James sat in the darkened room, listening to the sounds of the night. A car pulled up outside, the door clicked shut softly, and the quick tap of heels faded as someone entered the building. Finally, the key turned in the lock—slow, cautious.
He held his breath, straining to catch every whisper of movement. The rustle of fabric, the barely-there shuffle of feet. *Afraid to wake me*, he thought wryly. *Didn’t even bother with slippers.*
The door eased open. Emily tiptoed inside. Streetlight spilled through the curtains just enough to reveal the untouched bed, the empty space where he should have been lying. She froze, sensing his eyes on her, then turned sharply.
“You scared me. Why aren’t you asleep?” Her voice was sharp.
“Waiting for you.” James stood, walked to the door, and flicked on the light. She flinched at the sudden brightness.
“Where were you?” His gaze fixed on her pale face, makeup smudged.
“Sorry, I forgot to call…” She stared at the floor.
“Don’t tell me it was at a friend’s. Just say it. It’ll be easier for both of us. How long have you been cheating?”
She recoiled, as if ready to bolt. Then her head dipped slightly.
“Two months,” she murmured, meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second. “I wanted to tell you, but… I’m sorry. I’ll go.” She hurried out of the bedroom. James heard her shifting things in the hallway.
Emily returned with a suitcase, dropped it onto the bed, wrenched open the wardrobe, and started yanking out clothes. Hangers clattered, dresses tumbled, blouses piled next to the suitcase.
“Maybe you could do this tomorrow,” James said, “when I’m not here.” He grabbed a pillow and walked out.
He collapsed onto the sofa in the other room, still dressed, pulling a throw blanket over himself. Sleep wouldn’t come. He wanted to break something—hit Emily, smear away the remnants of another man’s kisses. He forced slow, deep breaths, clinging to control.
***
Years earlier, he and his mates had celebrated the end of term at the beach. They’d stripped off and dashed into the waves. Later, Gary and Ollie had gone for beer, leaving James to guard their things.
He sat on his jeans, watching toddlers splash at the shoreline when a girl emerged from the water and walked straight toward him. She snatched a towel from a nearby blanket, drying her dark hair. James couldn’t look away—sun-kissed skin glistening, water clinging to her. She was close enough to touch, and he ached to feel the cool dampness beneath his fingers.
She turned abruptly, catching him staring. He didn’t look away fast enough. Maybe he looked like a guilty schoolboy—because she smiled. By the time Gary and Ollie returned, they’d introduced themselves and were laughing like old friends.
At the sight of the lads, Emily started gathering her things. She tugged a sundress over her head, vanishing for a second beneath the fabric. Gary shot James a knowing grin; Ollie gave a thumbs-up.
Then the dress settled into place. Emily adjusted it, scooped up her bag, flashed the boys a smile, and walked off.
“Go after her,” Gary said, clapping James on the back.
“Emily, wait!” James grabbed his jeans, yanked them on, and sprinted after her without a backward glance.
He came home late.
“Where were you? We nearly called the police!” His mum grabbed him the second he stepped inside.
“Sorry, forgot my phone after the exam.” He blurted, “I’m getting married.”
His mother gaped. “What?”
“He’s getting married.” His dad’s voice was calm. “Third year, twenty years old—perfect timing. He’ll give us a grandkid by graduation.”
“No—I mean, I met the girl. The one I’m going to marry.”
“You just met her?” His mum’s voice pitched higher. “David, are you hearing this?” She gaped between husband and son.
“Claire, relax. He’s in love. Let him dream. He’s alive, healthy, happy—that’s what matters. We’ll talk tomorrow.” His dad steered his spluttering mum to bed.
Two weeks later, James brought Emily home. His mum learned she lived in student halls and declared her only after a London flat and residency. Of course, she only said this once Emily had gone.
“You don’t like her?” James deflated.
“What matters is that *you* do,” his dad said again.
They married after New Year’s. His father handed them keys to a flat.
“Didn’t expect this,” James admitted.
“It’s mine. We rented it out. Started the repairs—you handle the rest.” His dad pulled him into a hug.
***
James barely slept before dawn. When he woke, Emily stood over him, suitcase in hand.
“Sorry—I woke you after all,” she murmured, then walked out.
The past night crashed over him. He wanted to stop her—flinched when the door slammed.
He thought she’d return in a day or two. But she didn’t. No calls. Her keys sat abandoned on the hallway table.
The longing grew worse. He’d have forgiven her, just to have her back. He called—no answer. Once, he waited outside her university, only to see her leave arm-in-arm with another man. He barely ducked behind a tree in time.
The empty flat suffocated him. He went to his parents.
“Never liked her,” his mum said. “Found someone richer, didn’t she?”
“Claire, *enough*.”
A month later, they divorced at the registry office. The world crumbled. On the way home, James bought a bottle of whiskey—ready to drown.
His dad showed up unexpectedly. They drank, talked all night. His father confessed—his first wife had died, hit by a drunk driver while pregnant. He’d nearly lost himself to the bottle—until Claire and James came along.
James never drank again.
Six months later, his mum announced a friend’s niece was visiting from Manchester.
“She’ll stay until she finds work and a flat. Show her around, will you?”
“Matchmaking?” James scoffed.
But the girl—Sophie—was sweet, slight, with a pixie cut that made her look sixteen. She squinted adorably, too shy to wear glasses. *And she thinks she’ll conquer London*, James mused. Of course, he took her under his wing—showed her the city, prepped her for interviews, helped her find a cheap flat.
“Try her pies. Sophie made them. Her roast’s divine. Homely, clever—lucky man who marries her.”
*Why not?* James thought. *Emily’s happy. Maybe it’s time.*
“Right, then—I’ll marry her,” he joked.
His mum panicked. “Think first! Last time—”
After graduation, they registered the marriage. James refused another big wedding. A quiet café, close family only.
Sophie was nothing like Emily—funny, fragile. Maybe what he needed. But nights still brought the ache.
Another year passed. In a shopping centre hunting his dad’s anniversary gift, Sophie lingered at a toy stall.
“Look how sweet they are. I had a bear like this. Should we get one?”
James barely listened. Beyond the glass, Emily stood, real as memory.
“Be right back.” He bolted.
He caught her at the escalator, didn’t speak until the bottom.
“Hi. That your wife?” Emily’s voice was light. “Pretty. You’ve changed. Happy?”
James shrugged.
“You?”
“Didn’t work out. Sneaking around’s one thing—living together? Different beast. Saw your mum. She said you remarried.”
“She never told *me*.”
“She hated me. Does she like this one?”
The old wound throbbed.
“Where are you staying?”
“Renting. Still got my number?” She smiled. “Call sometime.”
Sophie’s voice cut in behind him. “That your ex?”
She held the bear.
“Yeah. You bought it?” He nudged her toward the exit, irritation simmering.
“Your dad’s gift?”
“We’ll get it later.”
Sophie grew quiet after that. James barely noticed, too busy remembering.
One night, locked in the bathroom, he called Emily.
“Come over,” she breathed. “I’ve missed you. When I saw you—I knew I’d messed up. But you still love me. You wouldn’t have chased me otherwise.”
“I’m married.”
“So? You don’t love her. *James*…”
He woke beside her at midnight, disgusted with himself. Drove home too fast.
Sophie stirred the second he slid into bed.
“Where were you?”
“Kitchen. Needed water.” He turned away, feigning sleep.
At breakfast, she cracked.
“James stared at his son’s tiny fingers wrapped around his own, realizing that the love he had now—real, steady, and true—was worth more than any ghost of the past, and he vowed silently to never let it slip away.
