Oliver encountered his ex-wife, and his cheeks practically turned green with envy. He slammed the refrigerator door shut with such force that everything inside rattled. One of the magnets on the door detached with a clatter and fell to the floor.
Emma stood across from him, pale with clenched fists.
“Feeling any better now?” she sighed, lifting her chin.
“You just drive me mad,” Oliver burst out, trying to maintain his composure. “What kind of life is this? No joy, no future.”
“So, it’s all my fault again?” Emma smirked bitterly. “Of course, nothing matches your dreams.”
Oliver wanted to say something but just waved his hand. He opened a bottle of sparkling water, took a sip directly, and then placed it on the table.
“Oliver, don’t stay silent,” Emma said in a trembling voice. “For once, just tell me what’s bothering you?”
“What’s there to say?” he sneered. “I’m fed up with all of this. To hell with it!”
They stared at each other in silence for a few moments. Finally, Emma took a deep breath and headed to the bathroom. Oliver sank heavily onto the sofa. The sound of running water could be heard from beyond the door—Emma must have turned on the tap to muffle her own tears. But he didn’t care.
A Life Become Routine
Three years ago, they got married. They first lived in Emma’s apartment, which she inherited from her parents, and then moved to a cottage, signing the flat over to their daughter. They lived in a spacious yet unrenovated house with furniture that was reminiscent of bygone days. Initially, Oliver was content: in the city center, conveniently close to work. But over time, everything started to irritate him. Emma loved her “family fortress” with its brown wallpaper and an antique sideboard inherited from her family. To Oliver, it all felt stagnant.
“Emma, be honest,” he would repeat. “Don’t you want to replace this awful yellow linoleum? Update the interior and make it modern?”
“Oliver, we don’t have extra money for a renovation right now,” she would calmly respond. “I want changes too, but let’s wait for the bonus.”
“Wait?! That’s your philosophy—endure and wait!”
Oliver often reminisced about how he fell in love with Emma. Back then, she was a reserved student, her sincere blue eyes, and gentle smile were enchanting. He would tell his friends, “This is a bud that will bloom.” But now it seemed as though the flower never opened and had already wilted.
Emma didn’t view herself as insignificant. She simply lived in a way she felt was right, finding joy in small things—a cup of mint tea, a new napkin, a quiet evening with a book. Yet, Oliver saw stagnation and routine in this.
Divorcing wasn’t a rush for them—Oliver didn’t want to move back with his parents, and living apart wasn’t feasible at that time. Emma’s mother, Valerie, always sided with her daughter-in-law:
“Son, Emma is a lovely girl. Be happy that you have a place to live.”
“Mum, you don’t get it!” Oliver would retort in frustration.
His father would just wave it off:
“Let him figure it out himself.”
At home, Oliver grew colder and colder: “She’s like a shadow, like a gray phantom…” he thought. During one argument, he exclaimed:
“I saw a beautiful flower in you! And now? I live with a frozen bud…”
That was the first time in many months Emma broke into tears.
And then, on the day when everything finally fell apart, Oliver quietly said:
“Emma, I’m tired.”
“Of what?” she asked.
“Of this life, of the endless routine.”
Emma picked up her bag and left. Oliver hoped she’d come back asking him to stay, but she calmly walked out:
“Maybe you really should live separately. Move out.”
Oliver exploded:
“I’m not leaving!”
“This is my parents’ house,” Emma said coolly. “And I don’t want to live with someone for whom I’m just a burden.”
Oliver had no choice—he left. A few weeks later, their divorce was officially finalized.
A Meeting That Changed Everything
Three years had passed. Oliver was still living with his parents, trying to start anew, but luck was elusive. His job paid little, and minor pleasures were the only things accumulating.
One spring evening, while walking down the street, he passed by a café and, glancing through the window, suddenly froze. Emma stood on the doorstep.
But this wasn’t the Emma he remembered. Before him stood a confident woman with a neat hairstyle, an elegant coat, and a set of car keys in her hand.
“Emma?” Oliver said in surprise.
She turned, recognized him, and smiled.
“Oliver? Hello! How are you?”
“Yeah… fine,” he muttered, unable to tear his gaze away.
“You’re doing well?” she asked calmly.
“And you seem to be doing even better… Work as usual?”
“No, I opened my own floral studio. It was scary, but… I found someone who supported me.”
“Who?”
A tall man in a fine coat emerged from a café table and gently wrapped his arm around Emma’s shoulders:
“Darling, a table just became available. Shall we?”
“Oliver, meet William,” Emma said, introducing him. “It was nice to see you.”
“Happy for you,” Oliver said quietly, feeling a sharp pang of envy within.
“Thank you,” Emma replied calmly.
William nodded, and they entered the café together, leaving Oliver standing on the cold pavement.
He had once said, “Living with a frozen bud.” But the bud had indeed bloomed, just not with him.
