**Tuesday, 12th March**
Squeezing into the packed minibus, Lily quickly grabbed the last free seat before anyone else could. The day had started badly—her hairdryer broke, and her husband, Edward, grumbled about the burnt scrambled eggs. She rushed out without breakfast, hurrying to work.
Normally, she’d ride with Ed, but his car was in the shop for repairs. The journey was long, so she turned to the window, watching the blur of people and buildings. Something nagged at her, but she couldn’t place it. Then she felt a stare—piercing, familiar. Turning, she met a pair of grey eyes. It was Ryan, her first love. He smiled.
“Hello,” he said—just across the narrow aisle. “Knew it was you straight away. You haven’t changed much.”
“Hi. Didn’t expect to see you,” she replied.
“How’ve you been then?” he asked.
“Alright,” she said, hoping he’d admit his life was a mess—divorced, miserable. Instead:
“Brilliant, honestly. Wife’s at the office, our lad just finished uni and is off to Spain.” He glanced past her. “Blimey—this is my stop.” He waved from the pavement as the bus pulled away.
Lily sat stunned, replaying his words. She *had* changed—no longer the slim girl of twenty but a woman of forty-something. Still, the compliment warmed her. Her heart raced. How often had she imagined this? Pictured herself successful, him wretched. Yet there he was—balding, but confident, his eyes unchanged.
“Of all days,” she thought. “Just my luck.”
The ride dragged on, her mind churning. Why now? Just to unsettle her? She remembered stolen kisses, wildflowers, promises. By the time she reached her stop, she barely noticed the walk to work.
The day crawled. Distracted, she fumbled tasks. “One glimpse of Ryan, and I’m useless,” she grumbled on the way home.
Ed called as she walked in: “Luv, fetching the car from the garage. Might pop by the shed after. Don’t wait up.”
She wasn’t hungry. The telly blurred as memories surfaced—especially the fight. Something trivial, she realised now. Then seeing him arm-in-arm with another girl.
They’d met through her mate, Fiona, who lived next door. Fiona, the self-styled love expert, doled out advice. Lily should’ve ignored her.
With Ryan, it was real—poetry, laughter, stolen moments. Until one day, strolling together, they bumped into a woman who beamed at them.
“All right?” the woman said. Ryan slipped his arm off Lily’s shoulder, laughing.
“Hi, Mum! Wasn’t expecting you.”
Lily flushed. “Nice to meet you.”
“Don’t be shy,” his mum said warmly. “Ryan’s told me all about you.”
Fiona, though, kept meddling. “Have a row, then make up—it’ll make him adore you more.” Lily played along until she realised: *I don’t want fights. Why am I listening to her?*
Fiona sulked when Lily stopped taking advice. “Suit yourself. Don’t come crying to me.”
Then, on Lily’s birthday, Ryan didn’t show. Fiona did. “He’s gone to his gran’s in the countryside. No mobiles back then—no way to check.
A week later, she saw him outside a pub with mates. He looked right through her. Humiliated, she ran home sobbing. *Why?* Pride stopped her confronting him. Later, she wished she had.
Fiona gloated: “He’s got a new bird. Move on.”
Spring came. Lily turned a corner—and froze. A wedding party. Ryan, grinning, arm-in-arm with his bride.
“Alright?” he tossed at her casually.
She walked past, numb. At home, she cried—then vowed: *Last tears for him.*
She moved away, married Ed—steady, kind. Two sons, a quiet life. Rare visits home.
Years later, she ran into Fiona—aged, bitter. “Lily—got to tell you. I lied to Ryan. Said you were two-timing him. Made him believe it. Even set him up with that girl. I—I was jealous.”
Lily stared. *All that pain—because of her?*
“Some old biddy once told me,” Fiona muttered, “‘Shatter someone’s heart, and the shards’ll cut you too.’ She was right.”
Back then, Lily hadn’t forgiven her.
But today, seeing Ryan, she realised—she *had*. Maybe this meeting was meant to remind her: life works out. She had Ed, the boys… Who knows what she’d have had with Ryan?
**Lesson:** The past hurts, but sometimes the wounds heal into something better. Resentment’s a weight—best put it down.
