**The Past Stays in the Past**
“Go sort this out with our partners once and for all,” the boss snapped, drumming his fingers on the desk. “I’ve already spoken to their manager—they’re expecting you. Leave tomorrow morning, take the documents. Counting on you.”
“No problem, I’ll handle it,” Edward nodded. “I’ll drive.”
Business trips were routine in Edward’s job, and he didn’t mind them. New cities, faces, conversations—it was all predictable. Drive or fly, work the day, solve the issue, check into a hotel, eat at a pub, then head home. His wife, Margaret, was used to it by now. Every week or so, he’d be off to some town or another.
“Margaret, I’m off tomorrow morning,” he told her when he got back to their cosy flat in Manchester.
“Long trip, or the usual?” she asked, the slightest hint of worry in her voice.
“Just the usual,” he smiled, kissing her temple.
His travel bag was always ready—Margaret kept it stocked, attentive as ever. He trusted her completely, only adding his keys and documents at the last minute. They’d been married twelve years, raising their son, Thomas, a bright lad who loved football. This was Edward’s second marriage, but the first that truly made him happy. Thomas was sharp, kind, disciplined—everything a father could want.
Among friends at the pub or on fishing trips, Edward always spoke warmly of Margaret: “I got lucky with her. She’s home to me.”
“Lucky bastard,” some would mutter. Not all of them had the same luck. His best mate, James, was on his fourth marriage.
The next morning, Edward woke to the smell of bacon and eggs.
“She never stops,” he thought fondly. “Already up cooking. Don’t want to jinx it.”
“Morning, love,” he said, walking into the kitchen after his shower.
“Know how to keep you coming back, don’t I?” Margaret winked, sliding a plate across the table.
“You’re trouble,” he laughed. “Thomas has that match today, right?”
“Yeah, against the Leeds team,” she nodded. “Said they’re going all out.”
“I’ll call tonight to see how they did,” Edward promised before leaving.
The drive to Birmingham took four hours. The motorway was quiet, the September air crisp, golden leaves fluttering onto the windscreen. By the time he’d wrapped up at the partners’ office, all that was left was dinner before heading home. He preferred driving at night—fewer lorries, open roads.
He picked a quiet pub on the outskirts, one without the usual weekend crowd. Parked, glanced up—dark clouds rolling in, thunder rumbling in the distance.
“September storm? Rare,” he muttered.
Inside, he took a seat by the window. The waiter had just taken his order when the door burst open. A woman stepped in, rain lashing behind her. Edward froze. He’d have known her anywhere. Katherine—his first wife. The woman he’d once worshipped, then despised.
Their marriage had been chaos. Five years of passion and pain: fights, jealousy, affairs. He’d left, come back, left again. Until he finally walked away for good. Then he met Margaret, and life settled. He hadn’t seen Katherine since.
“What’s she doing in Birmingham?” His chest tightened.
She scanned the room. The waiter pointed her to a table nearby. She sat, shrugged off her coat—auburn hair spilling over her shoulders. That same proud tilt of her chin. Edward hesitated: bolt into the rain or stay?
Then she spotted him. Paused. Smiled.
“Edward? Bloody hell, is that you? Fate’s got a sense of humour, hasn’t she?”
He forced a smile. “Yeah. Small world.”
“Mind if I join you?” She didn’t wait for an answer, sliding into the seat opposite.
The storm raged outside. The waiter took her order, warned of a delay. Katherine dabbed her hands with a napkin, chatting away. Edward barely listened, lost in memory.
They’d met at a work conference. Flirted over emails, then drinks. By the second night, they were inseparable. Moved in fast, married quicker. Then he noticed how she laughed a little too long with clients.
“It’s just networking,” she’d say.
Then came the late nights. The excuses. The time he came home early and found her with someone else.
“Edward.” Her voice snapped him back. She was watching him, that old glint in her eye. “Come back to mine after this. I’m sales director now. We could… catch up properly.”
He looked at her—still beautiful, still cold. No flicker of anything. Just a stranger he’d rather avoid.
“No, Katherine. I’m good.”
When the food came, he excused himself to the patio. Suddenly, he needed to hear Margaret’s voice.
“Hi, love,” she answered, warm as ever. “Miss you. Knew you’d be late—hurry back.”
“Soon,” he smiled. “Just eating, then I’m off.”
Dinner with Katherine passed in silence. She talked; he pushed food around his plate.
“Wouldn’t feed this to the dog,” he muttered, standing. “Cheers for the company.”
A polite goodbye, then he was out in the rain, into the car, foot down toward home—where warmth waited. He rang Thomas on the way. The boy whooped about their win. Edward grinned, heart full.
**Lesson learned: The past stays where it belongs. Some fires aren’t worth rekindling.**
