The iron glided monotonously over the board as Emily pushed it back and forth. Beads of sweat trickled down her temples, her neck, her spine. The evening heat had eased slightly, but the iron radiated its own stifling warmth. She was nearly done with the laundry when her phone rang. It stopped briefly, then started again—that persistent trill grating on her nerves.
She set the iron aside, walked to the table, and picked up the phone. The name on the screen startled her.
“Lily? Is that really you? What’s wrong?” Emily’s voice was tight with worry.
“Who else would it be? Something’s come up. I’m heading your way—just got sent on a work trip last minute. Turned down the hotel, thought I’d stay with you. Two nights—that alright?”
“Of course! When do you get in?” Emily tensed, suddenly aware that her fridge held only the bare essentials. She’d been keeping things simple lately, meals minimal, just for herself.
“Tomorrow. I know it’s sudden, but it all came together at the last second. I’ll text you the train number, carriage, and time. You’ll meet me?”
“Obviously!” Emily promised, though she cringed at the thought of taking yet another day off. She’d already called in sick too many times this month.
But Lily reassured her—she’d be arriving in the evening, staying a full two days. The knot in Emily’s chest loosened.
“Don’t go to any trouble, I mean it. I know how you are. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up,” Lily said before hanging up.
Emily finished the ironing, folded everything neatly into the cupboard. Part of her was glad to hear from Lily—really, she was—but another part recoiled. *Lily’s going to pry. Dig into my life just when I’d finally made peace with things, even grown used to the quiet. Now I’ve got to figure out what to feed her.* She glanced at the clock. *Still time to hit the shop before it closes. Tomorrow’s too tight. Can’t believe she’s actually coming…*
She checked the fridge. Empty, mostly. Not that she’d had much appetite anyway. The chemo had seen to that. She changed quickly and headed out, thoughts lingering on Lily.
They’d been inseparable from the start—ever since Lily showed up in Year Six, mid-term, with that mysterious, romantic name. They even ended up at the same uni. Then, in third year, Lily fell hard for a cadet from the military academy, married him in a whirlwind, and vanished into some distant posting while finishing her degree remotely.
At first, they wrote letters. Then, with mobiles everywhere, they called. But life swallowed them whole—birthdays, New Year’s, that was it. Each had their own burdens, their own children. Lily had two boys now, always underfoot, always needing eyes on them.
Emily had married a year after graduation, got pregnant straight away. The birth was rough—no more kids after that. Her daughter grew up, finished medical school, then married and moved to her husband’s hometown.
Picking groceries off the shelves, Emily realised she hadn’t cleaned. *Oh well, it’s not like I live in a pigsty. It’s just Lily—not the flipping Queen.* She debated whether to lie—say her husband was away on business, visiting their daughter—but Lily would see right through it. She always did. *She’ll take one look and know the truth. What’s the point hiding it? Not the first wife ditched for someone younger, won’t be the last.*
She’d known long before he left. His sudden shift to jeans and jumpers, suits only for meetings. The running shoes, the morning jogs—short-lived, of course.
While their daughter was still home, they’d kept up appearances. He played the overworked husband, coming home just to sleep. Emily barely tolerated it—watching him stroll in well-fed, well-pleasured, straight to bed.
Then their daughter married and left. No more pretence. She packed his pressed shirts into a suitcase herself. Let the other woman see he hadn’t been neglected. Let *him* know what he was losing. Would she be as patient? Men liked comfort as they aged. Passion faded fast. Emily had waited, certain he’d crawl back.
Time passed. He didn’t.
Then—well, then her routine checkup found the cancer. Distracted her from the hurt. No room for anger after that. Surgery. Chemo. Every scan felt like a death sentence. But so far, it hadn’t spread.
Sometimes, she ached to call him, tell him. And then what? Pity? Him staying out of guilt? Watching him leave every day knowing where he’d been? No. Pity wasn’t love.
So she lived alone. No new friends. Just walks in the park, nodding at the same pensioners and mums with prams.
*Lovely weather, isn’t it?*
*Where’s the little one today?*
*Haven’t seen you in ages.*
Small talk. Nothing more.
The next evening, Emily rushed home from work and started cooking. Even mopped the floor before heading to the station. Exhausted, no time to rest—Lily’s train was due.
The brakes screeched as it slowed, creeping to the platform. Emily scanned the windows, searching. Finally, the flood of passengers. She stayed put near the underground passage—easier to spot someone in the bottleneck.
*What if I don’t recognise her? It’s been years.*
Then—there she was. Fuller in the face, eyes darting, but unmistakable. Lily twisted, searching. Emily waved. Lily spotted her, shoved through the crowd. They collided, clinging, oblivious to elbows and suitcases jostling them.
“Let’s go,” Emily said.
The tunnel echoed as they talked over each other—both afraid they’d miss one another, asking the same questions. The bus was stifling; Emily felt faint. Lily studied her, but Emily couldn’t muster the energy to pretend. Home, she collapsed on the couch. Lily sat beside her.
“Rest. You look dead on your feet. Told you not to fuss. Smells amazing, though. I’ll shower, then we’ll talk.”
Grateful, Emily let her.
Lily emerged fresh, like she hadn’t just travelled a full day. Produced a bottle of wine. They drank, ate, drank again. Emily cracked—told her everything. The husband. The illness. The loneliness, the fear before every scan.
“God, Em. Why didn’t you call sooner? How’ve you been coping?” Lily hugged her. They cried.
Late into the night, Emily lay awake, stirred up by the conversation. But it was good—someone to share the weight with.
Next morning, Emily left for work, scribbling a note and leaving keys. Lily called midday—errands, she’d be back late. That evening, they talked non-stop. Lily unloaded too—her eldest following his dad into the military, itching for deployment. The youngest glued to screens, no interest in anything else.
“Twenty-six years together, and he—” Lily sighed.
“Maybe I was already sick. Just didn’t know. So tired all the time. No wonder he looked elsewhere,” Emily admitted.
“Don’t you dare make excuses for him! Blind selfishness, that’s all it was. Leaving you like this—”
“Doesn’t matter now.”
Lily gave her a look.
“What’s his job? Where’s he working these days?” Suddenly probing.
Unaware, Emily told her.
After work the next day, Emily hurried home. Lily’s train was that night—so little time left.
The moment she stepped in, Lily asked how she felt.
“Fine. Why?”
“Then get dressed up. We’re going out.”
“What? Let’s just stay in.”
“Nope. Table’s booked.”
Emily relented. “Fine. I’ll wear the blue dress. No makeup, though.”
“Just the dress. The one that makes you feel strong. You’ll be okay?” Lily’s voice dropped.
“For you? Always.”
The restaurant was soft-lit, elegant. And there—Mark. Changed. Diminished.
He stood as they entered, eyes locked on Emily.
“You set this up,” she realised, stopping cold. “That’s why you asked where he worked?”
“Just listen to him. Please,” Lily pleaded.
Emily almost left. But she sat. Mark pulled out her chair.
“I ordered for us. You look tired,” he said.
“Blame me. We were up half the night,” Lily cut in. “Pour the wine, then.”
Mark brightened, almost like his old self. Emily’s pulse tripped.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, filling her glass.
“What difference would it have made? Stayed out of pity but kept seeing her? I couldn’t do that.”
He winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—didn’t see it.”Then he reached across the table, his hand trembling, and whispered, ‘Let me come home, Em—not out of pity, but because I still love you.'”
