Between us, there’s a chasm…
After her divorce, Emily couldn’t pull herself together for the longest time. She’d had her suspicions about her husband’s infidelity, but facing the truth still shattered her. There had been a family, a settled life full of dreams and plans… Now, none of it remained. James had simply walked out of the house—out of her life.
Summer was fading, but Emily noticed none of it: not the sun, not the city’s noise, not even the rainbow after the rain. One sleepless night, sweltering in the heat, she suddenly realised she couldn’t go on like this. James was happy, while she wasn’t living—she was slowly withering away.
“Everything here reminds me of him, of us. But there is no ‘us’ anymore. I just need to leave, even if only for a while. Not to some crowded seaside or abroad. Somewhere quiet, the countryside. There’s Grandmother’s cottage! We all come from the village, don’t we? That place was always my refuge. How did I never think of this before?” Emily sat up in bed, her nightdress clinging to her damp back.
Grandmother had passed three years ago, after a long illness. It was coming, but James convinced her to go to Spain instead of staying. “Nothing will happen in ten days,” he’d said. The news of Grandmother’s death reached them in Barcelona. “We can’t change anything now. Rebooking flights is a hassle. We’ll visit her grave when we’re back, pay our respects…” And, as always, Emily listened to him.
Her mother’s new husband owned a holiday home—a large property outside the city. Mum had wanted to sell Grandmother’s cottage for ages but kept putting it off.
Emily used to spend every summer there as a child. But once she started university, she never went back. She didn’t even visit the grave. Now, she couldn’t even remember why.
Impatience made her palms itch. She reached for her phone to call her mother about the keys but saw the glowing screen—deep night, everyone asleep. She set the phone down. It didn’t matter. Now she knew what to do, how to drag herself out of this pit of grief. She imagined packing her things tomorrow, arriving at the cottage… and before she knew it, she was asleep.
In the morning, she called her mother straight away.
“Finally, you’re starting to think about something other than James! The world doesn’t revolve around him—” her mother continued the familiar lecture.
“Mum, please. Comforting words don’t help right now. Just find the keys.”
“Why look for them? They’re in the hallway drawer. Come over, let me see you. The place is fine. Auntie Margaret was by in May—did I tell you? No, of course not, you weren’t listening. Anyway, she was here for her grandson’s wedding. Said the cottage was still standing. Asked if we’d sell. Her new son-in-law fancied it. Maybe we should go together?” Mum always jumped from topic to topic.
“No. I’ll go alone. Please. I’ll pick up the keys after work.”
All day, Emily’s thoughts wandered to the trip. Her boss at the design firm—another divorcee—listened carefully as Emily explained. She’d tried filling the void with work, but it hadn’t helped. Needed to get away for a while. Slow season, they’d manage without her. Reluctantly, her boss agreed.
That evening, she fetched the keys from her mother, then packed lightly—just essentials. Who knew if she’d last even a day there before the pain drove her back?
Oddly, she slept deeply. By dawn, she was up, gulping coffee, double-checking the flat’s locks, then grabbing her bag and leaving.
The city still slept. Sunlight crept over rooftops. Excitement bubbled in her chest as she hummed along to the radio.
She hadn’t been to the village in years, but the road was familiar. The cottage stood just as she remembered. Someone had even mowed the grass. Stepping out of the car, she was wrapped in silence—not emptiness, but the chirping of crickets, birdsong, roosters rousing sleepy neighbours, a dog rattling its chain. After the city’s noise, this was peace.
Inside, the air was damp, curtains drawn tight. Refusing to regret coming, she got to work—fetching water from the well, scrubbing floors (though they were already clean), gathering firewood. When the stove finally roared to life, she felt triumphant.
Villagers passed by, eyeing her car, peering through windows—but no one entered unbidden.
Soon, the cottage grew warm. She spread a blanket on the bed, propped pillows near the stove to dry. Too many prying eyes to air them outside. She headed to the river just beyond the village, kicked off her sandals, and stepped onto sun-scorched grass. The water looked black, thick as oil.
Further downstream, she shucked off her sundress and plunged in, sending up a spray. The water was silky warm.
“Was wondering who was splashing about. Some big fish, eh?”
She spun. There stood Christopher—older, rougher, but unmistakable. Her first childhood love. In one hand, a fishing rod; in the other, a string of fat trout.
Her heart leapt into her throat. A whirlwind of memories crashed over her.
This was why she’d stayed away. Because of him. Once, she’d even begged to stay in the village with Grandmother for him. Mum had refused. “Nothing good comes from that sort of love.”
She’d urged Christopher to move to the city. He’d agreed—but never came. Then Grandmother mentioned he’d married. Emily never returned. In her third year at uni, she met James—married him more out of spite than love.
“You’re alone? No husband?” Christopher studied her.
“Alone. How’d you know about him?”
“I came by once. Saw you both.”
“When?” But she remembered. They’d been heading to a wedding. James had fetched her, and as they stepped out, she’d glimpsed someone familiar—gone before she could place him.
“Came to explain. About Natalie… Not making excuses, she took advantage. One time, that’s all. Then she said she was pregnant. What could I do? Married her. Jack’s in Year Three now. Little Ellie came after.”
Emily smirked.
“I know what you’re thinking. Fair enough about Jack—mistakes happen. But Ellie… Things were never right with Natalie. Every word I say twists against me. You’re city, I’m country. Between us, there’s a chasm. Natalie’s one of us—or so I thought.”
Standing there in her swimsuit, his gaze prickled her skin. She pulled on her sundress, instantly damp against her body. Goosebumps rose.
“Cold?”
They walked back, separating at the village edge.
“You did right coming here. What’s on those fancy beaches? Just noise. Here—quiet, fresh air, beauty. Mushrooms everywhere. Fancy the woods tomorrow?”
She said she’d think about it.
The stove’s heat was stifling but homely. She propped the door open to cool the place. That night, unfamiliar silence kept her awake—just mice rustling, the cottage creaking like someone paced the attic. At dawn, she gave up and walked towards the woods while it was cool, sticking to tractor tracks. Deeper in, fear held her back.
Then—cracking branches, something huge barrelling through brush. She ran until her side ached. Lost.
She screamed for help. More cracking. She braced to flee—then Christopher appeared.
“Lost? Dangerous alone,” he scolded, eyeing her near-empty basket. “Set it down.”
“Why?” But she did. He tipped half his haul into hers.
“Don’t need to—”
“Plenty this year. Natalie’s sick of cleaning them.”
Walking home, she caught his glances—flustered but oddly thrilled. For the first time in days, James didn’t cross her mind.
“Straight on takes you back,” Christopher pointed. “I’ll linger. Best not be seen together.”
Questions died on her lips. She walked, glanced back once—he’d vanished.
Villagers noticed everything. Emily cleaned mushrooms, set them boiling. Soon, earthy fragrance filled the cottage. She hummed, remembering his looks.
Then the door slammed open. Natalie stormed in, eyes blazing.
“What’re you doing here? City run out of men? Don’t even look at Christopher. Or else—”
“Or what?” Emily narrowed her eyes. No more letting others dictate her life.
“You’ll see. Leave before I do something we’ll both regret—”
Behind her, water boiled over. When Emily turned back, Natalie was gone.
Next came Auntie Margaret, some distant cousin of Grandmother’s.
“Hello, love. Checking the cottage? Your mum mentioned selling. We’ll buy it. DonAs flames engulfed the cottage that night, Christopher carried her to safety through the smoke, and three years later, standing in the nursery of their half-built home, Emily finally understood that some bridges, once burned, could still be rebuilt.
