There was a chasm between them…
After her divorce, Emily took ages to pull herself together. She’d had her suspicions about her husband’s wandering eye, but hearing the truth still felt like a punch to the gut. All those years, the plans, the future they’d built—gone. William had simply walked out the door, out of her life.
Summer was fading, but Emily barely noticed the sunshine, the hum of London, or even the rainbows after a downpour. Then one sweltering night, as she tossed and turned in bed, it hit her: she was wasting away while William had moved on.
*”Everything here reminds me of him, of us—but there is no ‘us’ anymore. I need to get away. Not some crowded beach abroad, though. Somewhere quiet. The countryside. Gran’s old cottage! Why didn’t I think of it sooner?”* She sat bolt upright, her damp nightgown sticking to her back.
Gran had passed three years ago, after a long illness. William had convinced her to take that trip to Spain. *”Ten days won’t change anything,”* he’d said. The news reached them in Barcelona. *”Nothing we can do now. Changing flights is a nightmare. We’ll visit the grave when we’re back.”* So she’d listened to him—like always.
Mum’s husband had a place in the Cotswolds, but she’d been dragging her feet about selling Gran’s cottage. Emily hadn’t been back since uni. Or to Gran’s grave. She couldn’t even remember why.
Her palms itched with impatience. She grabbed her phone to call Mum about the keys—then saw the time. Too late. But it didn’t matter. For the first time in months, she had a plan. She drifted off imagining packing, the drive, the cottage waiting for her.
At dawn, she rang Mum. *”Finally, you’re thinking of something other than William. The world doesn’t revolve around him, you know—”*
*”Mum, please. Just find the keys.”*
*”They’re in the hall drawer. Come by after work. The cottage is fine—Aunt Margaret mentioned it last month. Her grandson’s looking to buy. Maybe we should go together?”*
*”No. Just me.”*
All day, Emily buzzed with thoughts of the countryside. Her boss—another divorcee—listened to her plea for time off with a knowing frown. *”Tried burying yourself in work, didn’t you? Fine. Take the week.”*
That evening, she fetched the keys, packed light (*”What if I crumble and come straight back?”*), and slept like a log. By sunrise, she was on the road, humming along to the radio as London yawned awake behind her.
The cottage stood just as she remembered—even the grass had been trimmed. Stepping out of the car, she was enveloped by silence. Well, *relative* silence. Birds chirped, a cricket sawed away, and somewhere a rooster crowed. But compared to the city, it was bliss.
Inside, the air was musty, the curtains drawn. She threw herself into work: fetching water from the well, scrubbing floors that didn’t need it, coaxing the old stove to life. When flames finally roared, she grinned.
Villagers peered at her car, but no one knocked—country manners. Soon, the cottage was stifling. She spread blankets to dry, then headed to the river behind the village. The water looked black and thick under the sun.
Stripping to her swimsuit, she plunged in—and nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice called, *”Thought I heard a mermaid!”*
She spun. There stood Daniel—older, broader, but unmistakable. Her childhood sweetheart. He held a fishing rod and a string of trout.
Her heart leapt into her throat. A whirlwind of memories crashed over her.
*This* was why she’d stayed away. Back then, she’d begged to live with Gran—for him. Mum had refused. *”Nothing good comes from teenage romance.”*
She’d offered him London. He’d agreed—then never came. Gran had later mentioned his marriage. Emily buried herself in uni, met William out of spite more than love…
*”You’re alone? No husband?”* Daniel eyed her.
*”Alone. How’d you know about him?”*
*”Came by once. Saw you both.”*
She remembered—a fleeting glimpse of a familiar face as they’d left for a wedding. She’d brushed it off.
*”I came to explain,”* he said. *”About Lucy. One mistake, and suddenly she’s pregnant. What was I supposed to do? We’ve got two kids now.”*
Emily scoffed.
*”I know what you’re thinking. With my son—fine, accident. But my daughter… Lucy and I? Never worked. Everything’s a battle. You’re city. I’m country. Worlds apart. Lucy’s one of us—or so I thought.”*
Standing there in her clinging sundress, Emily shivered under his gaze.
They walked back separately (*”Villages have eyes everywhere”*). That night, the cottage’s creaks kept her awake. At dawn, she wandered into the woods—and promptly got lost.
Panicked, she screamed—then nearly bolted as branches cracked. But it was Daniel. *”Alone in the woods? Brilliant.”*
He emptied half his mushroom haul into her basket. *”Lucy’s sick of cleaning them anyway.”*
Back in the village, whispers followed. Aunt Margaret dropped by, warning: *”Lucy’s on the warpath. Saw you two. Made a scene, begged Daniel not to leave. Girl’s unhinged.”*
Emily shrugged. She wasn’t leaving.
Two peaceful days passed. Then, at midnight, smoke woke her. Flames blocked the door. Coughing, she grabbed her bag—just as strong arms yanked her through the fire.
Outside, the cottage blazed. *”Daniel moved your car,”* someone said.
Aunt Margaret tutted. *”Told you. Lucy did this. But try proving it.”*
Amid the crowd, Lucy smirked, her eyes reflecting the flames.
At dawn, Emily left—filthy, exhausted. Daniel waited on the roadside. *”Drive to the next village,”* he said, climbing in.
*”Come with me,”* she pleaded.
*”Can’t. The kids… Lucy’s threats aren’t empty.”* He kissed her forehead. *”Seeing you? Enough to keep going.”*
Through tears, she watched him vanish in her rearview mirror.
Back in London, she drowned herself in work. Three years flew by.
Then her boss sent her to a client’s countryside renovation. The half-built house was… his.
Daniel, thinner but with the same eyes, smiled. *”After you left, I walked out. Worked construction. Saved every penny.”*
She gaped at the nursery. *”One room? But you have two kids.”*
*”This one’s for… well, depends. Boy or girl?”*
*”You’re engaged?”* Her voice wobbled.
*”Not yet. Hoping.”* He knelt. *”Will you marry me?”*
Emily froze—then laughed through tears. *”Yes.”*
His shirt smelled of sweat, paint, and hope. She pressed her ear to his chest. His heartbeat was home.
