Emma leaned her palm over the patterned wallpaper in the hallway, a smile playing on her lips. Olivia, look at these colours! I spent three days torn between creamwhite and ivory bone, nearly drove the shop assistants mad, she said, running a finger over the texture. And now Im finally home and it feels right. Everything is just as I wanted.
Olivia, Emmas best friend since school, nodded approvingly while nibbling a slice of homemade cabbage pie. The kitchen was filled with the warm scent of fresh baking and strong coffee, a cosy fragrance that had now permanently displaced the stale tobacco smell that once seemed embedded in the walls.
Emma, youve really blossomed, Olivia observed, setting her cup on a saucer. And this renovation its like a punctuation mark, a bold one at that. Im actually glad you didnt sell the flat back then and chose to redo everything. Its as if youve shed old skin.
Emma sighed, smoothing a napkin. When Simon slammed the door and declared the marriage a swamp he could no longer breathe in, it felt as if her life had ended. Twenty years together, an adult son, a settled routine all collapsed in an instant for the sake of a fleeting sense of freedom and a new muse, the young receptionist from his garage. But a year and a half later the tears had dried, their son Jack had stood by his mother, and her bank job kept her from falling completely. Sitting now in the refreshed kitchen, Emma felt a lightness she hadnt known in years.
Honestly, Olivia, I never believed it would feel like this, she confessed. The first months were a fog. I kept waiting for the key to turn in the lock. Then one morning I realised silence isnt scary. Silence is when nobody nags about oversalted soup, no one tosses socks around, and no one asks for a receipt for every penny spent.
Their quiet chat was suddenly broken by the sharp ring of the doorbell a demanding, harsh tone unlike the polite chimes of the local courier or the occasional visit from Aunt Vera for a pinch of salt.
Emma and Olivia exchanged looks.
You expecting anyone? Olivia whispered.
No, Jacks at his football practice, I havent ordered a courier Emma frowned, rising from the table. Her heart skipped a beat, a strange premonition sending a chill down her spine.
She slipped on a sleek linen dress, far removed from the shabby housecoat shed worn for years, and walked to the door. Without peeking through the peephole she asked, Whos there?
A heavy silence lingered, then a voice she knew all too well, one that once made her knees buckle, now only stirred a muted irritation.
Emma, open up. Its me.
Simon.
Emmas hand rested on the lock, fingers steady. The old reflex to tidy herself, straighten a stray hair, and try to impress was gone. She simply wanted to return to her tea and conversation with Olivia.
She turned the latch slowly and opened.
Simon stood on the stairwell, looking almost cinematic. In one hand he clutched an enormous bouquet of burgundy roses wrapped in crinkly craft paper. He wore a new coat that hung a little loosely and a scarf tossed casually over his shoulder, as if rehearsing his entrance.
Seeing Emma, his smile unfurled the same charming grin that had once disarmed her. Hello, Emma, he said in a velvety baritone, taking a step forward.
Emma remained rooted in the doorway, a silent sentinel.
Hello, Simon. What brings you here?
Simon blinked, expecting tears, screams, a hug, or an immediate invitation to sit. Instead he faced Emmas calm, scrutinising stare the kind one gives to a stray cat or a doortodoor salesman.
Um he cleared his throat, lowering the bouquet slightly. I was passing by. Thought Id drop in. Were not strangers, are we? Twenty years, Emma, you cant just erase that.
Cant erase, she echoed, still unmoved. But you once called those twenty years a mistake, a swamp. Forgot? I remember perfectly.
Simon winced as if hed bitten his tongue.
Emma, who remembers the past? I was in a midlife crisis, didnt know what I was doing. Youre a smart woman, you should understand. Men are weak, impulsive creatures.
He stepped forward again, confident his excuse would work, his boot hovering over the new doormat.
Stop, Emma said softly but firmly. Dont come in.
Come on, Emma, whats the problem? Im standing here with flowers like a fool, the neighbours can see. Let me at least get into the hall, we can talk properly. I see youve redecorated new wallpaper expensive, I assume?
He craned his neck, trying to peek behind her and gauge the scale of her investment.
Simon, were talking here. I have guests, Emma replied without hesitation.
Guests? his voice slipped into a jealous tone. Who? Some bloke? Did you find a quick replacement?
Its Olivia, Emma said. And even if it were a man, it wouldnt be your concern. Were divorced, Simon. Officially, a year and a half. You wanted freedom, you got it.
Simon exhaled, relief flickering across his features now that it was just Olivia, not a rival, at the door. He forced a wider smile, his eyes glistening with a wet sheen.
Emma, stop. I can see youre hurt. I was wrong. Ive rethought a lot since.
Really? Emma crossed her arms. And what have you rethought? That the muse cant cook a proper stew? That a rented flat is cheap, but a garage salary is elastic?
Simons mask cracked for a moment, a flicker of genuine remorse. Rumours about his young lovers demands and his faltering business had reached her, but Emma felt none of the bitter triumph. She was simply indifferent, and that indifference unnerved Simon more than hatred.
What about stew? he retorted, shifting from foot to foot. He awkwardly tried to hand the heavy bouquet to his other hand. Im talking about the soul, about family. I realise theres no one closer than you. Weve been through so much Jack, hows he? He called last week, we talked briefly, didnt ask for money
Jack is an adult, his own man now. He remembers how you left, how you shouted that we were dragging you down, Emma said.
Didnt shout! Simon snapped, then caught himself. Emma, enough with the lecture at the door. Im here in peace. Look, these are your favourite roses burgundy.
Emma glanced at the roses. They were beautiful, costly. In the past they might have moved her to tears. Now they seemed out of place, like a Christmas tree in July.
Thank you for the flowers, but I dont need them, she said calmly. I have no vase for them, and Ive long stopped loving the smell of roses. I prefer tulips now, or just a sprig of greenery.
Youve stopped loving roses? Simon blinked, bewildered. How can you stop loving roses? Youre saying nonsense just to sting me.
At that moment Olivia peered from the kitchen, curiosity pulling her forward. She leaned against the corridor wall.
Oh, Simon! Look whos here, not a dustcollector, she announced loudly. Were just enjoying a treat, no need for drama.
Hi, Olivia, Simon grumbled, irritated by the extra witness. You could have let your husband in, you know.
Exhusband, Olivia corrected. And its her house, she lets in whoever she wishes. Have you lost weight? Looks like youve been slacking off.
Simon ignored Olivias jab and refocused on Emma. Realising his usual tricks were failing, he went allin.
Emma, listen, his voice softened. I made a monstrous mistake. I tried that freedom thing its all glitter, empty. I want to come home. I want you. Lets start over. Ill help finish the renovation if anythings left. My hands are still useful.
Emma looked at him, seeing not the confident man shed married for two decades but a tired, weatherbeaten soul seeking a quiet harbour from the storm. He didnt need her; he needed comfort, a tidy home, a dinner, and the sense of importance shed given him for years.
Simon, she said, her tone gentle but edged with steel, theres nothing left to finish. Ive completed the flat and my life.
But I Ive changed! he stammered.
People dont change, Simon. They adapt temporarily. You left because you were bored. You returned because you felt lonely. Where do I fit in that? Im not a backup runway for your adventures, Emma replied.
Simons face flushed. What backup runway? Im a family man! Im my sons father!
You were, she said. Then you chose another path. I accepted that choice and I like my new life. Without you.
He stood there, stunned. He had expected a tirade, a hysterical outburst tools he knew how to wield. A calm, reasoned no pierced his armor. He suddenly understood that the woman in the elegant dress, standing in the doorway of a bright, newlyfinished flat, was no longer his wife. The threshold was not just a wooden plank; it was an unbreachable boundary.
Are you serious? he asked, his voice hoarse. Youre just going to push me out? Not even a cup of tea?
I wont pour you a cup, Emma replied evenly. My tea is only for those who value me, not use me. Go home, Simon. To the woman you burned bridges for, to your mother, wherever you wish. This is no longer your home.
She began to close the door. Simon instinctively stepped forward, blocking the door, but when his eyes met Emmas icy stare he withdrew his foot. In that glance there was no fear, only a weary resolve that would call the police if he tried anything further.
Youll regret this, Emma! he shouted, the mask finally shattered. Who will need a woman at fortyfive? Ill find someone else; men dont just lie around! And youll weep into your pillow!
Ive already wept, Simon. Two years ago. All the best.
The door slammed shut with the solid thud of a quality lock. The bolt clicked.
Simon was left on the landing, his own words echoing hollowly in the stairwell. He looked at the massive bouquet in his hand; the thorns pierced his fingers through the paper. The flowers were heavy, absurd, utterly useless.
He raised them, ready to fling them to the floor, but then let his arm fall, powerless. He turned and trudged down the stairs, shoulders sagging under the weight of defeat. He didnt call the lift.
Behind the closed door, Emma pressed her forehead to the cool metal, closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, exhaled. Her hands trembled ever so slightly, not from love or pity, but from the tension easing after hard work.
Did he go? Olivia asked softly from the corridor.
Emma turned, her face pale but her eyes bright. He went, Olivia. And you know what? I dont even feel sorry for him. Not at all.
Good, Olivia said, pulling Emma into a firm hug. No point in feeling sorry. He had his chance and he blew it. The roses were beautiful, though?
Forget the roses, Emma waved a hand, smiling more confidently. My violets on the windowsill are thriving. Lets go, the teas getting cold and we havent finished the cake.
They returned to the kitchen. Emma turned the kettle on, letting the water whistle. Sunlight streamed through the new, airy curtains, casting lacelike shadows across the table. The flat settled into a peace that felt different now not an empty void but a sturdy calm that had withstood a siege and remained unassailable.
Listen, Olivia said, spreading jam on a scone, how about we go to the theatre this weekend? Theres a new play, they say its brilliant. Then we can pop into that café with the amazing desserts.
Emma glanced at her friend, then at the sunlit beam dancing in her teacup, and laughed light, clear, truly free.
Lets do it! Ill wear my new dress. No point dressing up for exhusbands.
A heavy lift door clanged below them. The old car in the courtyard sputtered, roared and rolled away, but Emma no longer heard it. She poured fresh, fragrant tea and made plans for a future that left no room for the past.
Life had taught her that doors can be closed with a firm hand, and that the peace that follows a decisive goodbye is the foundation on which true freedom is built.
