With a pounding heart, Emily hesitated before knocking on the familiar door. No answer came. Swallowing her nerves, she fumbled in her handbag for the key and turned it in the lock. Dear Lord, how long had it been? Everything stood just as she’d left it—yet the once-cosy home now felt cold and alien.

Almost a year had passed since the fallout with James. They’d quarreled before, of course. Emily would bundle up little Sophie, tears in her eyes, and flee to her mother’s. Usually, James would come chasing after her the very next day, desperate to make amends. Their life would stitch itself back together, the reconciliation adding a bittersweet spark to their marriage. But this time… this time had been different.

Shaking off the memories, Emily marched to the wardrobe, determined to find those papers. There they lay, untouched, neatly filed away by her own hand months ago. For weeks now, another man—Daniel, who’d fancied her for years—had been courting her. Nothing serious yet, but last Sunday, he’d formally proposed.

Seven sleepless nights had followed. Something gnawed at her, leaving her paralysed with indecision. At first, she’d been certain the rift with James would mend. He’d knock, just like before, pierce her soul with that intense gaze, and whisper, “I’ve missed you so.”

But days bled into months, and nothing changed. James had grown distant, colder, slipping into brief, clipped visits to collect Sophie. He’d arrive in silence, take their daughter’s hand, and vanish. Later, he’d return her just as wordlessly. Sophie would chatter away, twirling in new dresses or shoes, beaming over her father’s gifts. Meanwhile, Emily ached, remembering how James’s eyes used to light up when he brought presents for her. Now? He scarcely glanced her way. Their shared space became suffocating, and she’d retreat to her room.

Her mother, never James’s greatest admirer, often said, “What’s meant to be will be.” Bit by bit, Emily had started to believe it.

Drawing a shaky breath, she cast one last look around the room—then froze. There, sprawled on the sofa, was James. Must’ve dozed off after his shift. Her first instinct was to flee, but something rooted her to the spot. Every line of his face was painfully familiar, though time had roughened it—stubble shadowing his jaw, dark circles under his eyes. She sank beside him. Who was this man she’d shared a life with? What thoughts lay behind that furrowed brow?

Suddenly, the memory of a younger James flashed before her: boyish devotion in his eyes, a smile so bright it could’ve lit the room. She’d always thought that smile had stolen her heart. Was this weary stranger really the same man? It hadn’t even been that long. The vision of his grin returned, vivid, almost accusing.

God, where had it all gone? Helplessly, she glanced around, as though searching for someone to blame for the wreckage. Her chest tightened, crushed under the weight of regret. Their once-enchanted little world had slowly filled with petty grievances, tears, and a yawning chasm of misunderstanding. James, working himself to the bone across three jobs to keep them afloat, too proud to ask for help… She’d had months to reflect. Now she knew—it was her own impatience, her lack of grace and wisdom, that had failed them.

But they *had* been happy. That wasn’t just her imagination. Driven by a sudden urge, Emily stood, desperate for proof. Then she saw it—James’s hand resting atop… their wedding album. A photograph of them, radiant, dizzy with joy.

Her fingers trembled; the pictures fluttered to the floor with a whisper. She turned—and there he was, awake, watching her.

“Emily… You came back?” His eyes shone with disbelief, and her heart shattered at the thought—half an hour ago, she’d nearly walked away forever.