It feels like we were never apart…
Every day, Alice walks home hoping to see Max waiting for her. She knows he doesn’t have a key—he left it behind when he moved out. Still, she can’t shake the hope that she’ll open the door and find his trainers in the hallway. But, just like every evening since he left, there’s no miracle waiting for her.
They shared two years together. He filled the emptiness after her mother’s death. And then she had to go and ask *that* question. Their relationship had never been fiery—just steady, comfortable. But Max never spoke of marriage, never mentioned a future together.
*”What happens next?”* Alice asked one evening.
*”You mean a ring and paperwork? What’s that going to change?”*
*”It matters to a woman. If it doesn’t to you… maybe we should just call it a day?”* She said it half-jokingly, hoping to nudge him into commitment.
*”Fine. Then we’re done.”* Just like that, he walked out.
A week passed. She waited. Should she call? Beg him to come back? But if a man leaves that easily, he never really loved her in the first place.
He’d appeared in her life when she needed someone most. Two years ago, a van driver had a heart attack at the wheel, lost control, and ploughed into a bus stop. Her mother and another woman died instantly; the others escaped with injuries. The driver didn’t last long either—news came he’d collapsed in hospital after learning what he’d done. Massive heart attack.
The story was all over the news. After the funeral, Alice moved like a ghost. She nearly stepped in front of Max’s car. He slammed the brakes, shouted at her—then saw her face. He drove her home. Then he stayed.
He was three years younger. Not a big gap, but it might as well have been a decade. He lived day by day with no plans, waving off any talk of kids. *”Kids? Plenty of time for that. Alice, aren’t we fine just us?”*
She wanted a real family. A child. Shopping for prams and babygros together. But the subject only annoyed him.
At home, she deliberately left her phone in her bag—avoiding the urge to check it every minute. Every morning before work, her heart stuttered as she scrolled through messages. Max never texted.
Another empty evening. The telly droned on, some film she wasn’t watching. So when the muffled ringtone sounded from the hallway, she didn’t react at first. It took forever to dig the phone out—purse, hairbrush, the usual clutter. Finally, she grabbed it. Not Max. She answered anyway, heart racing—what if his battery died? What if he’d crashed?
*”Alice?”* An older woman’s voice.
She didn’t care who it was or why they’d called.
*”I’m a neighbour of your Aunt Sophie. She passed this morning.”*
Aunt Sophie? What neighbour? What was this woman on about? Then a memory flashed—round-faced, smiling, covering her mouth when she laughed. No front teeth (her husband had knocked them out drunk). She smelled of woodsmoke and baking.
Alice used to count the days until summer, when they’d visit Aunt Sophie. Then her mother said they wouldn’t go back. She couldn’t remember why. Eventually, she forgot Aunt Sophie altogether.
*”You there?”* the stranger pressed.
*”Yes. What happened?”*
*”Doctor said it was a clot. Hospital out here’s not like in the city. Could’ve left her at home, but with the heat… Will you come?”*
*”When’s the funeral?”* She wasn’t going.
*”Day after tomorrow. Third day, as is proper. If you can’t make it, we’ll move it—”*
*”No, don’t. I’ll be there. Just—how do I get there? I don’t remember.”*
*”Course you don’t. Take the bus to Willowbrook—two hours. Then walk. No service to Hollow Ash.”*
*”I’ll take the bus.”* No car now Max was gone.
*”Need a lift from the stop?”*
*”No.”*
*”Do come. She’s got no one else.”*
*”I won’t go. Why should I? I barely remember her. How’d this woman even get my number?”* Then her wardrobe caught her eye—black dress, her mother’s funeral. *”Mum would’ve gone.”*
She packed a long blue skirt, a black blouse. Nothing bright for a funeral.
Next morning, she requested three unpaid days. Her boss nodded sympathetically.
*”Call if you need longer.”*
Back home, she gathered her things, headed to the station. Missed the bus—next one in two hours. No point going back. She killed time in a café, bought biscuits, wine. Couldn’t turn up empty-handed.
The whole ride, she questioned why she was doing this. The bus dropped her at sunset, heat still clinging. Sweat pricked her neck, clothes sticking. A car pulled ahead, stopped. A man stepped out.
*”Alice?”*
*”Yes. How—?”*
*”Don’t you remember me? I’m Nicholas.”*
Her mind dredged up a scrawny, snot-nosed boy. No way he’d grown into *this.*
*”Get in. Everyone’s waiting.”*
*”For me?”*
*”Well, yeah. Your aunt’s passed. We heard about your mum. Sorry. Aunt Nelly was worried there’d be no family. Guess she found you.”*
*”The neighbour who called? How’d she get my number?”*
*”Your mum must’ve left it when she visited.”*
No time to ask when her mother had visited. The car stopped.
Before she could step out, a petite woman hurried over.
*”Look at you!”* The woman embraced her. She smelled of fresh bread, milk—something achingly familiar.
Feeling Alice tense, the woman pulled back.
*”Come inside.”*
The door was unlocked.
*”Left it open in case I missed you. This is your home now. Sophie had no one else. Husband’s gone. Your mum too, God rest her. No kids. You’re the only one left.”*
*”But how did you—?”*
*”Your mum left the number last time she visited. Just before she died. Tried calling her first, but the line’s dead. Sophie and your mum hadn’t spoken years, then suddenly—”*
*”Why didn’t they?”*
*”A man, of course. Sophie’s husband—Michael—he loved your mum first. Proper adored her. She left for the city. He followed, got turned away. Came back, married Sophie. Handsome devil. Then your mum visited with you, and—well. After you left, he lost it. Drunk, violent. She couldn’t carry a child after what he did.”*
*”We came back the next summer,”* Alice murmured. *”I was older.”*
*”Sophie told your mum to leave you with her. They rowed. Pride, both of ‘em. Two months later, your mum took you back. Never brought you again. Michael drank himself to death. Sophie stayed alone. Loved you, though. When your mum came just before she died, they made peace.”*
*”Mum never told me.”*
*”Must’ve had her reasons. Last night, I found a note—your address, number. Sophie knew.”* The woman sighed.
*”They say death comes in threes. Michael four years back. Then your mum. Now Sophie. Soup’s still in her fridge… The women’ll come at dawn to cook. Staying long?”*
*”Just till after the funeral.”*
*”Rest, then. House is yours. Check the papers—she might’ve left it to you. I’m next door if you need me.”*
Alone, Alice wandered. Nothing felt familiar. She studied photos, old magazines. Childish scribbles—hers? Who else?
The linen smelled faintly of Sophie. The fridge held butter, cheese, soup. Clearly, Sophie hadn’t planned to die. Alice couldn’t eat a bite.
She felt like an intruder. What use was this house to her? She’d leave tomorrow, never return. Let the neighbours take what they wanted.
Darkness fell. Village lights winked out early. Alice undressed, slipped into clean sheets—Aunt Nelly’s doing.
Just as she drifted off, floorboards creaked. Sweat prickled her skin. *A ghost?* Then something clattered. A man swore.
Worse than a ghost.
She grabbed a fire poker, edged to the door—
*”Who’s there?”*
A torch beam cut out. The door slammed into her. She stumbled, fell hard. Scrambling up, she flickThe door swung open again, revealing a sheepish Nicholas holding a dropped toolbox—come to check on her—and in that moment, Alice realized she’d found something much rarer than a ghost: a second chance.
