Clashing Personalities
“Don’t be late! What time are you leaving, Matt? Matt…” Emma tugged at her husband’s shoulder, but he just waved her off, his body language making it clear he wasn’t ready to wake up yet and wouldn’t miss his train. Emma glanced at her phone—only seven in the morning on a Saturday.
*Why did I even get up this early? His things were packed yesterday…* She almost crawled back under the cosy duvet when that familiar, gnawing dread crept over her again. Lately, it had been coming more and more often. On paper, she had nothing to worry about—a comfortable flat in central London, a top-notch renovation, designer furniture, expensive gadgets. Matt had his own car; she had hers. They’d even bought a countryside cottage recently. Everything was, by all accounts, perfect.
Most people would kill for her life. Try living in a rented flat, commuting by bus, juggling work and kids, cooking dinner, paying off loans, school fees, and still collapsing into bed only for the alarm to blare again the next morning. Emma had it easy. What right did she have to this hollow, creeping anxiety?
But she recognised it. The pointless melancholy, the sense of impending loss, the feeling that something vital was slipping away. It came and went, stealing into her heart without warning.
This morning was no different. Emma slipped out of bed, gave her sleeping husband one last look, and went to the kitchen. Matt had another business trip today. They’d become so frequent lately—ever since that new boss took over a year and a half ago. The pay was better, the company was prestigious, and Matt was a department head now. But the hours were brutal, and now they’d started sending him off on weekends too.
After making breakfast, she returned to wake him properly.
“Matt, are you getting up or not? Come on, you’ll miss your train. You said you were leaving after lunch, right?”
“Yeah. After…” Matt mumbled, finally sitting up.
“Come on, I made breakfast.”
“Mhm.” Still half-asleep, he followed her to the kitchen and immediately buried himself in his phone. Emma noticed how little they talked these days—no arguments, no fights, just distance. He still brought flowers sometimes, agreed when she suggested restaurants, even went for walks or to the cinema. But it wasn’t the same.
“Matt, take me with you this time?” she blurted.
“Mhm.” Eyes still glued to the screen.
“Seriously. You’ll be at the hotel, right? You’ll be working all day, but the evenings could be ours.”
“What? No! What would you even do there?” He finally looked up.
“I could explore! Museums, shops—”
“Oh, come off it! It’s some dull little town, nothing worth seeing. We’ve got shops here, haven’t we?”
“I’m *bored*, Matt. I won’t be in your way…”
“Em, if you want a holiday, book one! Alone!” he snapped.
“Alone? We’re supposed to be *married*, remember?”
“Here we go again. You know how crazy things are at work. It’s not my fault the boss keeps demanding weekends!”
“Funny, I saw Rowan and his wife at the shopping centre last Saturday. They weren’t working.”
“Oh, so now we’re keeping tabs? Thanks for breakfast.” He stormed off to the bathroom.
She tidied up while he watched TV, then packed him sandwiches and a thermos of tea for the road.
“Emma, where’s my bag?” he called from the hallway.
“On the dresser.”
“Right. I’m off. Don’t take it to heart—there’s really nothing there.”
“Fine. Bye.”
He left. Emma stayed. Saturday stretched ahead—she could call a friend, meet for dinner somewhere cosy.
But who? Jess was knee-deep in nappies and school runs. Marie and her husband had bought that cottage and never left it now. Katie had moved to Manchester for work and barely called. Everyone had their own lives.
Emma was thirty-eight. No kids. A mistake from years ago—back when she and Matt were just starting out, renting a shoebox, barely scraping by on entry-level salaries. She’d been against it, but what choice did they have? Now? She’d have given anything for a child. A purpose. Maybe things with Matt wouldn’t have fizzled out.
*Fourteen. That’s how old they’d be now.*
“I wonder what they’d have been like…” she whispered, then burst into tears.
In the bathroom, she splashed water on her face, glaring at her reflection.
“Right. Enough. I’m calling Beth.”
She dialled, forcing cheer into her voice.
“Beth, hi!”
“Oh, Em, hi. What’s up?” Beth sounded off.
“Fancy coffee or a wander? You free?”
“Ah… I’m poorly, actually. Can’t.”
“Flu?”
“Yeah. Flu…”
Emma went shopping alone, but it was joyless. Then—a brilliant idea. She’d surprise Beth with supplies and keep her company. No husband, parents far away—she’d *love* the visit.
She grabbed cakes, groceries, medicine, hailed a cab, and headed over.
*She’ll be thrilled. I might even stay the night.*
She knocked.
The door swung open—and there stood Matt.
For a moment, Emma just gaped.
“Matt… what are you doing here?”
Silence. He froze, staring.
“Matt, who is it?” Beth called. Then she appeared.
Three of them now, standing wordlessly.
“Yes. The delivery. Get well soon.” Emma thrust the bags at Matt and turned on her heel.
She called another cab and waited outside. Minutes later, Matt followed.
“Let’s go home. We need to talk.” He gestured to his car.
“Why home? Go back upstairs—she’s waiting. How long has this been going on?”
A cab pulled up.
“Just so you know—I don’t want to see you in our flat again.”
She left. He stayed.
“Pull over by the river, please.”
The driver obliged. Emma walked the embankment, the evening breeze sharp against her face.
*So that’s what it was. That’s why it felt wrong all this time.* She’d *known*.
No tears now. Just quiet, staring into the distance.
“Oi, sorry!” A man bumped her shoulder.
“*Leon?*”
“Emma? Can’t believe it!”
Leon. Her childhood best friend. Same nursery, same school. Then the army, letters, drifting apart when she met Matt. She’d heard he married, moved away.
“How long’s it been?”
“Ages! Is this your daughter?”
“Yeah—little Sophie. Say hello.”
“Hello!”
“Hi. I’m Auntie Emma.”
“Sophie.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Listen, we’re heading to that café—fancy joining?”
“Absolutely.”
Over tea, Leon explained.
“After my wife passed, there was nothing keeping me up there. Moved back—parents are still around, helps with Sophie… You? Married? Kids?”
“No. Neither.” She smiled tightly.
“But you *did* marry?”
“Ah… We just didn’t get on.” No need for details.
Later, Matt came for his things.
“Should’ve told you about Beth.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Dunno.”
She filed for divorce. No kids, no messy fights—he took the cottage, she kept the flat.
Six months on, Emma was healing.
“Em, sorry to ask again—Mum’s ill. Can you fetch Soph from school?” Leon asked over the phone.
“*Of course*.”
She picked Sophie up, brought her home. They’d grown close these last months.
“Right, homework after lunch?”
“Yeah, Auntie Em!”
They were halfway through maths when the doorbell rang.
“That’ll be your dad. Keep going.”
She opened the door—Matt stood there.
“What do you want?”
“Em… I miss you. Let’s try again. Beth was just—we split already.”
“No.”
“Who’s that?” He spotted Sophie.
“None of your business. Goodbye.”
Then Leon appeared, flowers in hand.
“Dad!” Sophie dashed over.
Matt’s face twisted. He left, swearing under his breath—finally understanding.
“These are for you. Thanks for helping.” Leon handed Emma the bouquet.
“Auntie Em’s cooking is as good as Mummy’s!” Sophie chirped…
A year later, Emma and Leon married. Matt? Divorced again—Beth kicked him out. He ended up in the cottage.
Soon, Sophie started calling Emma “Mum.” A proper family now.
As for Matt? Still alone. Well—not *completely*. He had work.
And work trips.
Plenty of those.
