“Leave the keys on the table,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze. Emily froze for a second, clutching the keyring to her chest as if it held more than just a way out of the flat. At first, she didnt grasp what hed saidand neither had he, really. It was just the first thing that slipped out to stifle his anger.
“I dont understand,” she said calmly. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” he snapped shortly, turning away to stare out the window.
Outside, a fine drizzle hung in the air, more like mist than rain. Autumn sludge squelched underfoot, and a droplet trickled down the windowsill. Not the best morning for a breakup, but not the worst either.
Emily walked silently to the kitchen. She dropped the keys onto the table with a clatter, perched on a stool, and stared at them. Not at him. At the keys. Just yesterday, shed come home with them, and everything had been if not good, at least familiar.
“What now?” she asked flatly.
“Dunno,” he still didnt turn. “Just its for the best.”
“For who?”
He shrugged.
“Everyone,” he said, and she knew: for himself.
Emily stood, slow and deliberate, and wandered through the flat. *Her* flat, really. Every corner bore her touchthe curtains shed picked after three hours in the shop with her best mate, the pots, the dinner sets, even the knives, all bought with her wages. He used to contribute, but then came debts, loans, his mums illness, and somehow it all landed on her. She never complained. Just waited, believing hed sort himself out, that things would turn around.
And now he stood by the window, asking her to leave the keys.
“Is there someone else?” she asked as she passed by.
“Its not about that,” he murmured.
“I didnt ask what its about. I asked: is there someone else?”
He turned, glancing at her fleetingly, caught between thought and action.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Theres a woman. Were just talking for now.”
“Just?” Emily scoffed. “You always say that when you start lying. Just for now, dont overthink it, its nothing. I remember this script.”
He sighed like shed scolded him over something trivial.
“Em, dont make a scene. Im not a kid.”
“No, but youre acting like one. Burning everything down just to try something new. And then what? Come crawling back?”
“No.”
“Right. So its serious?”
“I didnt say that. I said its over. Were tired of each other. You know it.”
“I know people dont tire of each otherthey tire of lies. And I wasnt tired. I was waiting. While you were making decisions.”
He shrugged.
“Dont drag it out. Just go.”
She nodded. Without another word, she went to the bedroom, pulled out her old suitcasethe one shed taken to her friend Charlottes in Manchester years ago. Shed kept it in the loft, never thinking shed need it. Turns out she did.
There wasnt much to pack: work clothes, a couple of dresses, her hairbrush, an unfinished book. And a photo. One of them on a park bench, grinning like idiots, back when they still believed *together* meant *forever*.
He hovered in the doorway, not crossing the threshold.
“If you want, I can hel”
“Dont. Youve helped enough. Thanks for saying it to my face, at least. Couldve been a text.”
He scratched the back of his neck.
“You know me. I always face things head-on.”
“I know. But that doesnt make you better. Just more honest. And honesty without decency is cheaper than a penny.”
He looked down, realising there was no arguing. Nothing left to salvage.
“Where will you go?”
“Charlottes,” she said shortly. “The one you couldnt stand. The one who got on your nerves, your bloody know-it-all mate. She told me two years ago you werent the one.”
“And you didnt listen?”
“Course not. I loved you. Thought she was just jealous.”
“And now?”
“Now I think she was right.”
He stepped closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the suitcase like it was a grave.
“Em maybe stay? Just tonight. Leave in the morning.”
“Why?”
“Just its awkward. You leaving in the rain with a suitcase. People will stare.”
“People will stare,” she repeated softly, smiling. “Did you think about me at all this morning?”
He stayed silent. And his silence was louder than any answer.
“Im not proud,” she continued. “Or stupid. I knew you were pulling away. Knew you werent really sleeping at Daves from work. Saw the hairs in the shower that werent mine. I just let it drag on. Wanted you to be the one to end it. So it wasnt me kicking you out. So it was you leaving.”
“So you were waiting for me to dump you?”
“Doesnt matter. What matters is its clear now. And dont hold me back, alright? This isnt even anger. Its exhaustion. Deep as the bloody ocean.”
He stood, turning back to the window, watching raindrops race down the glass.
She grabbed her coat from the hook, slipped on her boots. With her handbag in one hand and the suitcase in the other, she paused at the door.
“Goodbye, James.”
“Take care, Em.”
“Dont forget to change the locks. Just in case I change my mind.”
He didnt answer.
When the door shut behind her, he sank onto the chair shed just vacated, staring at the keys. Her fingers had left an indentation in the wooda faint mark from her ring. He traced it. Not painful. Just hollow.
Outside, the drizzle lingered, but Emily didnt bother with an umbrella. It was only a few blocks, but her legs trembled, and not from the cold. She stopped by a chemist, set the suitcase down, and sat on a bench.
An old woman with a shopping bag settled beside her.
“Alright, love?” she asked, eyeing Emily.
Emily nodded, forcing a smile.
“Yeah. Just hard to breathe right now. But itll pass.”
The woman nodded knowingly.
“Been there. Thirty years with my husband. Then he left. For someone younger. Started over. And you know what? No regrets. Now Ive got my son, my grandkids. But him? Stroke took him within five years of leaving.”
“Sad.”
“Lifes like autumn. Seems like everythings dying, but really, its just making room for new.”
Emily looked up. The rain had eased. Through the clouds, a sliver of light peeked throughlike a sign: *You did the right thing.*
She stood, thanked the woman, and walked on. The suitcase rattled over the pavement, but the noise felt less like a burden now and more like the rhythm of a new beginning.
Back in the flatnow absent her voiceJames poured himself a strong tea, sat at the table, and touched the keys.
How long would it take him to realise? He hadnt just let go of a woman. Hed let go of the only real thing hed ever had.
She reached Charlottes by noon. The stairwell smelled of boiled potatoes, fried onions, and something nostalgic. Charlotte opened the door in a dressing gown, flour dusting her hands. At the sight of Emilys suitcase, she just clicked her tongue.
“Come in.”
Emily stepped inside, set the suitcase by the wall, and hung up her coat.
“Baking?”
“Mm. Cheese and onion pasties. Still time for a hot one,” Charlotte said, vanishing back into the kitchen. Then, quieter: “And if you need it, theres whiskey.”
Emily flopped onto the sofa. The room hadnt changed in ten yearssame old dresser, telly with a blurry screen, crystal vase of dried roses. Even Charlotte was the same, just shorter-haired and a bit rounder in the face.
“He ended it?” Charlotte finally asked.
“Not exactly. I left.”
“Ah.” Charlotte sat beside her, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “His idea or yours?”
“Said, Leave the keys on the table.”
“Classy. Very bloke-ish,” Charlotte scoffed. “Found some bimbo, didnt he?”
“Someone. Dunno if shes a bimbo. Might even have a spine. Not my problem now.”
“Em, love, all that matters is its honest. No lies to your face. Butdid you lie to yourself?”
Emily went quiet. She didnt know. But she knew one thing: no going back.
