The tension in the flat was suffocating. For three agonising hours, Kate and Daniel had been locked in a bitter argument. Daniel was inches away from demanding a divorce—and he had every reason to. Though they’d married eleven years ago, children had never come. Now, the gulf between them felt unbridgeable. Daniel knew there was no fixing this.
Kate had longed for a baby, but hope had withered to dust. Every month, she’d uncurl her fingers, staring at the tiny window on the white test stick, heart hammering. The doctor’s reassurance—”You must believe till the end”—rang hollow now. She’d stopped believing.
Then, silence would swallow them whole.
After seven years of marriage, they fought constantly, even over trifles. Each row became a storm of pent-up pain, fury spat like venom before collapsing into heavy silence.
The divorce was inevitable.
Lately, they moved like ghosts, barely speaking, barely looking at each other. That’s when Kate decided to betray him.
“I’m sick of it all, Annie,” she confessed to her friend. “I can’t stand the sight of him. He’s like a shadow—just hunched over his laptop. What kind of life is this?”
“Love, if I were you, I’d find someone else on the sly,” Annie said breezily. “Might even get pregnant if you swap men.”
“Does that actually happen?” Kate blinked.
“Who knows? Maybe.” Annie shrugged. She had no stakes in this—she had her daughter, though her own marriage had crumbled.
Kate fell silent, but the seed had been planted. A gnawing thought took root: *Why not?* All she and Dan did was fight. If she mentioned divorce now, he’d probably agree without a second thought.
“Right, listen,” Annie said. “We’re hitting the pub tonight. I’m meeting Tom, and he’s bringing a mate. Perfect chance for you to shake things up.”
Those “shaken things” turned out to be an affair with Anthony. Kate never thought she’d cheat—angry as she was, betrayal wasn’t in her nature. Yet it happened so easily. A whirlwind of stolen moments, laughter, and suddenly, life *did* feel brighter.
She came home late, flushed with secrets. One night, Daniel snapped.
“Kate, I’m leaving. Let’s end this like adults. Quietly. We’ve nothing to split—no kids, and the flat’s yours anyway.” His voice was steel. This wasn’t spur-of-the-moment; he’d been planning it.
Truth was, Daniel had been her financial rock. Anthony, meanwhile, was all charm and empty promises—always on the verge of a “big break,” always spinning tales for wide-eyed women. Handsome, yes. Reliable? Not even close.
“Wait, Dan—let’s talk—” For some reason, she hesitated.
“No. I won’t forgive infidelity.”
“Infidelity? What are you on about?” She scoffed. He was a software engineer, buried in code. How could he know?
She didn’t realise his mate Paul had seen her—more than once—cosied up in cafés, acting anything but discreet. Or that her late arrivals hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“Don’t bother lying,” Daniel said coldly. “I know everything. Annie’ll keep you entertained, I’m sure.”
Her stomach dropped. *How?*
He grabbed his pre-packed suitcase, left the keys on the sideboard, and walked out. The car roared to life as he sped away.
**To the Countryside, With a Stowaway**
“It wasn’t meant to be,” Daniel muttered, eyes fixed on the road. “I’ll survive. In fact—I’m glad it’s over.”
The countryside called. His parents’ old cottage—thank God he’d never sold it. Buyers had circled, but something made him hold on. Now, it was his sanctuary.
“I’ll fix it up. Fish. Forage. Maybe get chickens.” Thirty-three wasn’t old. Christ’s age, he thought wryly. Remote work meant no career upheaval.
Two hours in, hunger gnawed at him. He veered onto a dirt track leading to a village, pulling up outside a tiny shop.
Stepping out, he spotted two scrawny cats watching him intently. “Starving, eh?”
Inside, the scent of hot pasties made his mouth water. “Three pasties, two sausages, and a juice,” he told the shopkeeper.
Outside, he tore the sausages into chunks for the cats. As he devoured his pasty, movement caught his eye—a tiny grey tabby kitten, hunched awkwardly.
“Scared, are you?” Daniel frowned. The kitten didn’t move, just stared with huge green eyes.
Up close, the truth hit him like a slap.
“Bloody hell—you’re the *spitting image* of Whiskers!” His grandmother’s cat, wise as an old soul, who’d followed her to the grave and vanished after.
He offered a bite of pasty. The kitten wolfed it down, then gazed up, trust flickering in those familiar eyes.
When Daniel lifted him, he understood. Some monster had tied the kitten’s hind legs with fishing line.
“Who *does* this?” Rage burned as he freed the little thing. Scooping him into the car, he muttered, “You’re coming with me, Whiskers. Just you and me now.”
The kitten curled up on the passenger seat, purring.
At the cottage, Daniel set his bags down, then nudged the kitten inside. “Go on—you’re the master here now.”
**A Reunion**
A year later, Whiskers had blossomed into a sleek, dignified cat, shadowing Daniel everywhere. The cottage thrived—chickens scratched in the yard, vegetables grew in neat rows.
Life had changed. That winter, while cross-country skiing, Daniel spotted a flash of green between the trees. A woman in a woolly hat, gliding toward him.
Their eyes met. Recognition sparked.
“*Sarah?*” He grinned. “Blimey, look at you!”
“Daniel! Knew it was you straightaway.”
“What brings you here? Parents alright?”
Her smile faltered. “Mum’s poorly. Had to come back—I’m all she’s got. Working remotely now.” She nodded at her skis. “Neighbour’s lad, Charlie, told me about this trail.”
“I’ve been here a year. Just me and Whiskers.”
“No wife?”
“Divorced. No kids.” He searched her face. “You?”
“One disaster of a marriage. Now it’s just me and my paintings.” She laughed. “Never knew I had it in me. The countryside’s endless inspiration.”
They agreed to meet that evening. Over tea, they pored over old school photos, laughter filling the cottage. Whiskers blinked drowsily, bemused by the noise.
“Your place is lovely,” Sarah said. “Needs a painting over that sofa, though. I’ll do one for you.”
Daniel walked her home, heart lighter than it had been in years.
Their reunions became routine—skiing trips, supermarket runs, Whiskers’ treats, medicine for Sarah’s mum.
Four months later, her mother passed. Daniel handled the funeral, the wake, the quiet grief.
“You’ll be alright,” he murmured one evening. “I talk to mine sometimes. Ask for advice. They’re still *here*, in a way.”
She leaned into him. “I’m not going back to the city. I’ve… grown fond of you, Daniel.”
“Then marry me,” he said abruptly. “Before I lose you again.”
She laughed through tears. “Not yet. But yes.”
**Epilogue**
Years rolled by. Daniel took up beekeeping, Sarah painted, and their son, Oliver, toddled after Whiskers, who tolerated the chaos with regal patience. They built a tea hut, selling honey, mead, and herbal blends. Word spread; customers came from miles away.
Whiskers, now a magnificent tom, prowled the cottage like he knew he’d brought luck. And maybe he had. Because now, as Daniel watched Sarah cradle Oliver, he caught her glancing at the crib in the corner—already dreaming of a daughter.
