Emily boarded the flight a day earlier than everyone else for her former mother-in-law’s anniversary. As she settled into her airplane seat, she tensed—someone had unexpectedly called her name.
She had twisted the strap of her handbag nervously while waiting in the check-in queue. The anniversary—technically her ex-mother-in-law’s—was still a day away, but Emily had deliberately chosen an early flight. She knew Oliver, as usual, would leave things to the last minute and likely fly out the next morning. Three years had passed since the divorce, and in all that time, they’d managed to live in the same city without crossing paths once. Now, more than ever, she wanted to preserve that fragile balance.
“Seat 12A,” she skimmed her boarding pass. By the window, just how she liked it. Once on the plane, she pulled out her book—a new novel she’d started yesterday and couldn’t put down. A story about love, betrayal, and forgiveness. She used to avoid such themes, but time had a way of healing.
“Emily?” A familiar voice made her flinch. “Well, this is a surprise…”
She slowly lifted her gaze. Oliver stood in the aisle, gripping his suitcase handle. Still as composed as ever, in his favourite grey blazer. Only now, she noticed streaks of silver at his temples.
“You’re always late,” slipped out instead of a greeting.
“And you always plan ahead,” he smiled, pulling out his ticket. “Ah. 12B.”
Her cheeks burned. Three hours beside the one person she’d carefully avoided all these years. Fate, it seemed, had other plans.
“I can swap with someone—” Oliver began.
“Don’t bother,” she cut in. “We’re adults.”
He nodded and took his seat. His cologne—the same as always—stirred something deep and aching inside her. How many mornings had she woken to that scent?
“How’s work?” he asked after takeoff, when the silence grew unbearable.
“Good. Opened my own yoga studio,” she kept her tone even. “Still at the same firm?”
“No, moved into consulting. Remember how I always wanted to?”
Of course she remembered. Just as she remembered the arguments. She’d feared change; he’d craved it. Now, years later, they’d each gotten what they wanted. So why did her heart still ache?
“Mum will be glad to see you,” Oliver said after a pause. “She still keeps that ceramic vase you gave her last anniversary.”
“Margaret was always…” Emily hesitated, choosing her words, “so kind to me.”
“Even after the divorce, she said you were the best daughter-in-law she could’ve asked for.”
Emily’s eyes pricked traitorously. She opened her book, masking her emotions.
“What are you reading?” Oliver glanced at the cover.
“‘The Time to Forgive’,” she replied, and they both fell silent, struck by the irony.
The rest of the flight passed quietly—a different kind of silence, no longer tense but almost comfortable, like before. When the plane landed in Manchester, Oliver helped her retrieve her bag from the overhead locker.
“Sharing a cab?” he offered. “We’re heading the same way.”
Emily hesitated. Three years ago, they’d parted, certain they’d never cross paths again. Yet here they were, and the world hadn’t ended.
“Alright,” she nodded. “But I’ll navigate. You always argue with the GPS.”
Oliver laughed, and that familiar sound sent a tremor through her. Perhaps sometimes, letting go of the past was the only way to brighten the present.
As they stepped off the plane, she realised—for the first time in years—she didn’t regret this chance encounter. Ahead lay the anniversary, awkward glances from relatives, and a celebration. But now she knew: they’d manage. After all, they always had.
The cab wound through Manchester’s evening streets. True to her word, Emily tracked their route, occasionally correcting the driver. Oliver sat beside her, only her handbag between them.
“Turn right here,” she said, and Oliver smiled—she always remembered the way to his parents’ better than he did.
“Remember our first visit to Mum’s?” he asked suddenly. “You were so nervous…”
“Of course!” Emily snorted. “I changed outfits three times. Wanted to make a good impression.”
“And then spilled tea all over yourself.”
They laughed, and for a moment, time seemed to fold back. But the cab stopped outside the familiar house, and the illusion faded into twilight.
Margaret greeted them at the door, clasping her hands. “You came together? What a surprise!”
“Ran into each other on the plane,” Emily explained quickly, sensing the hope in her ex-mother-in-law’s eyes.
“Come in, come in! Emily, I’ve kept your room ready—the same one…”
Emily froze. *Her* room—the upstairs bedroom where she and Oliver had always stayed. Where morning sun painted patterns on the wallpaper, and the old apple tree was visible from the window…
“Mum, maybe I’ll take the guest room—” Oliver started.
“Absolutely not!” Margaret cut in. “That’s for tomorrow’s guests. Emily takes the bedroom, you take your old room. Same as always.”
*Same as always.* The words echoed. Nothing was the same anymore, but no one argued with Margaret.
The evening passed in busy preparation. Emily helped with tomorrow’s feast; Oliver sorted through old boxes in the attic—his mother had been asking for years. They carefully avoided being alone together, though under one roof, it proved difficult.
That night, Emily lay awake. The bed felt too large, too empty. Floorboards creaked next door—Oliver wasn’t sleeping either. She recognised the rhythm: three steps to the window, four back. He’d always paced like that when thinking.
Then, silence. She turned toward the window. The apple tree rustled, and for a second, the past three years felt like a long dream. But this was real—they were here again, under one roof, the same yet entirely different.
Morning brought the scent of fresh coffee and Margaret humming in the kitchen. Emily went down first, helping set the table. When Oliver appeared, slightly rumpled, they exchanged a brief nod. Over coffee, they spoke of weather, the party, everything and nothing all at once. There was something achingly familiar in the mundane.
By evening, the house brimmed with guests. Emily circulated with appetisers, weaving through rooms as if no time had passed. Oliver greeted people, his gaze occasionally finding hers.
“Emily, my dear,” Margaret intercepted her in the hallway, embracing her tightly. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Happy anniversary,” Emily handed her a bouquet and a small box. “A bracelet—handmade. Remember you admired one like it at that jeweller’s you love?”
Tears glistened in the older woman’s eyes. “You remember such things… Sit with me a moment.”
They settled in the study. Margaret took Emily’s hand. “I always thought you and Oliver rushed the divorce. Both so proud, so stubborn…”
“Margaret—”
“No, I won’t pry. But… he’s changed, Emily. So have you. Sometimes it takes time to understand things.”
The party continued—toasts, music, dancing. Emily caught herself searching for Oliver in the crowd. He seemed to be doing the same.
Late that night, when most guests had left, they stepped onto the old veranda. Oliver handed her a glass of wine.
“Remember when we made plans out here?”
She nodded. It was here they’d decided to marry.
“I got scared then,” Oliver admitted suddenly. “When you talked about children, a home… I hid in work.”
“And I didn’t understand your fear,” Emily said softly. “Pushed, rushed… I thought if we didn’t act immediately, we’d lose something important.”
“We weren’t ready to listen.”
Stars glittered above the garden as they always had. Distant music drifted from the house.
“I’ve been seeing a therapist,” Emily confessed. “She said we often ruin relationships not because we stop loving, but because we don’t know how to love ourselves.”
Oliver turned his glass thoughtfully. “Sounds right. I’ve learned a lot these years too. Like how coming home to an empty flat isn’t the victory I thought it’d be.”
“You never… found anyone else?” she ventured.
“Tried. Never quite fit. You?”
“Same.”
Petals drifted from the apple tree, swirling in the lantern light.
“Maybe we could try again,” Oliver said slowly. “Not as we were. Just… talking. No pressure to fix or forget.”
Emily met his eyes. The same hesitation she felt mirrored there.
“Let’s try,” she agreed. “Slowly. Step by step.”
From inside, Margaret called them for tea. They exchanged a conspiratorial smile. Ahead lay a night of conversation and, perhaps, the start of something new—or the rediscovery of something old. Time would tell.
