“Was I imagining things, or are we back together?” Emily nestled closer to Oliver.
“Alright, how do I look? Not bad, yeah?” Charlotte twirled in front of the mirror, trying on a pair of trousers. “Lizzie, come on, enough moping. Go somewhere—change the scenery, take your mind off things. Fall in love already, for heaven’s sake.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, bending one knee slightly. “No, I definitely like these. If you don’t mind, I’ll take them. Thanks.” She bounced over to Emily, plopped beside her on the sofa, hugged her, and planted a quick peck on her cheek.
Emily sighed, stood up, and walked over to the mirror.
“You’re right, I look awful. Lost weight, all pale. I was the one who ended things, and now I regret it. Fine, you’ve convinced me. I’ll put in for leave tomorrow. No—first, I’ll book the earliest ticket, then sort the leave.” For the first time that evening, a smile touched her lips.
“That’s the spirit, that’s more like it,” Charlotte cheered.
And that smile transformed Emily. It wasn’t just her lips—her whole face lit up, eyes crinkling with sparks of joy. “Cheeky little devil,” Charlotte used to say. But lately, those smiles had been rare.
Oliver had fallen for that laugh. She and Charlotte had been sitting on a bench outside their office one summer, licking ice creams and giggling over some silly joke. He’d walked past, glanced their way, then kept looking back. And when they laughed even louder—more contagious, more carefree—he was done for.
Two days later, they were back on that same bench. Oliver marched right up and stopped in front of Emily. “And you are?” Charlotte had bluntly asked, sending them both into another fit of laughter.
“I’m Oliver. I’ve been coming here every day since, hoping to see you again. That laugh of yours…” His gaze never left Emily.
Something in his voice made her realise he was serious—that he fancied her, that he was terrified she’d shoot him down. She smiled. And when his mouth fell open in delighted surprise, she laughed—bright, unguarded, happy. Not mocking, not teasing, just… joyful. Because no one had ever looked at her like that before. Mischief sparkled in her narrowed eyes. Later, he’d tell her that was the moment—not Charlotte, who was objectively prettier, more striking—but her. The way she laughed.
Oliver won her over with his adoration, his attention, his love. They moved in together. Two years passed. Then… it was time—propose or break it off, go their separate ways. Their love had faded into routine, into habit.
Oliver grew quiet. Her laughter didn’t charm him the way it used to. So Emily decided his feelings must have cooled—didn’t wait for him to say it. She ended things herself.
He protested, but weakly. Then packed his things and left.
Two weeks later, the regret hit. Without Oliver, everything felt worse. A month in, she was climbing the walls with loneliness. By the second month, she knew—she couldn’t live without him.
Then Charlotte turned up, whinging about some bloke who’d invited her to a festival. She’d bought a gorgeous blouse, but none of her trousers matched. Emily offered hers—they’d gone loose after all the heartbreak.
“So just get him back before some other girl snaps him up,” Charlotte said.
“No. Then he’ll think I’m dependent on him—that I’ll just bend to his will,” Emily murmured.
“Isn’t that the dream? Surrendering to the man you love?”
“And what if we get back together and I just feel bored again? What if nothing changes?”
“You’re overthinking. Open your laptop—let’s find you a ticket.”
Surprisingly, cheap tickets popped up straight away—the right destination, the right date, two weeks from now.
Emily persuaded her boss to approve leave, insisting she’d go spare if she didn’t get out of London for a while. The idea of travelling alone unnerved her—she’d only ever gone with family, with Oliver, or once with Charlotte and her boyfriend. Never solo.
“You’re a clever girl, but do be careful,” Charlotte warned at the train station.
She’d ruled out flying. Flights only went to places like Brighton—too expensive, too crowded. She wanted quiet. A train felt right—lying on her bunk, watching the blur of countryside through the window. Dozing to the rhythm of the rails, dreaming of the sea. Stepping out onto the platform, breathing in that salty air before diving straight into the waves…
She didn’t want anything serious ever again. Love brought too much hurt—too much fear that, sooner or later, it’d end.
“You’re nearly thirty. It’s time to accept that relationships change—that nothing’s perfect, not even people. Real love is rare. You’ve got to choose: would you rather love or be loved? So just take what’s given. Live. Be happy. Stop overthinking,” Charlotte said as Emily kept scanning the crowd for Oliver.
Her train companions turned out to be an elderly couple and their spotty teenage grandson. The kid gawked at her, unblinking. At first, she ignored it. Let him stare—maybe he’d never been this close to a pretty woman before.
Then it got annoying, so she stared back until he turned scarlet. Game, set, match—he stopped after that.
Granddad snored or did crosswords the whole ride. Granny complained—their son had divorced, both parents were busy with new relationships, so they’d dumped the boy on them. “What can we give a teenager? And they’ve packed us off to the seaside like this!”
They made it eventually. Emily hunted for a room right by the shore—somewhere she could wake to the sound of waves and seagulls. She found one, though it was miles from the main beach. Fine by her—better to swim and sunbathe alone than among screaming kids and lobster-red tourists.
Days passed walking the shore, meditating, staring at the horizon where the sea met a distant cruise ship. She tanned. Relaxed. Started feeling like herself again.
Then he appeared—tall, handsome. Loneliness had worn thin, so she welcomed the company. Daniel said he’d noticed her, that he preferred solitude too. They had loads in common—he’d recently divorced, also healing. They walked, swam, dined in cafés, strolled the promenade at dusk. Shared pain bonded them.
It might’ve stayed just that—starry conversations, casual walks—if he hadn’t turned up late one night, tossing pebbles at her window.
“I came to say goodbye,” he said softly. “My mother just called—my father’s in hospital. I leave first thing. I can’t bear walking away from you. You’re exactly what I’ve always wanted…”
Emily’s heart sank, but she stayed steady. Just opened the window and let him in.
What a night it was. Not just sex—closeness. She forgot everything. She really fancied him—no, more than that. She realised she’d fallen.
“I’ll call. Once Dad’s better, I’ll come back,” he whispered.
They swapped numbers. She gave him her London address. Exhausted, she drifted off before dawn.
When she woke, he was gone—slipped out the way he’d come.
She texted: Safe travels. Miss you already.
“Thanks for an unforgettable night!” he replied, adding a heart-eyed emoji.
After he left, the loneliness crushed her. She replayed memories, clutched her phone, waiting for calls that never came. She rang—his number was dead. Messages sat unread. She refused to believe he’d duped her. Held onto hope.
Then she checked her purse. Empty—just loose change left. Reality crashed down: she’d been scammed. Days passed mourning her naivety. At least she’d booked a return ticket.
Charlotte had warned her. Probably not even divorced—just funding his real family by preying on silly, sun-drunk women.
Back at the flat, she realised the keys were missing. She hadn’t hidden them—just tucked them in her suitcase’s outer pocket. The zip was shut, though. Could they have fallen out?
The landlady wouldn’t want keys to a London flat. But someone else might—someone she’d given her address to. Someone who’d left before her. Or flown back early.
The pain was physical. She didn’t even know the worst yet.
A neighbour found her sobbing on the landing. Called a locksmith. When the door swung open—wardrobes gaping, drawers ransacked—her laptop was gone. The cashmere coat. Her gold jewellery. Anything portable.
The neighbour said she’d heard footsteps the night before. Thought Emily had returned early.
“Should call the police.”
Emily collapsed onto the sofa, wept.
What good would that do? She knew nothing aboutAnd as Oliver wrapped her in his arms, whispering that none of it mattered as long as she was safe, Emily finally understood that love wasn’t about grand gestures or perfect moments—it was about who stayed when everything else was gone.
