**Broken Wings of Love: When the Past Comes Knocking**
Emily came home earlier than usual. The project she’d been working tirelessly on was finally done, and she decided to treat herself and her husband, Richard. She stopped at the supermarket, picked up his favourite things—cheddar, fresh fruit, seafood—and hummed to herself as she climbed the stairs.
“Richard, are you home?” she called, spotting his boots and jacket by the door.
Silence. No TV, no footsteps, no familiar, “Oh, you’re back early! What’ve you got?”
Emily hesitated. Setting the bags down, she walked through their flat. His clothes were scattered everywhere—shirts, socks, a belt. She finally found him in the bedroom, his back to her, standing by the open wardrobe with a holdall in one hand and shirts in the other.
“There you are! I’ll make dinner,” she said cheerfully, though her voice wavered. “Another work trip?”
Richard turned. His face was eerily calm. He took her hands.
“Em, just go to the kitchen. I’ll be right there. I need to explain something.”
Emily didn’t understand, but she went. Her hands trembled as she turned on the oven, prepped Richard’s favourite roasted salmon, chopped a fresh salad, and laid out the cheese. She tried to calm herself. “I’m probably overthinking again,” she thought.
But deep down, a storm was brewing.
Twenty minutes passed. Still silence from the bedroom. She cracked the window open—warm air rushed in—and then, almost soundlessly, Richard appeared behind her. He wrapped his arms around her.
“Dinner’s ready,” she murmured, about to turn—but he held her tighter.
“Emily… You’ve always been smart. Understanding. I hope you’ll understand now. I’m leaving.”
Time froze.
“This is bigger than me… I’m sorry.”
He’d hesitated for months, torn between past and present. But today, it was final.
“You’re brilliant. Kind. Clever. But I don’t love you. Maybe I did. Or thought I did…”
He pulled away abruptly, grabbed his bag, and left, leaving her stunned. Behind her, the lovingly prepared meal grew cold.
She just stood there—empty, hollowed out by silence.
That night, she didn’t sleep. She sobbed into her pillow, stared at the ceiling. At dawn, just as she drifted off, the doorbell rang.
Richard stood there. Still in yesterday’s clothes. Beside him, a slender blonde with icy blue eyes.
“This is Lucy,” he said. “Remember me telling you about my first love?”
Oh, she remembered. Lucy had shattered him. After Lucy’s betrayal, Emily had picked up the pieces when they first met in the supermarket car park—he’d almost crashed into her car.
She’d taken him in, given him love, warmth, a home. And now… he’d gone back to the woman who’d left him.
“We met again,” Richard continued. “Lucy’s divorced now. We started talking. Those work trips? They were to see her.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because you deserved to hear it from me. Lucy wanted to thank you—for helping me back then.” Lucy gave a small nod.
“You want me to be happy, don’t you?” Richard searched her eyes.
Emily shut the door in his face.
“Why her?” she sobbed into her best friend Charlotte’s arms. “Yes, she’s pretty. Striking. But *she* betrayed him! And now he forgives her?”
Charlotte bit back the words, *I warned you—never get involved with a man who’s still carrying his past.* Instead, she stroked Emily’s hair and whispered,
“It’ll pass. You’ll be happy too. I promise.”
“But I *had* him! He was *mine*…”
For two weeks, Emily barely left the flat. Then she returned to work—hollow-eyed, ignoring the whispers.
“This isn’t working,” Charlotte declared months later. “Pack a bag. We’re going to the coast.”
Emily resisted. Kept staring at her phone, at photos of Richard and Lucy, at Lucy’s rounded belly.
“They’re having a baby, Charlotte… They’re happy.”
“And *you* will be too—but only if you stop looking back!”
Slowly, things changed. Emily came back to life. Smiled again. Opened up to a kind colleague who’d always fancied her. And then—a wedding.
Charlotte, now heavily pregnant, devoured her third scoop of ice cream in the bridal boutique as Emily tried on dresses.
“You’ll be stunning,” she grinned. “Trust me, everything will work out.”
But fate loves irony.
When Emily got home, Richard was waiting outside her door. A three-year-old girl in his arms.
“This is my daughter, Sophie. Lucy left us. Said she wanted to start over.”
“And you came… *here*?” Emily’s voice shook.
“I’ve got nowhere else. Please.”
“I’m getting married in four days, Richard.”
He nodded, eyes downcast.
“I know. But—I can’t do this alone. I don’t know how to be a dad.”
Emily looked at the sleeping girl. A tiny hand curled under her cheek.
“I’ll help if I can. But there’s *nothing* left between us. Not ever.”
The past may come knocking. But it’s up to us whether we let it back in.
