**May 15th, 2023**
*”Why are you looking at me like that? Fine, I don’t want kids. What’s wrong with just us?”* Emily asked her husband.
The first rays of sunlight crept through the kitchen blinds, etching stripes of light and shadow across the floor, the walls, the table. One beam struck William’s face, searing his tired, bloodshot eyes. He winced, shifting his stool into the shade—anything to escape the glare.
As if offended, the sun retreated behind the brick flats across the street. The kitchen dimmed, dull and cheerless. Then, the snap of the front door latch. William stiffened, listening to the hushed footsteps in the hall. Bare feet padded closer, hesitated, then entered the kitchen.
*”William? You’re awake?”* Emily’s voice wavered—surprised? Guilty?
*”Where were you?”* His throat was raw.
She took her time answering. If she’d replied straight away, he might’ve believed her. *”Just out with Sophie. Had a few drinks, lost track of time. Ended up crashing at hers.”*
*”You didn’t call.”*
*”Because I was drunk. Didn’t want to wake you.”* Her voice steadied, practiced.
*”You hoped I’d be asleep and wouldn’t notice.”* He kept his eyes on the table.
*”God, what’s your problem? So I had a night out—is that a crime?”* Her pitch rose, defensive.
*”A night out?”* He turned to face her.
Emily looked away.
*”I’m exhausted. Let’s talk later.”* She moved to leave, but William grabbed her wrist and yanked her back. She gasped, stumbling against him before wrenching free.
*”Let go—you’re hurting me!”*
He tightened his grip.
*”You’ll break my wrist! Let go!”* Her eyes burned with hatred.
*”Were you with him? Tell me.”*
*”Yes! There—happy now? I hate you!”* She ripped her arm free, stumbled back, and hit her elbow against the doorframe with a sharp cry.
*”Get out.”*
*”William, please—”*
*”Go. Pack your things later.”* He slumped against the wall, eyes shut.
*”Fine. You’ll regret this!”* She stormed out, rubbing her elbow. *”I can’t stand the sight of your miserable face!”*
*”Good riddance.”* He snatched a mug from the table and hurled it. Porcelain shattered.
The front door slammed. William folded his arms on the table and let his head drop.
Sunlight returned, streaking the kitchen, gliding over his hunched shoulders like a gentle hand.
—
They’d married three years ago. Emily, bright and reckless, had dazzled him. She wasn’t classically beautiful, but men noticed her. At first, everything was effortless. The world bent around her.
She hated cooking, and he didn’t mind. Breakfast was coffee and toast. Lunch at the pub near work. Evenings were takeaway or drinks with friends. Weekends meant lazy mornings, brunch, laughter.
But then their friends started having kids. William brought it up—*what’s a family without children?* Emily scoffed. *”We’ve got time. Why rush into nappies and tantrums?”*
Still, it gnawed at him. One evening, after a row, he stopped at a café and saw her. A man, young, leaning in too close. She spotted William and forced a smile. *”This is an old schoolmate!”*
The schoolmate shook his hand. William pretended to believe her.
She grew distant. Came home late. *”Out with the girls.”* But which girls? Most were mothers now.
Then last night—she didn’t come home.
—
He woke at dawn, half-expecting her call. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe she *had* stayed with Sophie.
But he wouldn’t call first. Pride wouldn’t let him.
The mirror showed a haggard man, stubbled, red-eyed. He splashed water on his face, poured whiskey, and slept.
Days blurred. He visited friends, but their wives eyed him warily. Without Emily, he was a ghost.
One evening, he stopped for cigarettes. A heavyset woman struggled with grocery bags. He offered to help.
*”Just up the road,”* she said.
Inside, a boy—five, maybe—peered from the doorway. *”Is that my dad?”*
The woman laughed nervously. *”No, love. This kind man helped Gran with the shopping.”*
But William couldn’t look away. If he’d imagined a son, this boy—Oliver, with his wide eyes and skinny legs—would’ve been it.
Over tea, the woman—Margaret—told him the truth. *”My daughter, Claire… assaulted when she was sixteen. She never wanted Oliver. I raised him.”*
William visited again, brought toys. Played fireman with Oliver.
Then Claire came home, frosty. *”Don’t get attached. You’ll leave, and he’ll hurt.”*
He stayed away.
Months passed. Winter came. Days before Christmas, he spotted them in a mall. Oliver, fighting tears. *”Don’t go, Mum.”*
Claire knelt, flustered. *”I have to work, sweetheart.”*
William stepped in. *”Oi, none of that. Big lads don’t cry at Christmas!”*
Oliver sniffed. *”Why not?”*
*”Because Father Christmas is watching!”*
Claire’s face softened. *”Would you… take him to his nursery play? I can’t stay.”*
*”Course.”*
Oliver beamed. *”Promise?”*
*”Promise.”*
Walking home, William felt lighter. He’d buy gifts. A tree. Maybe, just maybe, this year would bring more than loneliness.
Love, perhaps.
*Lesson learned: Sometimes, the family you find is worth more than the one you lost.*
