Oliver encountered his ex-wife, and his jealousy was almost palpable. He slammed the fridge door shut with such force that the contents rattled. One of the magnets on the door fell off with a clatter.
Emma stood across from him, pale and with clenched fists.
“Feeling better now?” she exhaled, lifting her chin.
“You just drive me mad,” Oliver snapped, trying in vain to keep calm. “What kind of life is this? No joy, no future.”
“So, it’s my fault again?” Emma replied bitterly. “Of course, it’s nothing like your dreams.”
Oliver wanted to say something but just waved his hand. He opened a bottle of sparkling water, took a swig, and set it on the table with a thud.
“Oliver, don’t just stand there silently,” Emma said with a trembling voice. “Tell me once and for all, what isn’t right for you?”
“What’s there to say?” he growled. “I’m fed up with all this. To hell with it!”
They stared at each other in silence for a few moments. Finally, Emma sighed deeply and headed to the bathroom. Oliver sank heavily onto the sofa. The sound of water being turned on came from behind the door—Emma, no doubt, turning on the tap to mask her tears. But he didn’t care.
A Life Turned Routine
Three years ago, they got married. Initially, they lived in Emma’s flat, inherited from her parents, before moving to a countryside house and signing the flat over to their daughter. They lived in a spacious but outdated home, furnished with remnants from a bygone era.
Oliver was content at first: it was central and convenient for work. But over time, everything started to grate on him. Emma loved her “family stronghold,” adorned with brown wallpaper and an antique sideboard. Oliver saw it as stagnation.
“Emma, be honest,” he would repeat. “Don’t you want to change this ghastly yellow linoleum? Modernize the décor?”
“Oliver, we don’t have extra money for renovations right now,” she’d reply calmly. “I dream of changes, too, but let’s wait for the bonus.”
“Wait? That’s your philosophy – endure and wait!”
Oliver often recalled how he fell for Emma. She was then a modest student, her sincere blue eyes and gentle smile charmed him. He told his friends, “It’s a bud that hasn’t bloomed yet.” But now, it seemed the flower never opened and had wilted instead.
Emma didn’t see herself as unremarkable. She lived the way she wanted, finding joy in small things—a cup of mint tea, new napkins, a quiet evening with a book. Oliver viewed this as stagnation and routine.
They were in no hurry to divorce—Oliver didn’t want to return to his parents’, and living apart wasn’t feasible yet. Emma’s mother, Patricia, always stood by her daughter-in-law:
“Dear, Emma is a good girl. Be glad you have a place to live.”
“Mum, you don’t understand!” Oliver would retort impatiently.
His father would just wave his hand:
“Let him sort it out himself.”
At home, Oliver grew increasingly cold: “She’s like a shadow, a grey phantom,” he thought. In one of their rows, he declared,
“I saw a beautiful flower in you! And now? I’m living with a frozen bud.”
That was when Emma cried for the first time in months.
On the day everything finally unraveled, Oliver quietly said,
“Emma, I’m tired.”
“Of what?” she asked.
“Of this life, this endless routine.”
Emma picked up her bag and left. Oliver hoped she would return and ask him to stay, but she left calmly:
“Perhaps it’s best if you live separately. Move out.”
Oliver erupted:
“I’m not leaving!”
“This is my parents’ house,” Emma said coldly. “And I don’t want to live with someone to whom I am only a burden.”
Oliver had no choice—he left. A few weeks later, their divorce was finalized.
A Meeting That Changed Everything
Three years passed. Oliver still lived with his parents, trying to start a new life, but luck eluded him. His job paid little, and only small pleasures brightened his days.
One spring evening, walking down the street, he passed by a café and glanced in the window, where he froze. Standing in the entrance was Emma.
But this wasn’t the Emma he remembered. She was now a confident woman, with a neat hairstyle, an elegant coat, and car keys in her hand.
“Emma?” Oliver uttered in surprise.
She turned, recognized him, and smiled.
“Oliver? Hello! How are you?”
“Uh… okay,” he mumbled, unable to take his eyes off her.
“Is everything alright with you?” she asked calmly.
“And you seem to be doing even better… Work going well?”
“No, I opened my own floral studio. It was scary, but… someone supported me.”
“Who’s that?”
From a table in the café, a tall man in a stylish coat came over and gently hugged Emma’s shoulders:
“Darling, the table’s ready. Shall we?”
“Oliver, meet Matthew,” Emma said, introducing him. “We were happy to see you.”
“Happy for you,” Oliver said quietly, feeling a sharp pang of jealousy inside.
“Thank you,” Emma replied calmly.
Matthew nodded, and they went into the café together, leaving Oliver alone on the chilly pavement.
He once said, “I’m living with a frozen bud.” But the bud had blossomed after all, just not with him.
