Simon came back with flowers hoping to make peace, but he didnt get past the doorstep, I told you, laughing.
Emma, look at this blossom! Poppy exclaimed, running a hand over the textured wallpaper in the hallway. I spent three days debating between creamsugar and ivory, almost drove the shopkeepers mad. And now, stepping into my home, I finally feel its mine. Exactly how I wanted it.
I gave her a approving nod, tearing off a bite of my homemade cabbage pie. The kitchen smelled of fresh buns and strong coffee, a cosy scent that had completely pushed out the lingering tobacco smell that used to cling to the walls.
Emma, youve really blossomed, Poppy said, setting her cup down. And this renovation its like a neat little dot on the canvas of my life. Remember when you couldve sold the flat instead of redoing everything? Its like you shed an old skin.
I sighed, smoothing my napkin. When Simon slammed the front door and shouted something about suffocating in a swamp, it felt like my world had ended. Twenty years of marriage, a grownup son, a steady routine all ripped away for some phantom freedom and a new muse, a young admin from his garage. But a year and a half later the tears dried, Charlie stepped up for his mum, and my bank job kept me from completely unraveling. Now, sitting in this fresh kitchen, I felt oddly light.
You know, I never believed it would get better, I admitted. The first months were like walking through fog, waiting for the lock to turn. Then one morning I realised silence isnt scary. Its just no one nagging about oversalted soup, no one scattering socks, no one asking for every penny spent.
Our chat was cut short by a sharp knock at the door none of those polite courier chimes or Aunt Veras occasional can I borrow some salt? visits.
Are you expecting anyone? Poppy whispered.
No, Charlies at his football practice, I didnt order a courier I frowned, rising from the table. My heart skipped a beat, a cold shiver ran down my spine.
I slipped on a tidy linen dress not the wellworn housecoat I used to wear and walked to the door. I didnt peek through the peephole, just asked, Whos there?
Silence hung for a beat, then a familiar voice, one that used to make my knees wobble, rasped, Emma, open up. Its me.
Simon.
My hand rested on the lock, fingers steady. Id expected to scramble, fix my hair, dust the air, try to impress. Instead I just wanted to get back to our pie and Poppys banter.
I turned the latch slowly and opened.
Simon stood in the landing, looking straight out of a film. He clutched an enormous bouquet of burgundy roses wrapped in crinkly kraft paper, wore a new coat that hung a little loosely, and a scarf tossed over his shoulder. Hed clearly rehearsed his entrance, his smile wide and mischievous the kind that used to melt me every time.
Hello, Emma, he said in a velvety baritone, taking a step forward.
I didnt move a inch, planting myself in the doorway like a sentinel.
Hello, Simon. What brings you here? I asked, cool as ever.
He seemed taken aback, expecting tears, a scream, a hug, or an immediate invitation to sit. Instead he got my steady stare, the one you give a stray cat or a pushy salesman.
Well he cleared his throat, lowering the bouquet a fraction. I was passing by. Thought Id drop in. Were not strangers after all. Twenty years, Emma, you cant just erase that.
You cant erase it, I echoed, keeping my pose. But you said those twenty years were a mistake, a swamp. Forgotten? I remember it perfectly.
He grimaced, as if a toothache had hit him.
Emma, whos to blame? I was in a midlife crisis, didnt know what I was doing. Men are weak, impulsive creatures, you know.
He took another step, his shoe hovering over the new doormat.
Stop, I said quietly but firmly. Dont come in.
What do you mean? his eyes widened. Im standing here with flowers like a fool, the neighbours can see. Let me in at least, we can talk. I see youve redecorated new wallpaper mustve cost a fortune?
He leaned forward, trying to glimpse behind me, assessing the investment.
Simon, were speaking here. I have guests, I snapped, not even considering his request.
Guests? he asked, a note of jealousy creasing his voice. Who? Some bloke? Found a quick replacement?
This is Olivia. Even if it were a man, its none of your business. Were divorced, Simon. Officially, a year and a half ago. You asked for freedom.
A sigh of relief escaped him when he realised the man was just Olivia, my friend. He flashed a broader smile, his eyes glistening a little.
Emma, stop. Im sorry. Ive been wrong. Ive thought a lot these past months.
Really? I crossed my arms. What have you rethought? That a muse cant cook a proper stew? That renting a flat is cheap and a garage job doesnt pay?
His face twitched, the mask of noble repentance cracking. Rumours had reached me his young girlfriend was highmaintenance, his business was wobbling but I felt no triumph, just a cold indifference that seemed to frighten him more than any anger.
What about the stew? he muttered, shifting his weight. Im talking about the soul, the family. Ive realised theres no one closer than you. Weve been through so much Charlie, by the way hows he? He called last week, was dry, didnt ask for money
Charlies an adult, hes got his own head on his shoulders. He remembers you walking out, Simon. He remembers you shouting that you were dragging us down.
No, I didnt shout! he snapped, then calmed. Emma, enough with the lectures. I came in peace. Look, these are your favourite flowers deep red roses.
I glanced at the bouquet. It was beautiful, expensive, the kind of gesture that would have made me cry before. Now it felt out of place, like a Christmas tree in July.
Thanks for the flowers, but I dont need them, I said evenly. I dont have a vase for that, and Ive stopped liking the smell of roses. Im more into tulips now, or just some greenery.
You stopped liking them? he asked, baffled. How can you stop loving roses?
At that moment Olivia popped out of the kitchen, curious to see if I needed help. She leaned against the hallway wall, eyeing Simons bouquet.
Oh, Simon! Look whos here, not a speck of dust, she shouted cheerfully. We were just having treats, you missed out.
Hi, Olivia, Simon muttered, annoyed by the interruption. Maybe you could tell your friend to let her ex in?
Exhusband, Olivia corrected. And its her house, she lets in whoever she wants. Have you lost weight? Got a bit tired, havent you?
Simon ignored her jab and turned back to me, realizing his usual tricks werent working. He needed a bold move.
Emma, listen, his voice softened. I made a terrible mistake. I tried that freedom thing, its all empty glitter. I want to come home. I love you, I think Ive finally understood that. Lets start over. Ill help finish the renovation, whatevers left. My hands are still good for work.
I looked at him, not at the man Id married for twenty years, but at a weary, weatherbeaten soul looking for a safe harbour. He didnt need me, Emma; he needed a comfortable routine, a decent dinner, a feeling of worth that Id given him over the years.
Simon, I said, voice soft but steeltoned, theres nothing left to finish. My flat is complete, my life is set.
But I changed! he stammered.
People dont change, Simon. They adapt for a while. You left because you were bored. Youre back because youre miserable out there. And where do I fit in that story? Im not a layby for your adventures.
What layby?! he sputtered. Im a family man! Im my sons father!
You were, once. Then you chose another path. You made a choice, Simon, and I accepted it. You know what? I like that choice. I like my new life. Without you.
Simon stood there, stunned. Hed expected tears, screaming, a dramatic breakup his usual script. A calm, reasoned no pierced his armor. He finally saw that the woman in the stylish dress at the threshold of her bright, freshlyrenovated flat was no longer his wife. That doorway was now an unbreachable line.
Are you serious? Youre just going to throw me out? Not even a cup of tea?
I wont brew you tea, I replied. I only serve tea to those who value me, not use me. Go back to whatever home you built after burning bridges. Or to your mums. But this isnt yours any more.
He tried to block the door with his foot, but when he met my icy stare, he withdrew. My gaze held no fear, only a weary resolve that would call the police if he turned violent.
Youll regret this, Emma! he shouted, his mask finally slipping. Wholl need a 45yearold widow? Men dont just lie around on the road! Youll be crying into pillows!
Ive already cried all that, I said. Two years ago. All the best.
The door shut with the solid click of a quality lock. The bolt slid home.
Simon lingered on the landing, his voice echoing hollowly in the stairwell. He stared at the massive rose bouquet in his hands; the stems prickled his fingers through the paper. The arrangement was heavy, absurd, utterly useless now.
He raised his arm as if to fling the flowers to the floor, then let them fall limp, powerless. He turned, trudging down the stairs, shoulders sagging under the weight of defeat. He didnt bother calling the lift.
Behind the door I pressed my forehead to the cool metal, closed my eyes, took a deep breath in and out. My hands still trembled a little, but only from the effort, not from fear or pity.
Did he go? Olivia asked from the hallway.
I turned, my face pale but eyes bright. He left, Olivia. And you know what? I dont feel sorry for him at all.
Exactly, she said, pulling me into a tight hug. No point in mourning. He had his chance and blew it. The roses were nice, though?
Theyre just fancy rubbish, I waved my hand, smiling more confidently. My violets on the windowsill are just fine. Lets go, our teas getting cold and we havent finished that pie.
We walked back to the kitchen. I switched on the kettle, the sun streaming through the new lightweight curtains, casting delicate lace shadows on the table. The flat settled into a peace that felt different not empty, but sturdy, like a fortress that had withstood a siege.
Hey, Olivia said, spreading jam on a scone. How about a theatre trip this weekend? I heard the new plays good. Then maybe that little café with the amazing desserts?
I looked at her, then at the sunlit spot dancing in my mug, and laughed light, clear, truly free.
Lets do it! Ill wear my new dress, not for any exhusband, but for me.
Downstairs the heavy front door of the block slammed shut, an old car coughed and roared away down the street. I barely heard it. I poured fresh, fragrant tea and started planning a weekend that had absolutely no room for the past.
