The Christmas Surprise
Emily hurried home, barely noticing the icy pavement beneath her feet. She had two plane tickets tucked in her handbag, and a hotel room booked by the seaside. She and William had always dreamed of spending the Christmas holidays somewhere warm, away from the usual routines—no cooking, no stress, just relaxation by the pool. It would be like stepping into a fairy tale.
But something always got in the way. First, they were saving for a mortgage deposit. Then, caught up in the daily grind, they’d forgotten to book early. Now, they finally owned their flat, with only a small amount left to pay. It was time to think about starting a family—and if not now, a baby would delay their dream even longer. So Emily decided to surprise William for Christmas.
Her mother-in-law would undoubtedly disapprove, calling it a waste of money. *What’s there to do at the seaside in winter?* she’d say. *Why didn’t you consult us?* There’d be resentment, passive-aggressive remarks—the usual. Emily’s relationship with her was already strained, but she could handle it. The joy on William’s face would be worth it.
If she had asked for advice, her mother-in-law would’ve thrown a fit, ruining the surprise. And they’d probably never go. It never crossed Emily’s mind that William might dislike the gift or have other plans. He’d always said he hated staying in all night, stuffing himself with mince pies in front of the telly. He preferred parties, laughter, company.
The envelope with the tickets had been hidden in her desk at work until today. She’d brought it home, carefully placing it under the Christmas tree where William couldn’t miss it. Changed into something comfortable, she started dinner, listening for the front door. Every so often, she glanced at the clock.
By half past eight, she was restless. The food had gone cold, and William was nowhere in sight. Her mood plummeted. She called him repeatedly, but his phone was off. Pacing the flat, she peered out the window, willing his car to appear. Dark thoughts crept in—each worse than the last. She dialled again, but the automated voice only repeated: *The number you are calling is currently unavailable.*
She forced herself to stay calm. Maybe he’d bumped into a mate and lost track of time. But why turn his phone off? Why didn’t he text?
Twice, she checked the hallway—once even recalling the time her own father had come home drunk, left slumped against the door by his mates. But there was no sign of William, no footsteps on the stairs. The tickets under the tree were forgotten; all she wanted was for him to be safe.
Sleep was impossible. Curled on the sofa, she waited, drifting in and out of uneasy dozes. Then her phone rang, sharp in the silence. She startled, grabbing it.
“William? Where are you? Is everything alright?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” came an unfamiliar woman’s voice, smooth as syrup. Confused, Emily pulled the phone away—it was his number. “Your William’s asleep. Like a baby.”
“Who is this?” Emily asked, already dreading the answer.
Her friend had warned her about surprises. *My sister once bought her husband a couples’ spa pass. They went a few times, then he got busy. She tried to go alone—only to find the pass had already been used that day. Turned out he’d been taking someone else.*
The memory flashed through Emily’s mind in an instant.
“William’s at my place,” the woman continued. “He’s fine—don’t worry. Can you guess who I am? He loves *me*. He’s been seeing me for six months. Too kind to tell you, but I thought you should know.” The line went dead.
Emily dropped onto the sofa, numb. The screen faded to black—just like her hopes for Christmas, for their future. All that remained was pain.
She’d heard stories like this before. Never thought it would happen to them. Six years together—was that nothing? It couldn’t be real. Any moment now, he’d walk in and say it was a joke.
She dialled his number. Still off. She imagined the woman—blonde, smug, wrapped in his dressing gown—plucking his phone from his pocket just to make that call. Lipstick smudged, skin still warm from his touch.
*Six months. Since July. And I was planning this stupid trip.*
The tickets still lay under the tree. No tears came—only a hollow ache. What now? How do you move forward when everything feels broken?
She curled tighter on the sofa, slipping in and out of uneasy sleep until the click of the front door startled her awake. Light spilled into the hallway.
“You’re home late,” she said flatly. “Battery die?”
William hesitated. “Yeah, sorry.”
She held up her phone, showing the call log. “You rang me at half twelve. Care to explain?”
His face paled.
“Don’t bother. Your girlfriend already told me everything. Seems you’ve been *asleep* at hers for half a year.”
“Emily—”
“I had a surprise for you too.” She gestured to the tree. “Two tickets. Remember how we talked about Christmas by the sea?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t.” Her voice cracked. “Just… go.”
He reached for her, but she flinched away. “No. Go. *Go!*”
He left. For a long time, she sat frozen. Then she took the envelope, ready to tear it—but stopped. The date: December 30th. Flight time. Destination.
Suddenly, she saw it—an escape. She’d go alone. The hotel had a festive programme, parties all night. The second ticket? She’d sell it.
She called her mum. “We’re flying south for Christmas. Back in a week.” Then she packed.
All the way to the airport, she doubted she’d actually board. But moving felt easier than staying still. On the plane, she barely believed it—until the coast appeared below, sunlit and tranquil. *To the sea first*, she decided.
The hotel was full of families and couples. Only one woman stood out—pale, frail, wrapped in a scarf. *Post-chemo*, Emily guessed. But then a younger man joined her, guiding her gently. They smiled at Emily on the promenade. Too young to be her husband—her son, surely.
Later, she found him alone by the water.
“Where’s your mum?”
“Not well today.”
Close up, he looked younger than she thought. They talked. Andrew’s wife had left two years ago when his mother fell ill. This trip was her last wish—doctors said the mild winter sun might help.
They walked most evenings after his mother rested. Emily left first, but they exchanged numbers. Back home, the pain was duller than she’d feared.
William called, begging to talk.
“No. I want a divorce,” she said.
Andrew rang in March. “Mum passed two weeks ago. I kept thinking of you. I didn’t call sooner because… I had nothing to offer.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m free. I could offer you my heart. Mum liked you—said you were brave.”
“You barely know me.”
“Then let me.”
After the divorce, Emily scrubbed the flat clean, purging the past. Then she stopped mid-motion.
*Why? I don’t want to live here. Not like this.*
She called Andrew. Outside, spring stirred.
“I thought you’d never ring,” he said.
“I wasn’t ready. Now I am.”
She wasn’t, not quite. But the past receded a little more each day—and the future, bright and unknown, beckoned.
Sometimes, the greatest escape is the one you never planned. And the best surprises are the ones life gives you when you least expect them.
