**Just Didn’t Click**
*”You’re not going to be late, are you? What time are you leaving, Jim?! Jim…”* Emily tugged at her husband’s shoulder, but he waved her off, his whole demeanour screaming that he wasn’t about to wake up anytime soon and definitely wouldn’t be late for anything. Emily glanced at her phone—only seven in the morning.
*Why on earth did I get up so early on a Saturday?! Nothing to do, packed his bag for the trip yesterday…* She nearly crawled back under the warm duvet when—*bam*—that uneasy feeling crept up on her again, the one she’d been having more and more lately.
On paper, she had nothing to worry about. Jim was right there. They had a flat in the city centre, a posh renovation, designer furniture, top-notch appliances. He had his car; she had hers. Not long ago, they’d even bought a cottage in the countryside as a weekend getaway. Everything was sorted, really.
Some people would kill for a life like this. Try living in a rented flat, working all hours, taking the bus, dealing with kids’ homework, cooking for the family, paying off loans, school fees—never a moment to breathe. Just as your head hits the pillow, the alarm goes off, and it’s the same old grind all over again. *My problems? Pfft. What problems?*
But that feeling just wouldn’t budge. Emily had learned to recognise it by now—a gnawing, baseless dread, like something important was slipping away. It came without warning, left just as abruptly, then circled back when she least expected it.
This morning, it barged into her heart uninvited again. Emily got out of bed, gave her sleeping husband one last look, and shuffled to the kitchen. Another business trip today. They’d been relentless lately. The new boss, who’d joined a year and a half ago, bumped Jim’s salary nicely. The company was big, promising. Jim was one of the top guys, head of a department. Only downside? The job swallowed up all his time—and now they’d started sending him off on weekends too.
She made breakfast and headed back to the bedroom to rouse him.
*”Jim, are you getting up or not? Come on, you’ll be late for your precious trip. Didn’t you say you were leaving after lunch?”*
*”Yeah, after…”* Jim mumbled, finally dragging himself upright.
*”Come on, breakfast’s ready.”*
*”Mmm.”* Still half-asleep, he trailed after her to the kitchen.
Over breakfast, he buried himself in his phone. Emily noticed lately they barely talked at all, like they’d grown apart. Not that they fought—everything was *fine*. He still brought her flowers sometimes. She’d persuade him to go to a restaurant, and he’d agree. They strolled in the park, met friends, went to the cinema—but it all felt hollow, not like before.
*”Jim, why don’t you take me with you this time?”* Emily blurted out.
*”Mmm.”* Eyes still glued to his phone.
*”Seriously, what’s the big deal? You’ll be at the hotel, right? Days on-site, evenings with me.”*
*”What?! No! Why would you even—”* Jim snapped to attention.
*”Come on, Jim! What’s wrong with that? You’re driving, aren’t you?”*
*”Yeah, but what’re you even going to *do* there? It’s the weekend—stay home, relax. I’ll be back Monday or Tuesday.”*
*”What’ll I do? I’ve never been to that town! Shopping, maybe a museum…”*
*”Oh, stop it! It’s a complete backwater, nothing to see! You’ve got shops on every corner here—knock yourself out!”*
*”Jim, I’m *bored* here! I won’t get in your way, promise…”* Emily whined.
*”Em, no! Fancy time off? Book yourself a holiday!”* Jim snapped.
*”Alone? I want to go *with you*. Or have you forgotten we’re married?”*
*”Here we go again! I’ve told you a hundred times—work’s insane right now! The boss is breathing down our necks! Not my fault he’s got me working weekends!”*
*”Funny how it’s *always* you. Last Saturday, I saw your mate Tomlinson at the mall with his wife and kids. But *you* were working!”* She hadn’t meant to pick a fight, especially before his trip, but the words tumbled out anyway.
*”Oh, brilliant, let’s play ‘who was where’ now! Thanks for breakfast!”* Jim shoved his chair back and stomped off to the bathroom.
Emily tidied up while Jim vegged in front of the telly, then packed him sandwiches and a thermos of tea for the road.
*”Em, where’s my bag?”* Jim called from the hallway.
*”On the dresser,”* she replied flatly.
*”Right. I’m off then. Don’t sulk—there’s really nothing for you there.”*
*”Fine. Wasn’t sulking. Bye.”*
Jim left. Emily stayed. Saturday—could call one of the girls, maybe meet up, grab dinner somewhere cosy, have a proper natter.
But who? Julie had a husband and two kids—no chance. Marie and her bloke had just bought a place in the countryside—no way she’d come back into town. Katie had swanned off to London—radio silence for ages. Everyone had their own lives, kids, responsibilities…
Emily was nearly thirty-eight, and she and Jim didn’t have kids. A botched abortion in their early days—back when they’d just moved in together, scraping by on peanuts in a rented flat. She’d got pregnant, told Jim. He’d talked her out of keeping it. She’d been against it but didn’t argue—their situation *was* dire. What kind of life could they give a kid? Now, though—*now* it’d be different. She wouldn’t be so lonely, life would have meaning, and things with Jim would’ve been better.
That kid would’ve been fourteen by now.
*”Wonder what they’d have been like…?”* Emily murmured aloud before the tears came.
She washed her face, glared at her blotchy reflection.
*”No. This ends *now*. I’m calling Vicky!”* She forced a smile at the mirror.
Back in the kitchen, she grabbed her phone and dialled.
*”Vicks, hi!”* Emily chirped.
*”Oh! Em, hey. What’s up?”* Vicky’s voice was weirdly sluggish.
*”Fancy a coffee or a mooch round the shops? You free?”*
*”Oh… Em, I can’t. Bit under the weather. Maybe another time?”*
*”Oh. Caught a cold?”*
*”Uh… yeah. Just a cold…”*
Emily went shopping alone. Dull as dishwater. Then—genius idea—she’d pop round to cheer up poor sick Vicky. No husband, parents miles away.
She hit the bakery, the supermarket, the pharmacy, loaded up, called a cab, and headed over.
*”She’ll be thrilled! This’ll perk her right up. Might even stay the night!”*
She rang the bell.
The door swung open—and there stood *Jim*.
For a solid five seconds, Emily just gaped.
*”Jim… what the hell are you doing here?”* Her voice cracked.
Jim said nothing, frozen in the doorway.
*”Jim, love, who is it? The delivery?”* Vicky’s voice floated through before she appeared in the hall.
Now all three stood there, silent.
*”Yep. Delivery. Here you go—get well soon!”* Emily thrust the bags at Jim and turned on her heel.
Downstairs, she called another cab. Jim caught up with her outside.
*”Let’s go home. We need to talk.”* He marched toward his car.
*”Home? Why? *She’s* waiting upstairs. How many of these ‘business trips’ have there been, Jim?”* Emily wiped her cheeks as the cab pulled up.
*”Just so you know—I don’t want you in *our* flat ever again.”*
The cab left. Jim stayed.
*”Pull over by the promenade, please,”* Emily told the driver.
She walked along the waterfront, the evening air cool on her skin.
*”So *that’s* what it was.”* That feeling she couldn’t shake—now it made sense. She’d *known* something was off but refused to acknowledge it.
No tears now. Just the distant glow of streetlights.
*”Oops, sorry!”* A man’s voice snapped her out of it as he brushed her shoulder.She looked up—and there stood Leo, her childhood best friend, grinning with the same warmth she remembered from years ago, as if life had just handed her a second chance.
