The New Year Surprise
Emily hurried home, barely noticing the icy pavement underfoot. No wonder—she had two plane tickets tucked in her handbag. A booked hotel room awaited them in the south. They’d always dreamed of spending New Year’s by the sea, lounging in warmth without a care. No slaving over a stove, just pure relaxation, poolside lounging. A proper holiday fairytale.
But something always got in the way. Either they were saving for the mortgage deposit, or life’s chaos made them forget to book flights and hotels in time…
Now they had their own flat. Only a few payments left. Time to think about a baby. And if not now, parenthood would delay their dream even longer. So Emily decided to surprise David for New Year’s.
Of course, her mother-in-law would have plenty to say—wasting money on nonsense, who goes to the seaside in winter? What about *them*? Why hadn’t she consulted them first? There’d be grievances, accusations. The woman already disapproved of her; goodness knew what drama this would stir. Oh well. It wouldn’t *kill* her. But David’s reaction? Priceless.
If she’d asked, her mother-in-law would’ve thrown a fit, ruining the surprise. And they’d never have gone. It never crossed Emily’s mind that David might hate surprises or have other plans. He’d always grumbled about stuffing themselves silly in front of the telly—he preferred a lively crowd.
The ticket envelope had sat in her desk drawer at work until today. Now, it was time. Their flight was in two days.
At home, Emily tucked the envelope under the tree where David couldn’t miss it. She changed, started dinner, ears pricked for the door. Kept glancing at the clock.
By half eight, she was antsy. The pan had long gone cold. No David. She rang him repeatedly—his phone was off. Emily paced, peered out the window, imagining the worst. Automated replies taunted her: *”The person you are calling is unavailable.”*
She tried reasoning—maybe he’d bumped into mates and lost track. But why switch off his phone? Why no warning?
She even checked the hallway twice. Once, her dad had come home plastered, mates propping him by the door before bolting. Lucky the neighbour found him.
No one lurked tonight. The surprise hardly mattered now—she just wanted David safe.
Sleep? Impossible. She curled on the sofa, braced for a long vigil. Her phone’s ringtone shattered the silence. She jolted, snatched it up.
“David? Where *are* you?” she blurted.
“Nothing’s wrong,” purred a syrupy female voice. Emily pulled the phone away, checked the screen—*his* number. “Your David’s sleeping. Like a baby.”
“Sleeping *where*? Who *is* this?” Emily asked, already dreading the answer.
A friend had once warned her about surprises—how her sister gifted her husband spa passes. They went a few times until “work got busy.” Then the sister found her card missing—registered that very hour. She waited, saw him stroll out with another woman.
That memory flashed through Emily’s mind as the voice oozed on.
“He’s at mine. Alive and well, don’t fret. Guess who I am? He *loves* me. Six months now. Too soft to tell you. Thought I’d help.” *Click.*
Emily sagged onto the sofa. The screen darkened—like her hopes, her holiday, her joy. Only hurt remained.
She’d heard countless stories like this. Never thought it’d be *them*. Six years together—was that enough to grow tired? It couldn’t be real. Any second, David would stroll in, say it was a prank.
She redialled. Still off. She pictured a blonde in a robe, smirking as she called from his phone. Plump lips still swollen from kissing.
*Six months. Since July. And I’ve been planning this bloody surprise.* What stung more—his betrayal or the wasted effort?
The tickets still lay under the tree. No tears came. Just a whirl of questions: *What now? How do I live?*
She curled tighter. Fitful sleep came in snatches, each wake-up a fresh stab of memory.
The key turned. Light spilled under the door. Rustling fabric. Any second, he’d explain. That call was a nightmare. *Please, let it be.*
Footsteps paused by the sofa.
“I’m awake,” Emily said. “Late at work? Why’s your phone off? What if something happened?”
“Battery died,” David said carefully.
Emily opened her call log, thrust the screen at him.
“Look. You rang me at half twelve. Explain that. Though don’t bother. Your *girlfriend* already did. Slept well, did you? Go pack your things. She says you’ve loved her six months. That you *pitied* me.”
David stammered. Emily steamrolled on.
“I had a surprise too. Under the tree. Two tickets to paradise. Remember? Our dream holiday?”
“Em, I’m—”
“Don’t. Just *don’t*.” Her voice stayed eerily calm, but inside, something trembled, ready to explode.
“Go.”
David reached for her.
“Don’t *touch* me! Go! GO!” Her voice climbed, cracked, became a scream. He gripped her; she thrashed, then crumpled, sobbing.
He left. Emily sat, frozen. Then grabbed the envelope—almost tore it—stopped.
Flight details: 30th December. Time. Destination.
Suddenly, it was a lifeline. She’d go *alone*. The hotel promised parties, all-night fun. Sell the spare ticket.
She rang her mum. “We’re flying south, back in a week.” Packed in a daze.
En route to Heathrow, she almost turned back. Moving felt easier than sitting in misery.
Even aboard the plane, it felt unreal. Then the coast appeared—palm-fringed resorts glittering. Straight to the beach? No—hotel first.
Other guests were couples, families. Only one woman stood out—pale, scarf-clad. “Post-chemo,” Emily guessed. But then a young man helped her rise. Her son? Too young to be her husband.
They met on the promenade often. One evening, she found him alone.
“Where’s your mum?”
“Not well.”
Close up, he looked younger than thirty. They talked. Andrew’s wife had bolted when his mum fell ill.
“This trip was her dream. Doctors said winter sun might help.”
They strolled most evenings while his mum rested. Emily left first. Exchanged numbers—like childhood pen pals, though those never wrote back.
Returning home, she felt… fine. Almost eerily so. Rang her mum.
“What happened? David called, asking where you were. You said you were going together.”
“Later, Mum.”
The flat bore traces of David—some clothes gone, not all. Hoping for reconciliation? Her phone buzzed instantly—*him*, begging to talk.
“No. I’m filing for divorce.”
In March, Andrew rang.
“Sorry I didn’t call sooner. Mum died two weeks ago. I’ve thought of you often. Didn’t want to offer you nothing.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m free. Can offer my heart. Mum liked you—said you were brave. I can’t forget you.”
“You barely know me. I’ll call you. Later.”
Post-divorce, Emily scrubbed the flat clean—*therapy*. Then paused mid-scrub.
*Why? I don’t want to live here, haunted by ghosts.* She dropped the cloth, rang Andrew. Outside, May sunshine blazed.
“I thought you’d never call,” he said.
“I couldn’t say yes then. Now I’m free. Give me a little more time.”
She wasn’t ready yet. But the past faded quicker now. The future? A tempting curtain, just waiting to be pulled back…
