The dim streets of Manchester escorted Andrew home after a long day’s work. Lost in thought, he trudged along, his heart heavy with unease. The windows of their fourth-floor flat were dark. “Where has she wandered off to now?” flickered through his mind. Stepping into the silent house, the quiet gnawed at his nerves. Before he could even kick off his shoes, the doorbell rang. The neighbour, her face taut with worry, uttered words that shattered his world: “An ambulance took your wife, Emma.” Andrew froze, unable to process what he’d heard. His life, full of mistakes and missed chances, collapsed in an instant, leaving only pain and regret.
The thought struck him like thunder, right there on the pavement. He stopped dead, the ground swaying beneath him. “How could I have been so blind?” he wondered, a bitter smirk twisting his lips. It had all been so obvious, yet he’d seen nothing. At home, Emma had waited—the woman he’d once loved but long since taken for granted. He pictured their usual exchange: her cold “You’re back?” as she vanished into the kitchen without a glance. “Want dinner?” she’d ask, her voice stripped of warmth.
Once, Emma had cooked with passion—baking pies, collecting recipes, filling jars with pickles. But in recent years, that had faded. For the kids when they visited, she still made an effort. For him? Not a shred of care. Her meals turned tasteless, as if made out of duty. When patience wore thin, Andrew fried his own bacon or microwaved a ready-meal, biting back complaints. Emma ate in silence, never thanking him. Her indifference cut deep, but he swallowed his words to keep the peace.
There was a time when Emma had been different. Her tenderness, her quiet care, the way she’d lean into him, sharing warmth like an unspoken gift. But those moments belonged to the past. Now, her affection felt mechanical, a chore she resented. When had it begun? Maybe when Andrew stayed out with mates while she waited alone. Or when he’d missed picking her up from the hospital after their youngest was born—too busy celebrating down the pub. “It’s just a lads’ night,” he’d reasoned. But the hurt in her eyes had lingered, even now.
Emma changed. She grew withdrawn, retreating into silence, flinching at his remarks. He’d fume: “What’s the big deal? I’m just being honest!” But her quiet was worse than shouting. When the kids visited, she’d brighten—bustling about, laughing. With him? A wall. “Who’s she fooling?” he’d think. Life slipped by, their marriage reduced to empty routine.
Andrew had long stopped his nights out. Worked as an engineer, earned well, never glanced at other women. But Emma? She didn’t seem to care. She earned just as much, fiercely independent. So why stay? For the kids? They were grown. He couldn’t make sense of her. Once, he’d tried. Then he’d shrugged: “If she wants to live like this, fine.” But deep down, he ached for warmth—for a wife who’d greet him with joy, not duty. For love that had long since faded.
Now, the crushing realisation: she hadn’t loved him. Maybe never had. Andrew remembered wondering why a woman so clever, so poised, had chosen him. Maybe he’d just been convenient—tall, decent-looking. “Knew the kids would turn out handsome,” he thought bitterly.
Inside the dark flat, the silence screamed. “Where is she?” Panic clawed at him. The doorbell rang again. The neighbour couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Andrew… an ambulance took Emma an hour ago.”
He sprinted through the streets, choking on tears. For the first time in his life, he prayed:
“God, don’t take her. How do I live without her? Please, save her! If she pulls through, I’ll fix everything—I swear it! I’ll go to church, I’ll do anything—just let her live!”
But he never saw Emma alive again. The hospital said her heart had stopped in the ambulance. His world crumbled. Days blurred. Children, friends, relatives spoke, but their words melted into noise. One thought pounded in his skull: “I never said sorry.”
Now, Andrew lives alone. The kids begged him to move in, but he refused. He often visits the parish church nearby. There, in the hush and scent of incense, he imagines Emma beside him. The ancient walls seem to cradle his grief. Gazing at the stained glass, he whispers, “Forgive me for not cherishing you.” But no reply comes—only the silence that’s now his constant companion.
