Broken Wings of Love: When the Past Comes Knocking
Emily returned home earlier than usual. The project she had been working tirelessly on was finally completed, and she decided to treat herself and her husband—Oliver. She stopped by the supermarket, bought his favourite treats—cheese, fruit, seafood—and hummed to herself as she climbed the stairs.
“Oliver, are you home?” she called, spotting his shoes and jacket in the hallway.
Silence. No TV, no footsteps, no familiar, “Oh, you’re back early! What did you bring?”
Emily tensed. She set the bags down and walked through the flat. Oliver’s belongings were strewn everywhere—shirts, socks, a belt. In the bedroom, she finally found him. He stood with his back to her, in front of the open wardrobe, a suitcase in one hand and shirts in the other.
“There you are! I’ll make dinner,” she said brightly, though her voice wavered. “Business trip again?”
Oliver turned. His face was oddly calm. He took her hands.
“Em, go to the kitchen. Cook. I’ll be there soon. There’s something I need to explain.”
Emily didn’t understand but obeyed.
In the kitchen, her hands trembled. She turned on the oven, began preparing Oliver’s favourite baked fish, chopped a fresh salad, arranged the cheese. She relaxed slightly. “I’m probably overthinking,” she reassured herself.
But deep down, a storm was brewing.
Twenty minutes passed. Silence from the bedroom. She opened the window—warm air rushed in. Then, almost soundlessly, Oliver appeared behind her. He wrapped his arms around her.
“Dinner’s ready,” she murmured, about to turn. He held her tighter.
“Emily… You’ve always been clever. Understanding. I hope you’ll understand now. I’m leaving.”
Time froze.
“It’s beyond me… I’m sorry.”
He’d hesitated, agonised, for months. Torn between the past and present. Today, it became final.
“You’re wonderful. Kind. Intelligent. But I don’t love you. Maybe I did—or thought I did…”
He pulled away abruptly, grabbed his suitcase, and left, leaving Emily stunned. Behind her, the lovingly prepared meal grew cold.
She stood there—empty-eyed, in silence thick with devastation.
That night, she didn’t sleep. She wept, screamed into her pillow, stared at the ceiling. At dawn, just as she drifted off, the doorbell rang.
Oliver stood there, unchanged from when he left. Beside him—a slender blonde with icy blue eyes.
“This is Charlotte,” he said. “Remember I told you about my first love?”
Yes, she remembered. Charlotte had shattered him. After her betrayal, Emily had picked up the pieces when they first met in the supermarket car park. He’d nearly crashed into her car.
She’d taken him into her life, given him care, tenderness, a home. And he… had returned to the one who’d left him.
“We reconnected,” Oliver continued. “Charlotte’s divorced. We started talking. I visited her when I said I was on business trips…”
“Why are you here?”
“So you hear it from me, not someone else. Charlotte wanted to thank you. For helping me back then.” Charlotte nodded silently.
“You want me to be happy, right?” Oliver searched her eyes.
Emily shut the door in his face.
“Why? What does she have that I don’t?” she sobbed in her friend Sophie’s arms. “Yes, she’s gorgeous. Striking. But she betrayed him! And now she’s back—and he forgave her?”
Sophie bit back the words, “I warned you. Never get involved with a man still tied to his past.” Instead, she stroked Emily’s shoulder and whispered,
“It’ll pass. You’ll be happy too. I promise.”
“But he was mine. My prince…”
For two weeks, Emily barely left the flat. Then she returned to work. Moving like a ghost, oblivious to whispers. Devastated.
“This isn’t working,” Sophie declared months later. “Pack your bags. We’re going to the coast.”
Emily resisted. Glanced at her phone, at photos of Oliver and Charlotte, at Charlotte’s rounded belly.
“They’re having a baby, Sophie… They’re happy.”
“And you will be too—but only if you stop looking back!” Sophie snapped.
Slowly, things changed. Emily revived. Began smiling. Opened up to a kind colleague who’d always liked her. And now—a wedding.
Sophie, her own belly rounded, laughed as she ate her third scoop of ice cream in the bridal salon while Emily tried on dresses.
“You’ll be the most beautiful bride!” she grinned. “Trust me, everything will be alright.”
But fate loves irony.
When Emily returned home, Oliver was waiting by her door. A three-year-old girl in his arms.
“This is my daughter, Lily. Charlotte left us. Said she wanted a fresh start. Without us.”
“And you came… to me?” Emily’s voice shook.
“I’ve nowhere else to go. Please…”
“I’m getting married in four days, Oliver.”
He nodded, eyes downcast.
“I understand. But I… I can’t do this alone. I don’t know how to be a father.”
Emily looked at the sleeping girl. A tiny hand rested under her cheek.
“I’ll help where I can. But between us—it’s over. For good.”
The past can return anytime. But the choice to let it back in? That’s always ours.
