He turned up after a year of radio silence, suitcase in hand the very same battered leather case hed hauled away a year ago, as if hed only stepped out for a loaf of bread. It was as though that quiet year had never existed.
Hello, he said, eyes flicking to the door. May I come in?
I didnt answer. I stared at him while the memories swirled: an empty bed, unanswered texts, a dozen frantic phone calls, holidays spent in mute, latenight sobbing in the kitchen after the children were tucked in.
Ive thought it all through, he added, as if that made any sense. Id like to come back. Give us another go.
A wave of dizziness washed over me, not because he was there, but because just a few months earlier I would have given anything to hear those words. Now I was no longer the woman he had left behind.
When he walked out the first time, I thought Id die not of pain but of the sheer emptiness, the baffling lack of closure. He left without a word, no explanation, just packed a bag one morning and announced, I dont know whats next. I need to get out. Then he vanished, blocked my number, ignored the kids calls.
Now hes back, as if time had hit the pause button. I met his gaze. He looked the same, but I wasnt the same woman any more. He probably hadnt realised that yet. I let him in perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps because after a year of silence I felt I deserved an answer, perhaps simply to confirm that I felt nothing for him any longer.
He settled on the sofa in the spot hed occupied for twenty years, grabbed the mug that once had his name scribbled on it, glanced around the living room and said, Not much has changed.
Everythings changed, I replied softly. You just havent noticed yet.
For a moment we sat in silence. Then he began to talk about overwhelm, about the void, about being lost. He claimed hed fled because the house felt like a suffocating cage, because he wasnt ready for old age, boredom, the daily grind. He needed to run away to realise how much I meant to him.
I watched him, feeling a strange indifference. A few months earlier any such confession would have shattered me. Today I felt only calm and a new, solid awareness: I had survived without him.
So where have you been? I finally asked.
He shrugged. First with a mate, then I rented a flat on the outskirts. Did odd jobs. Thought a lot.
Alone? I pressed.
He hesitated. Yes. But I cant lie. I saw someone. Briefly. Nothing serious. I wanted to forget. It hurt not so much the fact itself, but talking about it now as if it were a footnote. And Ive spent this year stitching myself back together, piece by piece.
During his absence Id finally done for myself what Id never managed during our marriage. I went back to work, rekindled friendships with old schoolmates, took solo day trips the very things he always rolled his eyes at. I learned to play music in the evenings that actually lifted my spirits, instead of enduring his bored stare. I simply started living on my own rhythm. And now, with his sudden return, was everything supposed to rewind?
Do you want to come back to me, or to the version of me from a year ago? I asked bluntly. Because Im not the same person you left, and Im not sure Id want to be again.
His eyebrows shot up in disbelief, as if hed just realised I wasnt waiting. I wasnt frozen in time, ready to welcome him unconditionally. In that instant I understood one more thing: I didnt need an answer, I needed truth. And the truth was that I no longer wanted to live for him only for myself.
After he left, I sat at the kitchen table, staring at a halffinished cup of tea. The house was quiet, but it wasnt the stifling hush that had suffocated me in the weeks after he went. This silence let me breathe.
Hed left his suitcase by the hallway. He didnt even ask, May I? He just set it down, as if he were certain Id let him stay. I said nothing not out of pity, but from a distance. I needed to figure out what he really wanted and what I wanted.
Over the next days he sent one or two messages a day, no pressure. Sometimes a question, sometimes a memory. Once he even sent a photo from our old seaside holiday, captioned, Never realised I had everything then. I didnt reply. I wasnt ready.
He suggested meeting up on the weekend dinner, a chat, whatever. I only managed, Not now. Hed left me speechless before; now I was the one craving words, truth, perhaps an apology not a hollow one, but one that came from genuine maturity and understanding of what really happened.
That evening I sank into the sofa with the novel Id been unable to finish for weeks, but my mind kept drifting. My phone buzzed.
If youd like, I can pop round tomorrow. Just to talk. No expectations.
I stared at the screen, thoughts tumbling. I no longer loved him as I once had. But you cant weigh every life decision on a balance of feelings alone. Sometimes people get lost so they can truly find themselves again.
Maybe its worth a try. Maybe I should. Maybe its not too late for him to return not to the woman he abandoned, but to the one who, over the past year, learned to value herself. Perhaps
