Hello, Emily, I whispered, apologising for disturbing her in the dead of night. Im sorry to drop by like this, but Ive just lost my wife in a crash can you let me in? David slurred, barely able to form the words.
He staggered into my flat, and I, still angry at him, let him in anyway. We hadnt spoken in a month, but his grief overwhelmed any lingering grudges. All our arguments seemed petty now.
David, what happened? Dont be silent, tell me, I urged, feeling a guilty weight for his wifes death. Wed been lovers, after all.
Without a word he pulled me onto the bed. I didnt resist; I wanted to soothe him, to hold him, to help him forget. It wasnt the moment to call him a selfish, arrogant scoundrel. The night passed in a blur of drunken tears.
In the morning I roused David with great difficulty. He stared at me, confused. Emily, why am I here? Weve been at odds. He genuinely didnt recall the purpose of his visit. I chose not to remind him that hed come seeking comfort after his loss. Instead, I imagined his drunken ramblings as the usual lies he could spin. Then his phone rang, displaying the name Rosie. That was how he used to call his wife.
He dropped the call, a guilty look crossing his face as if something was surfacing.
Youre an idiot, I snapped. You just buried your wife yesterday. How can you joke about that? Get out! I pushed him out the door and never saw him again.
Since I was twenty Id lived alone; my parents had passed away one after another. I never rushed into marriage, and suitors always swarmed me like bees to honeysome stingy, some generous, some already married. With David I lasted longer than with any other, mainly because I fell deeply in love. I knew he had a family, yet I convinced myself he was a born actor, able to fabricate any story for his own amusement. He showered me with lavish roses, extravagant gifts, wild nights, all while keeping his Rosie in his thoughts. I wouldnt have been surprised to discover he had a string of mistresses; his appetite for affection seemed endless. In short, he was a smoothtalking rake.
While my friends settled down, had children, and built stable lives, I stayed with David, fully aware there was no future. He would never leave his family, and our fights grew more frequent, often over nothing at all.
Finally, Davids last reckless act put a decisive end to our shaky liaison. I was free again, searching for an unknown happiness.
Then James drifted into my life. He lived in a small Yorkshire village but worked in Leeds. We met on a commuter trainhe heading home from work, me visiting my aunt. He sat nearby, we struck up conversation, exchanged numbers, and soon we were dating.
If David was a storm, James was a gentle drizzle. He was frugal, blunt, and a bit rough around the edges, but I accepted his flaws; after all, I was getting older. He invited me to his family home: Mum wants to meet you.
Whats there to meet? Im already pregnant, I laughed, already thinking about my wedding dress.
The village house was overflowing with homecooked fare. Yet I felt sick, unable to look at anything. My future motherinlaw, eyes judging, told James, Son, take the guest out onto the veranda, let her rest, and come back to the table. I was ignored completely.
The next day James quietly saw me off at the station and returned to his mother, who clearly never liked me. I rushed my wedding plans, but they fell apart. Before I could get home, I was in hospital with a miscarriage. The doctor, seeing my anguish, tried to console me, Dont worry, love. If the baby was not viable, its better now than suffering later.
I thought, Fine, James isnt my destiny. He seems content enough with his mother. I let the relationship end calmly, with no regrets.
Among my lovers was a former schoolmate, Thomas. Hed pestered me since we were in class, and I kept him as a backup option. He proposed, but I stayed silent. Years later he married a woman with a child, and they had a son together. About a decade after that, Thomas resurfaced, apologising profusely, Emily, I rushed into marriage, now I want a divorce. He lamented his unhappy home, his mismatched temperaments, his lifes discord. I listened, nodded, offered comfort, and once he burst into my flat beaming, Emily, my second son was born! Celebrate! I could barely hold back tears, telling him to leave forever. That night I wept into my pillow, the sorrow heavy as lead.
My best friend, Grace, seemed to have everything: a loving husband, a daughter, financial stability. I envied her. When she confessed, Emily, Im in love with a married man, he has two kids, I warned her, Forget it. Dont tear apart your family or his. Youre chasing happiness in a dangerous place. She sobbed, pleading, I cant live without David. I urged her to stop, but she walked away, never calling again.
One day, unexpectedly, Peter knocked on my door. Hello, Emily. How are you? Still single? He had been Graces husband. He whispered, Grace left me. We talked through the night, and eventually we slept together. For six months Peter was my companion, and I thought I had finally found contentment. Yet he never proposed; a new colleague, older than him, with a teenage daughter, entered his life. He married her, and theyve been together for twenty years. Grace, meanwhile, married David and supposedly lives a blissful life. I havent seen my old friend in over twenty years.
People ask how Ive fared. Ive mended broken, wounded, weary hearts, only to watch the men I helped flutter back to their own wives. Time slipped away. As my grandmother used to say, Every girl has her season; it will fade. My season has passed. The merrygoround of my life has stopped spinning, the princes no longer knock on my window. I adopted a pedigree cat for company, but I remain single, childless, and unsatisfied.
All these tangled romances taught me a hard truth: chasing love in the shadows of other peoples lives only leaves you wandering in darkness. True peace comes not from the arms of another, but from accepting yourself and the season you are in.
