**Tomorrow’s Dawn**
Emily had spent five years with Ethan, yet he never proposed. She was an impeccable homemaker, tidy and affectionate. Lately, though, his warmth had faded. He grew distant, retreating to the telly after supper, brushing off her tenderness with excuses of exhaustion.
“Claire,” Emily confided in her sister, “what’s wrong? This coldness has lasted months.”
“Are you even sharing a bed?” Claire asked.
“Rarely. Nothing helps—candlelit dinners, pies—he just scowls. Has he fallen out of love?”
“Could there be someone else?”
“He comes straight home from work. But what if he’s sneaking about midday?” Claire mused. “Talk to him. You’re not married. He might think he’s free to wander.”
That evening, Emily confronted him: “If I’m a burden, leave. I won’t stop you, though I still love you.”
“Where’s this coming from?” Ethan began, then froze at her tears. “Blimey, not this drama…” He hastily stuffed ironed shirts into a gym bag. Emily stood thunderstruck. How could her partner—her unofficial husband—leave so abruptly?
“Ethan!” she cried as he unlocked the door. “Five years—is this all?”
“You said it all. We’re done.”
“*You’re* done,” she corrected. He descended the stairs.
“Is there someone else?” she shouted.
“No one. You’re… yesterday’s news. Stale. No love left. That’s it.”
*Yesterday’s news.* The words choked her like a slap. She fled inside, gasping. *Five years… tossed aside like a worn-out dress.* She’d hoped his distance was stress, something she could fix. Instead, she was obsolete.
Emily collapsed, feverish and frail. Stress fogged her mind, haunted by Ethan’s indifferent face.
“Enough moping,” Claire insisted during calls. “I’ll come round. Let’s redecorate—best cure for gloom.”
By spring, they’d repapered rooms, hung new curtains, and bought fresh kitchenware.
“Look at this!” Claire grinned. “New digs, new life. Count blessings—health, family. The rest is fluff.”
Emily nodded, serving her sister a cabbage pie.
“Fatting me up, eh?” Claire laughed. “Worth it. You’re a star, love. Chin up.”
Emily filled her void with gym sessions and theatre trips. Two years passed; she earned a promotion at the *Oxford Times*, impressing at county seminars.
Then came Oliver, a bashful local poet publishing verses in their paper. Gaunt, bespectacled, in a threadbare tweed jacket, he lingered after submissions, chatting with Emily. One evening, he invited her to a café.
“Your opinion matters,” he stammered. “You’re brilliant—and kind.”
“How d’you know?” she chuckled.
“Your eyes.” He smiled. “Will you hear my new poems?”
They talked for hours. Emily marveled at his lyrical wit.
“How d’you weave humor into such depth? You’ve a fan in me. Publish more—even a book.”
“Ta, but… I’m not here just for that.” He flushed, clutching his battered notebook. “You’re enchanting. Might I… see you again?”
She’d sensed his admiration since their first meeting—his clumsy eagerness, how he brightened when she smiled. Now, his tenderness disarmed her. She met his gaze, and he kissed her palm.
“Oliver… Let’s take it slow.”
“As you wish. May I say ‘Emily, love’?”
“You may… Olly.”
A month later, she invited him for a spring dinner. Setting the table to ABBA’s greatest hits, she hummed in a white apron. A knock came early.
Ethan stood there, clutching tulips.
“You?” Emily stiffened.
“Invite me in?” He smirked, handing them over. “You’ve blossomed.”
“Why are you here?”
“To congratulate. We’re not strangers.” He peered past her. “Expecting someone? Smells like your famous pie…”
“Leave. I’ve guests.”
“Who? Some ponce?” he sneered.
“A good man who loves me. My… tomorrow’s dawn.”
She shoved him out. Heart racing, she leaned against the door. *Three years vanished, and he slinks back…*
Ethan trudged downstairs, passing a slim man climbing up with mimosa. Oliver beamed, ringing Emily’s flat. Her joyful greeting echoed.
*So that’s your ‘tomorrow’… Pathetic.* Ethan scowled. Two years, three flings—none filled his void. He drank, swore off marriage, yet found no joy. *Plenty more birds out there,* he told himself. *I’m only thirty.*
Emily and Oliver married, celebrated by the entire editorial team.
“Blessing in disguise,” Claire whispered at the reception. “Without Ethan, you’d never have found Olly. He adores you.”
A year later, their son arrived. Oliver floated on cloud nine, his poetry now radiant with sunlit joy and love.
