The Shadow of the Past: A Heart’s Drama in Emily’s Life
Emily sat at home, wrapped in the quiet of their little town, Rosewood. Maternity leave had settled into a rhythm, days blending into a fog of lullabies and chores. But every evening, she’d wait eagerly for her husband, James, to walk through the door—her one glimpse of the world beyond their cosy flat. Tonight, he was later than usual, his face tired but oddly distant.
*”How was work?”* she asked, smiling lightly, hoping for something to break the monotony.
James hesitated, like he was weighing his words. His silence hung heavy, thick as storm clouds.
*”You’ll never believe the coincidence,”* he finally muttered, forcing a laugh. *”Small towns, eh? Everyone knows everyone.”*
*”What d’you mean?”* Emily tensed, a chill creeping down her spine.
*”A new girl started today. When I saw her, I just… froze. It’s Lucy—Lucy Bennett!”*
Emily’s face drained. That name—like an echo from the past—hit her square in the chest, dredging up memories she’d buried deep. Seven years ago, when she’d first met James, he’d been different—bright, open, but untouchable. His heart belonged to someone else. To *Lucy.* The same Lucy whose name now twisted like a knife.
Back then, Emily hadn’t interfered. She’d respected boundaries, afraid to wreck someone else’s happiness. They’d crossed paths through mutual friends, and sometimes, she’d catch herself stealing glances at James. He’d seemed perfect—kind, warm, with a smile that lit up a room. She’d thought how lucky Lucy was, wishing she could find someone like him. Then one day, he’d turned up alone, hollow-eyed. They’d broken up—her choice.
Emily had sympathised, but deep down, she couldn’t deny the flicker of hope. This was her chance. She’d waited, made sure it was really over. A few months later, she’d invited him round for dinner. That was the start. They’d clicked instantly, and before long, feelings flared. Two years later, they married. Another three, and their daughter arrived—the reason Emily was now home on leave.
But Lucy… Lucy was the one who’d once shattered James. The one whose place *she’d* taken. All these years, Emily had wondered if his love for her was just a way to forget. She’d hoped time had made it real—but now, with Lucy’s name back in their lives, old fears reared up.
*”Bloody hell,”* was all Emily managed, fighting the tremor in her voice. *”How… how is she?”*
James shrugged, avoiding her eyes. *”Dunno. Just said hello, really.”*
*”Is she married?”* The words stuck in her throat.
*”No idea,”* he snapped—too quick. *”Doesn’t matter. We smiled, moved on. Why would I care?”*
But she knew he wasn’t being straight. His words sounded rehearsed—for her, maybe for himself. Jealousy coiled in her gut. What if Lucy took him back? What if those old feelings reignited? She remembered how fiercely he’d loved her. That had been *real.*
James wasn’t being honest. He *was* curious. And, truth be told, he’d been glad to see her. Something had stirred when their eyes met. Not that he’d act on it—he loved Emily, loved their daughter. But he caught himself counting down to work tomorrow, just to talk to Lucy again. What harm was there in that?
Seeing Emily’s worry, James tried to soothe her before leaving:
*”I’ll try to finish early today. Fancy making something nice?”*
*”Course,”* she said, forcing a smile.
*”Love you.”*
*”Love you too,”* she whispered—but her voice cracked.
The moment the door shut, her smile dropped. He *never* said *”love you”* before work. Was that a bad sign? Or a good one? People said men got affectionate when guilt gnawed at them. The thought clung like a shadow.
She busied herself with their daughter, freshly awake. But the dread wouldn’t shake.
At work, James saw Lucy again.
*”Hey—you look great,”* she grinned, eyes sparkling.
*”You too,”* he replied, something tightening in his chest.
*”Lunch? Catch up properly?”*
*”Yeah… why not?”*
He knew this was risky. Boundaries were needed. But… what was wrong with lunch? They lingered in the café, talking like no time had passed. Lucy wasn’t married—never found *the one.*
*”Y’know, I regretted splitting up,”* she admitted. *”But by then, you were taken.”*
*”You ended it,”* he reminded her, a hint of hurt there.
*”I was an idiot,”* she laughed. *”Wouldn’t let you go now.”*
The air between them charged. This wasn’t just small talk. James hadn’t felt this thrill in years. His love with Emily was steady—comfortable. But since the baby, the spark had dulled. Now, here it was again, raw and electric.
They returned to work. Lucy asked for help with a new system. He stayed late, texting Emily he’d be home late—guilt pinching him. But he *wanted* more time with Lucy.
An hour passed, work talk slipping into personal details. She was *close.* Then she turned, smiling—their faces inches apart. One move, and he’d cross a line.
He stood abruptly.
*”Gotta go. They’re waiting,”* he said, avoiding her eyes.
Lucy nodded—but disappointment flashed in hers.
The drive home was heavy. He hadn’t *done* anything. But fidelity wasn’t just actions—it was thoughts. Desires. And those? He wasn’t sure anymore.
Emily had kept dinner warm—his favourite, shepherd’s pie. She didn’t ask about his day. Too scared of the answer.
But James saw her sadness. The quiet pain she hid. And in that moment, he knew: no fleeting rush was worth her tears. Their family.
*”Been thinking,”* he said suddenly. *”Remember Tom’s offer? Better pay. Might take it.”*
*”You said you’d hate working for a mate,”* she frowned.
*”I did. But things need shaking up. And maybe Tom and I can keep it professional. Worth a shot.”*
*”You sure?”* Her voice wavered—but hope flickered in it.
*”Yeah,”* he smiled. *”I want us happy. I’ll do whatever it takes.”*
Emily didn’t press him. But him changing jobs *for her*—that meant everything. Whatever had happened, he was choosing *them.*
James knew he’d been close. Too close. Those old feelings might’ve fizzled out—but he wouldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t let Emily dread him leaving every morning.
Maybe he *should’ve* felt nothing for Lucy. But life didn’t work that way. The important part? He’d made his choice.
Sometimes, choice matters more than passion. Sometimes—it’s love in its truest form.
