**After the Honeymoon—Bitter Truths and New Beginnings**
Emily and James had just returned from their honeymoon in sunny Cornwall. She curled up on the sofa and called out toward the bathroom, “What film should we watch?”
“Your choice, love!” her husband replied.
Emily flipped open his laptop, absently glancing at their unpacked suitcases in the hall. *I’ll sort them tomorrow,* she muttered, then turned her attention back—just as a notification pinged. She clicked it, and her breath caught.
“Miss you, darling,” read the message from an unfamiliar *Lucy*.
“Don’t be sad—I’ll see you soon,” James had replied.
The date? August 8th. The day before they’d come home. Emily’s fingers trembled as she scrolled: *”Lucy, last night was magical…” “Are you coming over today?” “Yes, sweets, I’ve missed you so much…”*
She snapped the laptop shut. Moments later, James emerged, towel around his waist. “Found a movie? Fancy a rom-com?”
“Oh, yes,” Emily said coldly. “A comedy’s about to start. Who’s Lucy?”
His face paled. “Wh—what Lucy? I don’t know any Lucy!”
“Really?” She hurled the laptop onto his lap. “We’ve just got back, and you’ve already been carrying on with some woman?”
“Wait—it meant nothing! We had a work do, I had a few pints, she came onto *me*… It was a mistake! I love you!”
“A mistake? Marrying *you* was the mistake!” Emily stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
In the cab, she stared blankly out the window, tears streaking her cheeks. *How could this be happening?*
At her parents’ house, her mother met her at the door. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“I’m filing for divorce. I won’t stay with a cheat.”
“Shh, come inside—let’s talk.”
A week passed. Her mum pleaded, “Why rent a flat? Stay with us as long as you need.”
“Mum, I’m thirty. I need my own space.”
Two days of flat-hunting. Yesterday, she filed the papers. James still called, sent flowers—silence answered.
By month’s end, Emily had moved into a new place. Two weeks without tears. Work drowned the thoughts, but weekends ached—loneliness pressing like a weight.
One evening, she flipped through channels, ice cream and jam on the sofa, hollow and numb. Then—sudden resolve.
“Enough moping,” she told herself and stepped outside.
The park was warm, quiet. Lamplight, rustling trees, couples entwined—till the sky darkened. Turning back, she realised she was lost. Footsteps sounded behind her. She quickened her pace.
“Excuse me—” a voice called.
She broke into a run, tripped—and strong hands caught her.
“You alright? Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Thomas.” He stepped back, showing empty pockets. “Live nearby. Saw you circling the paths.”
Emily stiffened, but his kind eyes, warm smile, melted something inside.
“I… can’t find the exit,” she admitted.
“Let me walk you?”
The stroll passed too quickly. He joked, told stories, made her laugh—until they paused at her door.
“Goodnight, Emily.”
“Night, Thomas,” she murmured, wistful.
“Mind if I wait till you inside? Wouldn’t want you lost again,” he teased.
Next morning, still flushed from the memory, she headed for coffee—and there he was, leaning in the doorway of the flat next to hers, two cups in hand.
“Morning, sleepyhead. Been waiting for you. Fancy a cuppa?”
“You—what are you doing here?”
“Living here. Been your neighbour two weeks. Seen you about but never got the chance to say hello.”
She faltered. He grinned.
“So? Coffee?”
“I’m not sure…”
“What if I’ve got biscuits?”
“…Maybe.”
Her phone rang. “No, Mum, I haven’t changed my mind. I’m staying. I… like it here.”
And for the first time in months, Emily felt warmth—real, unshaken.
*Lesson learned: Sometimes the endings that hurt lead you where you’re meant to be.*
