A New Year’s Surprise
Emily hurried home, barely noticing the icy pavement underfoot. She had two plane tickets tucked in her bag. Down south, a hotel room was booked and waiting. She and James had always dreamed of ringing in the New Year by the sea—somewhere warm, carefree, with no cooking, just lounging by the pool. A proper holiday, like something out of a fairy tale.
But something always got in the way. Money was tight—they’d been saving for their flat. Or life was too hectic, and they forgot to book flights or hotels in time.
Now, though, the flat was nearly paid off. It was time to start thinking about a baby. And if they didn’t go now, with a little one, they might never get the chance. So, Emily decided to surprise James for New Year’s.
Of course, her mother-in-law would have something to say about it—wasting money on nonsense, what’s the point of the seaside in winter, why didn’t she consult *them*? There’d be a fuss, no doubt. The woman already disliked Emily—this would just give her another reason. But so what? It wasn’t the end of the world. The real prize was seeing James’s face when he opened the tickets.
If she’d asked for advice, her mother-in-law would’ve ruined the surprise, and they’d never go. The thought that James might not *want* the surprise—that he might have other plans—never crossed Emily’s mind. He’d always said he hated the fuss of New Year’s Eve, stuck at home stuffing themselves silly in front of the telly. He loved being out with friends, making a night of it.
The envelope with the tickets had been sitting in her desk at work. Today, she brought it home. Their flight was in two days.
Back home, she tucked the envelope under the tree where James would spot it straight away. Changed, started dinner, listening for the door. Kept glancing at the clock.
By half eight, she was worried. The food had gone cold. No sign of James. She called—again and again—but his phone was off. Paced the flat, kept checking the window. The thoughts came, one worse than the next. She tried his number over and over, but the automated voice kept saying the same thing: *The person you are calling is unavailable.*
She told herself he’d just run into friends, lost track of time. But why turn his phone *off*? Why not text?
She even peeked out the door a few times. Once, her dad had come home plastered, his mates propping him up outside—too scared of her mum to ring the bell. A neighbour found him slumped on the landing. But no—no one was outside now. The surprise was the last thing on her mind. Just—*please let him be okay.*
She didn’t bother going to bed. Curled up on the sofa, ready to wait all night. Then—her phone rang. She jumped, fumbled for it.
“James? Where *are* you? What’s happened?”
“Nothing’s happened,” said a woman’s voice, slow and sticky-sweet. Emily pulled the phone away, stared at the screen—it was *his* number. “Your James is fast asleep. Like a baby.”
“Where? *Who is this?*” Emily asked, already knowing.
Once, when she’d told a friend about the surprise, the friend had laughed and told a story—her sister had given her husband spa passes. They went a few times. Then he got busy. The sister went alone one day—found her pass missing. The girl at reception said it’d just been used. Half an hour later, she saw her husband walk out, arm in arm with some woman.
All of it flashed through Emily’s head in a second. The voice brought her back.
“James is at my place. He’s fine—don’t worry. Guess who I am?” A lilting laugh. “He loves *me*. Has done for six months. Felt too sorry for you to say. Thought I’d help.” The line went dead.
Emily sank onto the sofa, phone still in hand. The screen went dark. Just like her life. Her hope. The holiday, the New Year’s magic—gone. Nothing left but hurt.
How many stories like this had she heard? Read online? Never thought it’d be *them*. Six years together. Was that really enough time to get bored? It couldn’t be real. Any second, James would walk in and say it was a joke.
She called again. Still off.
She pictured some blonde in a robe, fishing his phone from his jacket, smirking as she dialled. Saw her smug face—just like all those polished girls online. Lips swollen from kissing.
*Six months.* Since July. And all this time, she’d been planning the surprise. Which hurt more—the betrayal, or the wasted effort?
The envelope was still under the tree. No tears. Just a whirl of thoughts—*what now? How do I even live?*
She curled tighter on the sofa. Drifted in and out of fitful sleep, jerking awake each time the memories flooded back.
A key turned in the lock. Light spilled under the door. Rustling of a coat. Any second, he’d explain. The call was a dream. *Please let it be a dream.*
His footsteps stopped by the sofa.
“I’m awake,” Emily said. “Working late? Why was your phone off? What if something happened? To me, or your parents?”
“Battery died,” James said carefully.
She grabbed her phone, pulled up the call log, turned the screen to him.
“Look. You rang me at half twelve. Explain that. Or don’t. Your girlfriend already did. Said you’ve loved her for six months. That you *pitied* me.”
He tried to speak, but she barrelled on.
“Know what? I had a surprise for you too. Under the tree. Two tickets. Remember how we talked about New Year’s by the sea?”
“I’m sorry—”
“No. You don’t get that.” Her voice was eerily steady. But she could feel it—something inside her shaking, about to snap. “Just go.”
He sat beside her, reached to hold her.
“Don’t *touch* me. Go. *Go!*” Her voice rose, cracked. He grabbed her, and she lashed out—then went limp, sobbing.
He left.
For a while, Emily sat frozen. Then she grabbed the envelope. Thought about ripping it—stopped. Pulled out the tickets. December 30th. Time… Place…
Suddenly, she saw it—her lifeline. She’d go alone. The hotel had parties, events. She’d sell the second ticket.
Called her mum, said she and James were flying south, back in a week. Started packing.
All the way to the airport, she thought she’d turn back. But moving was easier than sitting. Pretending she wasn’t running—just had somewhere to be.
Even on the plane, it didn’t feel real. Then—the coast unfolded beneath the clouds, dotted with hotels. First thing—the sea. Not the room. *The sea.*
She was the only single guest. At first, she thought the pale woman in a headscarf was alone too. “Post-chemo,” Emily guessed. But then a younger man appeared, helping her gently to her feet. They nodded to Emily on the promenade. Too young to be the woman’s husband—her son, maybe.
One day, she caught him alone by the water.
“Where’s your mum?”
“Not feeling well.”
Up close, he looked younger than thirty. They got talking. Andrew. His wife left two years ago when she realised she’d be caring for a sick mother-in-law.
His mum had dreamed of the sea. Doctors said the winter sun would be gentle. Andrew hoped the trip would help.
After that, they walked together most evenings while his mum rested. Emily flew home first. They swapped numbers. Like when she was a kid, trading addresses with holiday friends—though they never wrote.
To her surprise, Emily was calm returning home. If she hurt, it was dull. Easier than she’d feared. Called her mum.
“What happened? James rang, asking where you were. You said you were going together. Did you row?”
“Later, Mum. I’ll explain soon. I’m fine.”
Back home, traces of James remained—some of his things gone, but not all. Hoping sheShe picked up her phone, dialled Andrew’s number, and for the first time in months, smiled at the thought of tomorrow.
