Why don’t you just go back to your village, Robert said irritably, never turning to face her.
His voice was even, but held all the coldness and fatigue of feelings frozen by years of silent evenings and swallowed resentment.
He stood by the window, staring at the bleak November sky blanketed by endless clouds, and Jenny suddenly understoodeverything. Absolutely everything.
No excuse, no tears, no desperate attempt to reclaim the past would change a single thing. The door to their life together had closed quietly, almost gently.
So thats it? Just like that? she whispered, her words echoing through the empty room which once rang with laughter.
What do you want? Theres nothing left for us. You know it as well as I do.
His words, and the way he turned his back, were a final cut, harsher than any shout. He was severing her, like one might trim away a piece of useless fabric.
Jenny sat on the edge of the sofa, pressing her hands to her face. There were no tears leftshe felt hollow, emptied out over the years into countless cups of bitter tea, sipped opposite a man who had become a shadow.
She remembered, as if from another lifetime, how fifteen years ago hed stood at this very window, sunlight pouring in, and how he had smiled straight into her eyes:
Jenny, we can do anything. Together, we can face anything life throws our way.
She had believed himso completely, she would have followed him to the ends of the earth.
But those promises had faded, washed out like old photographs left too long in the sun. Only faint outlines remained.
All right, she said simplyand in that small word was not defeat, but a new, strange peace. If thats your decision.
Her voice was steady, but inside she felt a knot tighten.
She stood, almost gracefully, and pulled her battered old suitcase from the back of the wardrobe.
There wasnt much to packshe had never truly filled this space, never quite made it her own. Everything felt like hers but not hers, as if shed only ever been a visitor in someone elses dream.
Footsteps shuffled down the hallway. Their daughter, Emily, nearly grown, a university student, appeared in the doorwayher eyes clouded with worry, the kind that comes when your world suddenly makes no sense.
Mum, whats going on? Why do you look like that?
Its nothing, darling, Jenny tried to smile, but it came out twisted and aching. Im just going home. To Grandpas in the village. Only for a while.
Emily frowned, tears shining and threatening to spill.
Did Dad say something again? Is he still always moaning?
It doesnt matter, Jenny replied softly. Sometimes you have to leave, so you dont disappear entirely. Ill come back. Well always keep in touch. But right nowI just need some time alone.
Robert didn’t come to say goodbye. Not a word as she left. Only the lonely ticking of the kitchen clock echoed through the flat.
Downstairs, the main door slammed behind her as she dragged her modest suitcase out into an unfamiliar future.
The train ran through the night, swaying and humming, as if to lull away her pain. Jenny leaned her forehead against the cold glass and stared out into the darkness, seeing nothing.
Outside, endless black woods swept by, deserted platforms with only a few coat-wrapped figures beneath the flickering lamps.
Everything felt silent and cold, inside and outside. She was empty, like her battered suitcase, carrying echoes of the past.
There was a young woman in her compartment with a sleeping child, and a boy quietly strumming a guitar. Jenny barely heard their chatterexcept for when one word, floating above the others, caught her ear: home.
She too was travelling homebut this time, for good. She was leaving the noisy city, which had never become her own.
Images from childhood fluttered into her mind: the heavy old cherry tree outside her parents house, her mum kneading dough for pies, her dad bringing home pots of golden honey from the garden.
Those years had been warm and serene, filled with the gentle confidence that tomorrow would look after itself. How long had it been since she had felt that safety, that quiet, deep joy in being alive?
At dawn, the village station welcomed her with the familiar scents of coal smoke and dew. Everything seemed smaller nowthe low houses, narrow lanes, the corner shop with its faded sign. Or perhaps she had simply outgrown this place.
But when she saw her father by the old iron gate of their home, something within her softened, broke, and tearswarm, full, and honestrolled down her cheeks.
He looked her over, and breathed out deeply with all the wisdom of his years:
So, youve come back. Home at last.
Yes, Dad. Im sorry.
They held hands in silence, two people who had weathered a storm and found safe harbour.
The first weeks passed like a strange dream. Jenny was learning how to live anew, noticing simple things all over again.
She rose early, helped her father in the garden, walked to the market for fresh food, made vegetable stew just as her mum had done.
Then she would sit by the front window for ages, watching the empty roadno traffic jams, no endless chaos, no anxious phone calls from a boss.
Only the neighbours cockerel calling out at dawn, and the occasional car trailing smoke in the chilly morning.
Sometimes, shed linger by the old wardrobe where her school dresses still hung, touching the faded fabric with her fingertips.
Everything seemed both distant and near, tangled together, as if time itself had tied in knots.
On the third day, their neighbour, Mrs. Taylor, popped roundcheery and full of life, clutching a bucket brimming with new potatoes.
Jenny! At last, youre home. City life not all its cracked up to be, eh?
It passed me by, really, Jenny managed a weak smile.
Never mind, love. Lifes buzzing hereproper, honest life. Weve got a new headmaster at the school, widower, from the countystill young, a real grafter. Maybe one day youll meet him!
Jenny waved her off shyly.
Im not really up for meeting anyone right now. I just need to settle myself.
Mrs. Taylor replied, shaking her head kindly, Listen, people come and go, but its good to have company. You cant live shut away forever.
A week later Jenny finally went to the school to help out Mrs. Cox, the bookkeeper, clear out a mountain of old records. There, she met Michael.
He was tall and slim, with serious grey eyes and a calm, steady voicethe kind of man whose strength lies not in boasts, but in patient stillness.
You must be Jenny Peterson? he said, his smile gentle and sincere. Mrs. Taylor said you could help us with these accountsthings have been a bit chaotic.
Yes, she nodded, feeling the tension leave her shoulders. Ive handled the books for years. Ill manage.
Brilliant. We could do with more reliable folk around here.
They chatted about the school, the village, and ordinary things. Jenny began to feel unexpectedly peaceful in his companyno need to pretend, no need to put on a brave face as shed done for so long. Just peace, like shed known as a child.
Winter slipped by almost unnoticed. Jenny fell into her new routinehelping at the school, making trips into town with Michael on errands.
Evenings were spent curled in an old armchair, knitting by the crackling fire.
Gradually, the colours of life returned: the scent of fresh bread, the gentle light of a lamp, and the comfortable pop of logs on the fire.
City worries and old wounds melted away, replaced by something else. Home.
Emily called occasionallyonce for a video chat, her face strained and distant; later, only for brief text messages: All good. Studying. Dont worry.
Jenny did not push. She understood Emily was caught between two worlds, and would have to choose her place for herself.
Sometimes, on quiet nights, Jenny remembered Robert as he once washow he had held her hand so tightly at the beginning, desperate not to let go. And then, much later, how hed leave for work in the morning as a stranger.
One question circled in her mind: was he ever truly the person she believed, or had she simply loved a painted picture she herself wished to see?
With each dawn in her fathers home, the answer felt clearer.
Spring arrived quickly, with snow melting, bare fields yearning for seed, cockcrows at sunrise, and the air steeped in the scent of wet earth and memory.
Jenny planted dahlias and sweet-smelling tobacco flowers in the front gardenher mother had always done the same. In the ritual of it, she regained something precious and once-lost.
Michael often dropped byhelping with boards for a new bed, passing nails.
One evening, as the sunset painted the sky in soft peach, Michael said without looking at her,
I never thought Id stay here. When my wife died, I left, thought Id never come back. But life turned out differently. The school needed help. So did the children. So I returned.
Villages always know everyones business, Jenny smiled, patting the earth down.
Let them. What matters is not lying to yourself, or pretending.
He said it quietly, but with the calm assurance of one who has met griefand learned to live again.
For the first time in years, Jenny wasnt just surviving. She was living. No longer waiting for better days, but making the most of every present one. Her hands were scented with soil, her hair with wood smoke, her soul with that quiet, hard-won peace.
On Trinity Sunday, the village held a big celebration. Remembering old hymns from childhood, Jenny was invited to join the choir.
She hesitatedembarrassedbut Michael gently encouraged her.
You have a pure voice, Jenny. Deep and lovely. Dont hide itsing. Sing as though life itself is singing through you.
After the concert, the village hall erupted in honest applause. When she met Michaels gaze in the throngfull of warmth and something even deeperJenny realised it was this human kindness, this understanding, shed missed throughout those years.
Summer was blazing and bright. The village bloomed and thrived.
Jenny and Michael made regular trips to towngetting documents sorted for the school, buying supplies.
They often drove in companionable silence, the kind that feels like a blessing between two people who truly see each other.
One day, while heading home along a dusty lane, he said quietly,
You know, its like you brought spring with you. Since you came to the school, everything has felt fresher, lighter somehow.
Dont flatter me, Michael, Jenny replied, looking out the window.
Not flattery. Just simple truthas ordinary as sunrise.
Her heart clenchednot with pain, but with delicate, childlike surprise. Was it possible that someone could see her, plain and graying as she now was, with such unguarded care?
On her birthday, Jenny was woken by a persistent ring at the gate. She opened the door to a courier carrying a massive bouquet of red roses.
On the stems was a small, fine card: Im sorry. Maybe its too late, but if you want to, come back. I realise everything now. Robert.
She stood for a long time, holding the expensive, ostentatious bouquetjust like the ones he used to give, duty-bound, on special occasions.
That evening, Michael dropped by as usual, and Jenny simply handed him the roses.
A present from the past. No idea what to do with them.
Best to let it go, he said, looking at the petals. If it found you, its time to make a choice.
Thats what Ill do. Thank you.
She set the roses in water and left them, heavy with scent, for two days before tossing them, unregretful, onto the compost heap.
In autumn, when the leaves danced their farewell waltz, Emily arrived at the gategrown, lost, but still her little girl, her eyes aching for comfort.
Mum can I stay with you for a bit? The city its just unbearable right now.
Of course, love. Youre always welcome. This is your home.
That evening, they sat by the burning stove. Emily, wrapped in an old blanket, confessed,
Dads moved in with that womanGillian. But he doesnt look happy, Mum. Hes always moody, snappy.
He said to me, Everything turned out differently, love. Not how I thought.
Jenny nodded, feeding another log into the flames.
It never turns out any other way, Emily. With time, we become honest with ourselves. Either you accept the truth, or keep living in a dream.
Emily cried softly, I hoped, deep down, you and Dad would make up. But now I watch you here, in this house, and think maybe youre better off without him. You seem so calm.
I am, darling. And thats the greatest happiness there isjust a peaceful morning, knowing you are wanted, that you belong.
Winter settled in, blanketing the world with sparkling snow and a sense of utter calm.
The house filled with the sweet scent of dried apples and pine branches from the decorated tree in the garden. Jenny welcomed the New Year in a small, close circleEmily, her father, and Michael.
The table was covered with delicious but simple homemade food, and outside, the snow whirled softly in the night.
As Big Ben struck midnight, Michael raised his glass of homemade elderflower cordial.
To new beginnings. May we never be afraid to start overno matter our age or our circumstances.
Jenny looked at them allher daughter, her wise old father, steadfast Michaeland saw, with utter clarity, where her real home lay.
Not in that distant city flat with mirrored wardrobes and a perpetually discontented husband, but right here, amidst honest hearts and clear eyes.
She smiled, her heart bright and light: Thank you, life, for all your lessons. You knew where to plant me all along.
Two years passed. The village gossiped, The wedding will be soon. Have you seen how Jenny glows? She looks twenty-five again!
Emily went to a nearby agricultural college and visited every weekend, finding in this place the anchor shed lost in the city.
Michael became like familya gentle, reliable friend and mentor.
Jenny now managed the school accounts and joined in village fairs.
She made the most delicious cherry jam to her mothers recipe.
She no longer saw her city years as wasted. They were lessonspainful, yes, but necessary.
Sometimes in the mornings, she stepped onto the porch, hot herbal tea in hand. The sun rose over snowy fields; the wind played with sparkling frost on the birches. It seemed to Jenny, this was her hard-earned prizethe reward for daring to go, for daring to seek herself.
She remembered Roberts last wordsWhy dont you just go back to your village!and smiled softly, not with anger but with gratitude.
If not for him, for that push, perhaps shed never have found her true place in the world.
Jenny no longer searched for happiness somewhere out thereshe built it herself, from simple, lasting things: love, trust, work, and loyalty.
And every new day began with a quiet, almost invisible miraclethe miracle of truly living, breathing deeply, loving and being loved, and knowing every part of her soulthis time, it was all real, and it was hers forever.
Life had shown her: sometimes, letting go is the only way to begin anew. And courageoften found in the quietest decisionscan lead you home.
