**Shattered Bliss: A Drama of Lost Bonds**
Emma woke at dawn, the first golden rays slipping through the curtains of their flat in the sleepy town of Greenfield. While her husband, James, lingered in bed, she whipped up breakfast—delicate, almost ethereal pancakes. Half stuffed with bacon, half with cheddar. The scent wafted through the house, wrapping it in warmth. James emerged when the aroma reached the bedroom. After washing up, he settled at the table, devouring the pancakes with gusto, washing them down with strong black tea. Swallowing the last bite, he looked at his wife and said:
*”Emma, we need to talk.”*
Emma, drying her hands on a tea towel, turned to face him, a flicker of unease sparking inside.
*”Go on,”* she said.
*”I’m leaving you. I’ll file for divorce myself,”* James stated, cool but firm.
*”Leaving? Why? Where?”* Emma froze, her eyes widening in shock.
The Saturday morning had begun like any other. Emma had risen at nine, quietly so as not to disturb James, and busied herself with pancakes. She loved these moments—the morning hush, the smell of food, the cosiness of their home.
James appeared once the scent of pancakes had filled the flat. Silently, he sat at the table, ate, savoured his tea, then dropped the bombshell:
*”Emma, I’m leaving you.”*
For a moment, she thought she’d misheard. Turning, she fixed him with a stare.
*”I know this is rotten,”* James continued, avoiding her gaze. *”Twenty-five years together, and I’m tearing it apart. But I can’t help myself. She’s… she’s incredible. With her, I feel alive again, young again. I’m in love, Emma, and it’s absolutely mad!”*
*”And how old is this *madness*, exactly?”* Emma asked icily, struggling to stay composed.
*”She’s twenty-eight.”*
*”So, just five years older than our Lily. And twenty years younger than you. Fascinating. Have you met her parents? Are they thrilled about their daughter’s choice? If Lily brought home a man your age, I wouldn’t be celebrating.”*
*”What does age matter when there’s love?”* James burst out, his voice quivering. *”You don’t have that spark anymore, Emma. You’re stuck in some outdated way of thinking.”*
*”Brilliant,”* Emma cut in. *”We divorce and split everything.”*
*”No need to split anything,”* James countered. *”You keep the flat—Sophie already has a two-bedder. I’ll take the car; you hardly use it.”*
*”Oh no, that won’t do,”* Emma shook her head. *”Right now, you’re saying I keep the flat, but give it two years and you’ll be back claiming half the teaspoons. I’m a solicitor, James—I’ve seen enough ‘generous’ exes. We divide it all now: the flat, the car. As for money, we gave most of it to Lily for her mortgage.”*
James was stunned by her calm. He’d expected tears, shouting, accusations—but Emma just helped him pack. At the door, she wished him luck. Yet once it clicked shut, she let the tears fall. Twenty-five years—through joys and hardships. She’d always believed she had a steady man by her side. Now, just emptiness.
*”Well, not quite alone,”* Emma thought, wiping her face. *”There’s Lily, her husband, and little Noah.”*
She sat in the bedroom, surrounded by the scattered belongings James had hurriedly stuffed into bags. Memories crashed over her like waves. Their wedding—Emma in her second year at uni, James in his fourth. Soon came Lily. They’d lived in student digs, passing the baby between lectures, relying on faculty help to get her into nursery.
Their first home—a cramped bedsit in a shared house. Bedroom, baby cot, and a kitchenette squeezed into eighteen square feet. The loo down the hall, the shower in the basement. Back then, James hadn’t complained about ‘missing sparks’.
The divorce was swift. The property settlement didn’t drag on, either. The car sold straight away, but the three-bed flat took three months—buyers were scarce.
Emma found a snug two-bedder in the same part of Greenfield. A small loan was needed, but she managed. With more time on her hands, she revisited old hobbies—knitting, reading. Then her long-lost friend, Lucy, called out of the blue, suggesting they take up swimming. The water *did* heal. Months later, Emma felt steadier, more like herself. Work brought satisfaction. Life settled.
Thoughts of James grew rare. He tried calling, but she asked him not to.
Three years passed. Emma celebrated her birthday at a café with two friends.
*”Any regrets about the divorce?”* Rachel asked.
*”Was there ever a choice?”* Emma quipped.
*”I mean—is being alone better or worse?”* her friend pressed.
*”Haven’t really thought about it,”* Emma admitted. *”In some ways, better—I’m not running ragged. Time for myself. But solitude isn’t always cosy. Thank goodness for Noah.”*
She wasn’t lying. Sometimes, wandering through Greenfield or the high street, she spotted elderly couples holding hands. Once, she’d imagined she and James would be like that. Fate had other plans.
*”Heard anything about James?”* Rachel asked.
*”No. Three years, no sightings,”* Emma said. *”Lily mentioned bumping into him and *that woman* at the shops.”*
*”Oh, and the *madame* gave him a son,”* added her other friend, Victoria.
*”James always wanted a boy. So, he’s happy,”* Emma said evenly.
A week later, after Sunday lunch with Lily’s family, Emma was clearing the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Thinking Lily had forgotten something, she answered—and froze. James stood on the step.
*”What are you doing here?”* she frowned. *”And how did you get my address?”*
*”Lily gave it. I came to talk. Can I come in?”*
*”Fine,”* Emma stepped aside.
James glanced around. *”Cosy place. And—pancakes? Fancy sharing?”*
*”You wanted to talk. Spit it out—I’ve got swimming soon,”* she said coolly.
*”You swim now? You look better—haircut suits you,”* he noted.
*”Enough small talk. Why are you here?”* Emma interrupted.
*”Just… needed to breathe. See how you were. Looks like you landed on your feet. Divorce did you good,”* he said, a tinge of melancholy in his voice.
*”And you? Had your fill of *youthful spark*?”* Emma smirked. *”Heard you’ve got a son. Congrats.”*
*”It’s so quiet here,”* James sighed. *”Did you always know it’d be like this?”*
*”Like what?”*
*”You in your flat, living calm, swimming, jetting off to Spain with Lily and Noah…”*
*”What’s stopping *you*?”* Emma retorted. *”Buy a place, take your young wife to the Costa del Sol. Why gripe at me? We split the money fairly.”*
*”Money didn’t last,”* James admitted. *”The wedding Sophie wanted, that Maldives trip, the new Audi… Now I’m living in her flat like a lodger. Can’t even ask for clean towels or a whiff of bacon in the morning.”*
*”Right, James, I’m late. Goodbye. Don’t come back,”* Emma said.
He left. Emma grabbed her bag and marched to the pool. *”Suppose I *am* living better now,”* she mused, striding down the street.
And James? He sat in his car, in no rush to go home. His eyes brimmed with regret.
