evelyn collected the keys and packed lightly—just essentials. Strangely, she slept soundly. At sunrise, she gulped coffee, checked the flat’s locks, and left.
The city still slumbered. Sunlight crept over rooftops as she hummed along to the radio.
Though years had passed, she remembered the way. The cottage stood untouched, the yard neatly trimmed. Stepping from the car, silence embraced her—not true silence, but the rustle of crickets, birdsong, the distant clank of a neighbour’s dog. After London’s clamour, it was peace.
Inside, the air was damp, curtains drawn tight. She forbade regret and set to work—fetched water from the well, scrubbed floors (though they were spotless), and brought in dry firewood. When flames finally roared in the hearth, she felt triumphant.
Villagers peered at the unfamiliar car but didn’t intrude—country manners.
Soon, the cottage sweltered. She aired the bedding, then headed to the river behind the village. Shedding her sandals, she waded through sun-scorched grass. The water looked thick, almost black.
Farther downstream, she tossed her sundress aside and plunged in, laughing as spray fanned around her. The water was silk-warm.
*”Thought you were a fish, splashing like that.”*
She spun. There stood Oliver—older, rugged, but unmistakable. Her first love. A fishing rod in one hand, a string of trout in the other.
Her heart leapt. Memories crashed over her—*this* was why she’d stayed away. Once, she’d begged to live here with him. Mum had refused. *What future could that bring?*
She’d urged Oliver to move to London. He’d agreed, but never came. Then Gran mentioned his marriage. Evelyn never returned—until now. In her third year, she’d met Nathan—more out of spite than love—and married him…
*”You’re alone? No husband?”* Oliver studied her.
*”Alone. How’d you know about him?”*
*”I visited once. Saw you both.”*
*”When—?”* Then she remembered. They’d been heading to a friend’s wedding. Nathan had fetched her, and as they’d stepped out, she’d glimpsed a familiar face—gone before she could place it.
*”I came to explain. About Lucy… Not excusing it, but she seized her chance. One time—that’s all. Then she claimed she was pregnant. What could I do? Married her. Tommy’s in Year Four now. Then came little Rosie.”*
Evelyn snorted.
*”I know what you’re thinking. The boy was an accident, but the girl… Lucy and I were never happy. Every word I say turns against me. You’re a city girl; I’m just a farm lad. There’s an ocean between us. Lucy’s local—I thought that mattered.”*
Standing in her swimsuit, Evelyn felt his gaze like a touch. She tugged on her sundress, now stuck to damp skin. Goosebumps prickled her arms.
*”Cold?”*
They walked back. As houses loomed, she suggested parting ways.
*”Everyone sees everything here. But don’t worry.”* He slowed his pace for her. *”Smart move, coming back. The coast is just crowds. Here it’s quiet, fresh… Mushrooms everywhere! Fancy the woods tomorrow?”*
She said she’d think on it.
The cottage now smelled homely, though stifling. She propped the door open to cool it. That night, unfamiliar sounds kept her awake—scuttling mice, creaking beams. At dawn, she slipped into the woods while dew still glistened.
A twig snapped—loud, like something massive crashing through undergrowth. She bolted, heart lancing her side. Lost, she screamed for help.
More rustling—then Oliver emerged. *”Lost? Dangerous alone. Wild boars about.”* He peered into her empty basket. *”Set it down.”*
*”Why?”* But she obeyed.
He poured half his haul into hers.
*”Don’t—you’ll need them!”*
*”Plenty more. Lucy’s sick of cleaning them.”*
They walked back. She caught his glances—shy but thrilling. Only then did she realise: two days here, and Nathan hadn’t crossed her mind.
*”That way leads home,”* Oliver pointed. *”I’ll linger. Best not be seen together.”*
She bit back questions. At the cottage, she cleaned the mushrooms, humming.
Soon, Lucy stormed in, eyes blazing. *”What’re you after? City men not enough? Don’t even glance at Oliver!”*
*”Or what?”* Evelyn narrowed her eyes. No more bending to others.
*”You’ll see. Leave—don’t make me sin!”*
Behind her, the pot boiled over. When Evelyn turned back, Lucy had vanished.
Later, Aunt Margaret—some distant kin—visited. *”Love, checking on the place? Mum said you’re selling. We’ll buy it—no haggling.”*
*”We haven’t decided yet.”*
*”No rush. Resting? Good. The coast is all bustle.”*
Evelyn burst out laughing.
*”What’s funny?”*
*”Someone else said that yesterday.”*
Aunt Margaret frowned. *”Laugh now… Lucy kicked up a proper row last night. Saw you with Oliver—shrieking like a banshee! He’s a good man, but married, with kids… She dropped to her knees, begging forgiveness—”*
Evelyn froze.
*”Watch yourself. Lucy’s wild. Won’t let go.”*
*”We just bumped into each other!”*
*”Aye. And in the woods too? Oliver *never* comes back empty-handed.”*
Evelyn stayed. Two peaceful days passed—untilThe day they stood before the old cottage’s ashes, hands intertwined, Evelyn finally understood that some bridges are meant to be crossed, no matter how deep the chasm.
