Without further ado…
Edward sat in the dark, listening to the night’s quiet murmurs. A car pulled up outside, its door thudded softly shut, and the quick tap of heels faded behind the front door. Then, slowly, cautiously, a key turned in the lock.
He held his breath, straining to catch every sound—a rustle of fabric, near-silent footsteps. “Afraid to wake me, didn’t even slip on her slippers,” he thought with a bitter smirk.
The door creaked open. Emily tiptoed into the bedroom. Enough streetlight filtered in to reveal the untouched bed, its emptiness stark. She froze, sensing his tense stare, then turned.
“You frightened me. Why aren’t you asleep?” she snapped.
“Waiting for you.” Edward rose, crossed to the door, and flicked the light switch. Emily winced at the sudden glare.
“Where were you?” His eyes traced her pale face, half-smudged makeup.
“Sorry, I forgot to tell you…” She stared at the floor.
“Don’t say you were with a friend. Just tell the truth—it’ll be easier for both of us. How long have you been unfaithful?”
She flinched as if to flee, then shook her head faintly.
“Two months,” she whispered, lifting her eyes briefly. “I meant to tell you, but… I’m sorry. I’ll go now.” She hurried out. The clatter of hangers followed as she yanked clothes from the wardrobe, tossing them into an open suitcase.
“Perhaps pack tomorrow when I’m gone?” Edward grabbed a pillow and left.
He lay on the sofa in the other room, still dressed, a blanket draped over him. Sleep was impossible. He wanted to smash everything, strike Emily, wipe the remnants of another man’s kisses from her face. He forced deep breaths, willing calm.
***
Years earlier, he’d celebrated the end of exams with mates at Brighton Beach. They’d stripped and raced into the sea. Later, Tom and Harry left for beer while Edward guarded their things.
He sat on his jeans, watching children splash near the shore. A girl emerged from the water and strode toward him. She snatched a towel from a nearby blanket, drying her hair. Edward couldn’t look away—her sun-kissed skin glistening, her slim frame so close he yearned to touch its damp coolness.
She caught his stare and spun around. He hadn’t glanced away in time. Perhaps he looked like a scolded boy because she smiled. By the time Tom and Harry returned, they were laughing together.
Spotting the lads, Emily tugged on a sundress. For a second, her head vanished beneath the fabric. Tom caught Edward’s gaze and smirked; Harry gave a thumbs-up.
The dress settled, Emily gathered her things, smiled at them, and walked off.
“Go on,” Tom said, clapping Edward’s back.
“Emily, wait!” Edward yanked on his jeans and dashed after her, ignoring his friends’ laughter.
He came home late.
“Where were you? We nearly called the police!” his mother scolded.
“Forgot to turn my phone on after exams. I’m getting married,” he blurted.
“What?”
“He’s getting married. Good timing—third year, twenty years old. By graduation, we’ll have a grandchild,” his father remarked calmly.
“No, no—I meant I’ve met the girl of my dreams. I’ll marry her someday.”
“You just met her?” His mother gaped. “William, did you hear this?”
“Tanya, relax. He’s in love. Lovers dream. He’s alive, healthy, happy. Bedtime—we’ll talk tomorrow.” His father ushered her away.
“Thanks,” Edward called after him.
Two weeks later, he brought Emily home. His mother, learning she lived in student housing, declared she only wanted a London flat and residency. “This isn’t love,” she hissed once Emily left.
“You don’t like her?” Edward frowned.
“What matters is you do,” his father said.
They married after New Year’s. His father handed them keys.
“Thank you. Where…?”
“My old flat. Started renovations; you finish them.” His father hugged him.
***
Edward dozed off at dawn, waking to Emily with her suitcase.
“Sorry—I woke you after all.” She slipped out.
Yesterday’s wreckage crashed over him. He wanted to stop her—then the door slammed. He thought she’d return in days. But she never did. Her keys lay abandoned on the hall table.
His longing swelled until he’d have forgiven anything. He called—no answer. Once, he waited outside her university and saw her arm-in-arm with another man. Edward ducked behind a tree.
The empty flat suffocated him. He went to his parents’.
“I never liked her. Found someone richer, I suppose,” his mother muttered.
“Enough. He’s hurting,” his father said. Edward shot him a grateful look.
A month later, they divorced. The world crumbled. On the way home, Edward bought whisky, intent on drowning himself.
Unexpectedly, his father arrived. They drank and talked all night. His father confessed his first wife’s death—hit by a drunk driver while pregnant. He’d nearly drunk himself to death, then met Tanya and Edward. They gave him purpose.
Edward never drank again.
Six months later, his mother announced a friend’s niece was visiting from Manchester.
“She’ll stay awhile, find work and a flat. Show her around.”
“Matchmaking, are you?” Edward scoffed.
But Charlotte was sweet—slender, with a boyish haircut, shy about her glasses. “And she thinks she’ll conquer London,” he mused. He guided her, teaching job-interview tips, helping her find affordable housing.
“Try Charlotte’s pies. She cooks like a dream. Her future husband’s lucky. You need a wife like her,” his mother said.
“Maybe she’s right. Emily’s happy without me. Why not?” he thought.
“Decided. I’m marrying her,” he joked.
“Think carefully. You rushed last time. I won’t have her hurt!” his mother protested.
After graduation, they wed quietly in a café, no grand affair.
Charlotte was gentle, nothing like Emily. Maybe that’s what he needed. Yet nights brought crushing loneliness.
A year later, they shopped for his father’s anniversary gift. Charlotte lingered at a toy display.
“Look how sweet. I had a bear like this. Buy it?”
Edward barely listened—then spotted Emily through the window.
“Back in a sec.” He chased her down, catching her by the escalator.
“Hello. Is that your wife?” Emily asked. “Pretty. You’ve changed. Happy?”
He shrugged. “You?”
“Didn’t work out. Sneaking around’s one thing; living together’s another. Your mother told me you remarried.”
“Mum? She never mentioned seeing you.”
“She hated me. Does she like this one?” Emily’s gaze pierced him. His heart ached anew.
“Where are you living?”
“Renting. Still have my number? Call me.” She hurried off.
He stared after her, forgetting Charlotte until her voice came behind him.
“Your wife?” She held the plush bear.
“Ex-wife. You bought it?” He masked irritation, steering her out.
“The gift?”
“We’ve time. Later.”
From then, Charlotte grew quiet. Edward, lost in thoughts of Emily, barely noticed.
Once, locked in the loo, he called. Emily sounded thrilled.
“Come over. I’ve missed you. Seeing you at the shops—I realized my mistake. You still love me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have chased me.”
“I’m married,” he muttered.
“So? You don’t love her. I’ll text my address…”
He resisted for days, then caved. Emily answered flushed, wearing a frilly apron, the flat rich with cooking smells.
“Take off your shoes. Dinner’s ready. Knew you’d come.”
“You never cooked before,” he noted.
“That was ages ago.” She flitted about, pouring wine. He refused—driving.
She clung to him later, whispering in his ear.
“Eddie, I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you. We could start over. I’d give you a son…”
“I’m married.”
She kissed his neck. “You don’t love her. Stay…”
He woke at midnight, disgusted with himself. Dressed silently, sped home. Charlotte stirred as he slid into bed.
“Where were you?”
“Just thirsty. Sleep.” He turned away.
At breakfast, she confronted him.
“You were with her.”
“Ran into Tom. We talked.” He lied smoothly—until he realized his phone was gone.
“Must’ve left it at the café,” he bluffed, sweating. He had to retrieve it before Emily called Charlotte.
He raced back, guilt gnawing at him. Emily answered, hair dripping.
“You came back!”He never saw Emily again, and as the years passed, the memory of her faded like an old photograph tucked away in a forgotten drawer.
