“Emma!” Oliver shouted from across the road.
Emma let out a heavy sigh, set her grocery bags on the curb and paused. She glanced at the car of her exhusband parked on the opposite side, sucked in her cheekbones, and lowered her head. How tired she was of this endless cycle. Oliver bolted toward her, nearly stumbling, desperate to help.
“Hey, Emma,” he called, grabbing the bags.
“Hello,” she replied, voice flat.
“I was just passing by, saw you struggling with those heavy sacks and thought I’d lend a hand,” he said with a nervous grin. “Come on.”
“Passing by? You live on Oak Street, and this is Harrowquite a ways from your place.”
Oliver had already turned toward his own car, two bags clutched in his hands.
“My mate gave me a lift from work, then I saw you couldn’t just drive past,” he shrugged. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
“I’ve only got about a quartermile to go.”
“Never mind, I’ll take the bags. How’s Charlie? How’s mum?”
“You’ll find out when you pick him up this weekend. You’re always calling, aren’t you?” Emma followed him, more out of habit than hope. “Why do you keep asking about me?”
“I’m just checking in. We’re not strangers,” Oliver said, opening the passenger door for his former wife.
“I’ll sit in the back.”
“There’s a mess in theredon’t.”
Emma peered into the rear seat and saw the usual clutter of old boxes, a forgotten coat, a stray shoe. “You never believe me” she muttered.
She sighed again and settled into the front passenger seat. Oliver stowed the bags in the boot, then beamed at her, his eyes bright with a fleeting optimism. Emma turned her gaze out the window, watching the familiar streets roll by.
“You look good, as always,” he said.
“Oliver, just get me home. I still have dinner to prepare,” she snapped, irritation flickering.
“Right, right!” He kicked the engine into gear. “Got a new job, paperwork for a shift pattern,” he blurted, his mouth moving faster than the car. Emma kept staring at the passing houses. “Charlie said you moved out of mum’s place?”
“She hasn’t been around for three years,” Emma answered, unmoving.
“Emma, stop playing games! Why do I always have to pick him up from her? Are you hiding your address? Let me drop you off.”
“No, thank you,” she said, tugging at the edge of her coat. “I bought groceries for mum.”
“Give them and I’ll drive you home,” Oliver replied.
They stopped in a driveway.
“What did Charlie say? I told him not to. Are you seeing each other? Is everything fine?” Oliver asked.
“Yes.”
“What the devil do you want from me?” Emma snapped, finally losing restraint.
“Emma, we’re not strangers we have a son,” Oliver tried to clasp her hand. She jerked it away into her pocket.
“Oliver, enough! How many ‘coincidental’ visits do I have to endure? Stop calling my mother, stop begging her to talk to meit won’t help! We moved out because you were a nuisance! I’m on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Everyone keeps saying how you regret, how you miss us, how you dream of a reunion.”
“And Charlie? Why are you putting him through this? He’s just starting to get used to his dad on weekends. You tell him we’re going to get back together, ask him to pass my greetings, quiz me about my work hours, where I am.”
“I worry.”
“Me too about our son! How many times can you keep pressing him? Stop using him to pressure me!”
Emma slammed the car door, tried to pull the bags from the boot, but the lock jammed. She yanked at the lid, cursing, desperate to be rid of Oliver. From the upstairs window, her mother watched, eyes narrowed behind the blinds. Oliver opened the boot, carried the bags to the entrance, but Emma stopped him sharply.
“Don’t. I’ll do it myself.”
“Emma, you have to understandI still love you. I’d give up anything for you. Should I quit the night shift? Go back to my old job? Get you a car? Walking everywhere is hopeless. You and Charlie would be better off, you could pick him up from karate.”
“No,” she snapped, snatching the bags from his hands. “I wish youd just go away, find someone else, love her, live happily, and leave me alone.”
“Emma, forgive me. It was a oneoff, she meant nothing. I still curse myself.”
“Forgiven, Oliver. I forgave you long ago, but you wont let me go.”
“I can’t! Living without you is unbearable,” Oliver shouted as she climbed the stairs.
“Don’t stage another drama,” a voice called back. “I’ve forgiven you, but I can’t love you again.”
The secondfloor door slammed, and silence fell. Oliver clenched his fists, stared at the windows of his exmotherinlaws flat. How could he have swapped a family for a fleeting affair? After a year alone hed realized there was no one like his Emma, no one he could love like his son Charlie.
They’d met in school; shed transferred into their class and outshone every girl. Oliver only ever saw her. Summer holidays drifted him away, and a new flirtation dimmed his heart. By September, Emma no longer thrilled him. They stayed friends, drifted apart for five years while studying in different cities, then reunited in the same social circle, older and wiser. Emma earned a firstclass degree, secured a job at the family firm where her mother worked. Oliver floundered, bounced between apprenticeships, never finding his niche until a former colleague offered him a managerial role in exchange for questionable favors. He left, felt empty, and the cycle repeated.
Emma became pregnant; Oliver panicked, whisked her to meet his parents, married, welcomed Charlie, bought a house with a mortgage they paid off early with help from the grandparents. Summers were spent at the seaside, birthdays, christenings, family trips. Oliver grew restless, craving recognition, but his ambition stalled. He switched jobs, chased promotion after promotion, never landing. A former coworker helped him snag a departmental head position for a few intimate favors, then vanished. Emma thought his work stress justified a brief getaway, suggested he take Charlie with him. He refused, but eventually agreed to a short fishing trip with a friend in the north. He never made it; his friend’s wife sent a curt photo of a quiet evening, asking him to stay out of trouble. Emma packed her things, Charlie, and left for her mothers house.
When Oliver finally tried to track her down, he found the door locked, his motherinlaws stare cold as steel. He received a divorce summons, fought it, begged Emma for forgiveness, but the papers went through.
A year later, seeing Oliver try to be a decent fatherpaying child support, calling Charlie each weekend, winning back his motherinlaws affectionEmmas mother urged her to forgive him. Emma relented, but the love was gone, the wounds still raw. They finally split for good.
“Emma, why are you still pestering him?” her mother asked as she entered the kitchen, a pot simmering.
“Who’s pestering whom? Has Charlie not come home from school yet?”
“No.”
“Hes driving me mad, Mum! I wish I could be on a night shift in some faroff town. He haunts me, I cant build any relationship without fearing what Oliver might do.”
Emma shoved the grocery bags onto the counter, her mother had already brewed tea, the scent of fresh scones filling the air.
“Stop it, you have a son. You’ve lived together for years”
“How can I? Hes a stranger now, a ghost between the messages from some woman and court summons. How do I share a flat with someone I no longer feel for?”
“Then why keep giving him hope, why keep in touch?” her mother asked, avoiding Emmas eyes.
“He wont let me go, he harassed our IT guy a month ago, I smiled at him, flirted a little, now he wants forgiveness What am I supposed to forgive? I never”
“He wont let you move on. You need someone else,” her mother said calmly. “Men like Oliver cant handle a woman whos moved on.”
“What? Hes the one who wont give me space!”
“Exactly, hes a pest!”
Oliver, meanwhile, kept waiting for his new contract to be finalized. He lingered by Emmas office during lunch, called Charlie, asked him to tell his mum theyd still be together. The former motherinlaw stopped answering. A few weeks later he met Emma and Charlie early at school.
“Emma, Im leaving” he said.
“Good luck.”
“Charlie, dads going far, but not for long,” Oliver looked at Emma, who turned away. “Anything to say?” he asked. Charlie tugged at his mothers sleeve; his first lesson was English, he couldn’t be late.
“I’ve said everything. Happy youre changing your life, maybe itll be better.”
“Dont count on it. I wont leave you!”
Oliver knelt, embraced his son tightly, tried to do the same with Emma, but she recoiled. He clenched his teeth and walked back to his car.
“I’ll forgive you, Emma,” he shouted from the roadside, “but Ill never forgive the betrayal.”
Emma felt a flicker of darkness, yet she kept moving, her eyes scanning the street for the blue van that once belonged to Oliver. She drifted through the city, unafraid of a random encounter. She met a colleague for coffee, later ran into an old friend who pushed for reconciliation, for love, for Oliver. Emma cut her off, convinced Oliver was manipulating her. The friend, herself divorced, knew how to raise a child alone, often forgave her ex for petty misdeeds, and whispered about a new romance with a man named Craig. Emma laughed, “Can we pop the champagne? New love, freedom?” The friend replied, “Only if you survive the hundred texts and calls from Oliver a day.”
Later at a café, Emma heard a man approach, introduced himself, offered drinks. The women declined, but his charm lingered. She watched as her friend Christina eyed him, then exchanged glances with Emma. Soon Emma exchanged numbers with a new acquaintance, Serge, and their conversation blossomed. She stopped reading Olivers endless messages, though her phone buzzed with other things, and she smiled at each new chat, hurried home as if someone waited.
“Hey, Charlie, hows school?” she texted.
“All good, Dad, I got five in my English test!” he replied.
“Charlie, wheres mum?” Oliver chimed in, trying to sound caring.
“Shes fine, Mum changed her hair, we were at Lilas birthday last night,” Charlie typed.
“Great. She never answers my calls, never reads messages,” Oliver muttered, “Call her, please.”
“Mum cant come now, we have visitors.”
“Who?”
“Uncle Serge.”
“What the heck? Give her the phone!”
“Mum! Mum!” Charlie shouted from his room. Laughter and the smell of something cooking filled the kitchen, while Serge tinkered with a shelf in the next room. “Mum!” Charlie cried louder, “Dads calling!”
Emma entered, apron tucked, glancing toward the kitchen.
“Yes?” she answered, eyes on the warm light spilling from the stove.
“Whats up, love? Youre back early, off to the mens club again?” Oliver teased, sarcasm sharp.
“Dont be a fool,” she replied, dryly. “You calling because of this?”
“You think you can just… Ill come over, give you a honeymoon youll never forget, you bitch.”
“Finally you cracked,” Emma laughed. “Been waiting for the real one who swapped his family for a onenight fling. When will you realise were strangers now?”
“Shut up, you!” Oliver roared into the phone, “Ill be back in a week, I I”
“Oliver, I did what you asked,” a male voice interrupted from the hallway, “Are you coming? Were hungry, the ovens killing us. Charlie?”
Charlie nodded, holding his tiny phone, his voice trembling.
“Whos that?” Serge asked, extending a hand toward the receiver.
Emma handed him the phone, the shouting dying as Oliver hung up.
“Papa will call later,” Emma said, looking at her upset son.
Oliver never called Charlie again, but he kept harassing his exmotherinlaw, slinging insults at her for raising such a daughter. He even texted Christina, promising to return and settle scores. He vanished on his first work trip, stayed on the second, then disappeared into the countryside, chasing some vague potential. He thought of Charlie twice a year on birthdays and New Years, never writing to him or Emmaboth, in his mind, at fault for the broken home. The boy grew up, eventually siding with Serge.
Emma now lived with Serge; he was no longer a guest in her flat. Charlie, for a while, missed his dads calls, but found a steady father figure in Serge, who taught him the proper way to recite classic literature, and together they built a new, quieter life.
