Constantin stood by the window of his new flat in the outskirts of London, and it felt as though the air outside had grown thicker, like syrup clogging his lungs. He was drowning in his own existence. Everything that once seemed solid and unmovable had crumbled. The grey sky stretched above him, and for the first time in years, he understood—there was no way back.
Once, he had a family. Natalie—his wife of fifteen years. Steady, dependable, the kind who made a house feel like a home. Two daughters, a cottage in the countryside, a shared business. All of it was proper, stable… and achingly predictable. Every morning, the same routine. Conversations about bills, worries over mortgages and school fees. Constantin felt trapped in his own home, as though the gilded walls had become a cage.
Then, one day, a new employee joined their architecture firm—Yasmin. Young, brash, full of fire. She laughed at his jokes, gazed at him with admiration, brushed his arm with casual ease. Something long buried stirred inside him—excitement, fascination, the thrill of feeling young again. He started coming home late, vanishing into the office for hours. Natalie never asked questions, and he was almost grateful—less talk, fewer accusations.
But none of it was an accident. Yasmin knew what she wanted. And she wanted Constantin. They lingered together after work, met outside the office, shared lunches, conversations, and eventually—a bed. He hardly noticed how quickly the flirtation became reality. Then, one evening, unable to bear the weight of his own guilt, he packed his things and left.
Natalie met his announcement with silence. No shouting, no theatrics. Just a quiet stare before she said:
“Remember this day, Constantin. You chose it.”
Life with Yasmin felt like a dream at first. She was affectionate, vibrant, full of passion. He felt desired, interesting, alive. But the shine faded fast. Yasmin grew demanding, sharp-tongued, berating him for his distraction, his modest salary, his evenings spent glued to his laptop. For the first time, he ached to go back… to the life he’d abandoned.
An excuse came unexpectedly—Natalie called, asking him to take the girls to the countryside for a few days. He agreed, desperate for escape. Those three days with his daughters were effortless; they baked cakes, rode bicycles, laughed like nothing had changed. And for the first time in years, a dull ache settled in his chest—longing for what he’d so carelessly thrown away.
He rang Natalie. He wanted to talk. To explain. To return. She listened. Then she said:
“The terms are simple. You leave Yasmin. You walk away. You start over. But know this—the trust is gone. It won’t be the same life.”
He hesitated. It felt too harsh. Too final. Then Yasmin told him she was pregnant. He said nothing at first. Then, barely a whisper: “I’m going to be a father…”
Joy tangled with dread. He wasn’t sure if he loved her. Didn’t know if this child was salvation or a life sentence. He sensed everything built on betrayal was fragile by nature. Torn between two worlds—his daughters and an unborn son, Natalie and Yasmin, the past he’d betrayed and a future that terrified him.
They met in a park. He told Natalie everything, raw and unvarnished. Begged forgiveness. She was silent for a long time. Then:
“Constantin, it’s clear now. And you know what? I’m relieved. You’ll have a son. I’ll have a new life. There’s no going back. Not because I hate you. Because I love myself.”
He stood, studying her. Strong. Calm. Entirely unfamiliar. And suddenly, he understood—he’d lost everything. By his own hand. By choice. Nowhere left to go but forward, down the path he’d chosen. Even if it led to nothing at all.
