**Diary Entry**

With a trembling heart, Emily tapped lightly on the door. Silence answered her. Hesitant, she fumbled in her handbag for the key and turned it in the lock. Good Lord, how long had it been since she’d last stepped inside? Everything was just as it had been, untouched—this once-beloved home now felt cold and unfamiliar.

Nearly a year had passed since the falling-out with James. They’d quarrelled before, of course. Emily would scoop up little Sophie, tears in her eyes, and flee to her mother’s. More often than not, James, missing them desperately, would come chasing after them the very next day. Life would reset, the reconciliation bringing a strange warmth back to their strained marriage. But that last fight… it had been different.

Shaking off the memories, Emily marched to the cupboard, determined to retrieve the documents she needed. There they sat, untouched—neatly filed away in the folder she herself had organised months ago. For the past two months, a chap named Oliver, long smitten with her, had been persistent in his attentions. Nothing had happened between them yet, but a week ago, he’d formally proposed.

And for seven nights since, Emily hadn’t slept a wink. Something gnawed at her, leaving her paralysed with indecision.

At first, she’d been certain the rift with James would mend. He’d knock on the door as he always had, fix her with those piercing eyes, and murmur, *“I’ve missed you so.”* But days became weeks, then months, and nothing changed. Their encounters were fleeting—James growing colder, more distant, as though an unspoken chasm had opened between them. He only ever came for Sophie, wordlessly taking their daughter’s hand before disappearing again. Later, he’d return her just as quietly. Sophie would chatter away, twirling in some new dress or shiny shoes James had bought her, blissfully unaware. Meanwhile, Emily would ache, remembering how James’s eyes used to sparkle when he brought gifts for *her*. Now… he scarcely glanced her way. The silence between them thickened until she’d hurry away, retreating 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 deep breath, she cast one last look around the room—then froze. There, on the sofa, was James, fast asleep. Likely just back from his shift. Her first instinct was to flee, but something rooted her to the spot. Every line of his face was achingly familiar—rough with stubble now, shadows bruising his tired eyes. Slowly, she sank beside him. What did she really know of this man she’d shared her life with? What thoughts lay behind that furrowed brow? Suddenly, a half-forgotten memory flickered to life—young James, with his boyish grin and earnest eyes, so full of devotion… She’d always sworn it was that smile that had stolen her heart. Was this weary, hardened man truly the same person? Hardly any time had passed, yet… The memory of that bright smile burned like a rebuke.

*God, where had it all gone?* Helpless, she glanced around, as though searching for someone to blame for the wreckage of her life. Her chest tightened, heart thrumming under the weight of regret. Their once-cosy world had slowly been poisoned by petty grievances, tears, and an aching sense of being misunderstood. James, working himself ragged across three jobs just to keep her and Sophie comfortable, never asking for help… She’d had time now to realise—she’d lacked patience, the quiet strength and wisdom a marriage demanded.

But they *had* been happy once. Not some delusion, but a real, dazzling joy. Emily stood abruptly, seized by the need to prove it to herself. Her eyes fell on James’s hand, resting atop… their wedding album. The photo on top showed them radiant, breathless with happiness.

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 something like hope, and the thought that she might have left without a word moments ago twisted inside her like a knife.

**Lesson:** Time erodes even the fondest memories, but regret cuts deeper. Some doors mustn’t be left unopened.