Who are you chatting with? Emma leaned over Jamess shoulder, curiosity flashing in her eyes as she glanced at the computer screen.
Ah! he flinched, slamming the socialmedia window shut. Are you spying on me? What are you up to?
I wasnt even thinking about it. Why the sudden tension? Was it Lucy you were looking for?
Lucy?
Lucy Whitfield, your old classmate. The one you used to run after back in secondary school.
And what? Do you think Im mistaking her for someone else? I dont even remember her. Just heat up the dinner instead of standing there like a statue!
Emma let the question drop. She pursed her lips and drifted to the kitchen. He doesnt remember clever, she muttered under her breath.
Jamess denial felt hollow. How could he forget the girl hed adored since school, the one hed followed around like a shadow? Even after marrying Emma, he kept a photograph of Lucy tucked away. When Emma stumbled onto that fragment of his past, she shredded it into tiny pieces so it could never be pieced back together.
He hid the torn bits in a secret drawer. Anyone else might have stayed silent, but James slammed his fists against the furniture, furious. Their argument erupted that night, nearly tearing the marriage apart. Emma fled to her parents house, and the couple almost divorced.
Then she discovered she was pregnant. She forgave him when he finally stepped back from the brink and begged for a chance. The subject was never raised again.
Years later, when social networks finally took off, everyone started digging up old schoolmates. James fell into the same trap, his eyes glued to the glowing screen. Emma, who had once caught him redhanded with Lucys picture, now watched him drift deeper into the virtual world. He laughed at messages, brushed off Emmas questions Who am I talking to? and locked his laptop and phone with passwords. He lingered longer at work, and Emma felt the pressure building.
Mum, whats wrong with me? Everyones glued to their phones. Want me to set you up? she asked her mother.
No, dear, weve had enough of a lunatic in the house who does nothing but stare at a screen, her mother replied.
Emma tried everything: cutting cables, refusing to pay the internet bill, even switching off the electricity, hoping to pry him away from the blue glow. Nothing worked. James snapped, hurled insults, and slammed doors in a fit of rage.
Enough! Emma thought as she trudged home from work that evening. It cant go on like this. He must choose either us and our son, or that damned internet.
She entered the flat to darkness. Their son, Tommy, was away at his grandmothers for the holidays, and James lounged on the sofa. For the first time in months, she saw him not hunched over a keyboard. She smiled, then her smile twisted.
And why are we sitting in the dark? she said, tossing her boots off at the hallway.
Im not in the mood for jokes, Emma. Cut the sarcasm! Cant you see Im unwell? he snapped.
Whos having a good time now? she retorted, a sardonic grin forming. Fancy a dinner?
Im fed up! he growled.
His voice shook. Ive just been through a medical review at work. Here, he thrust a crumpled sheet of paper at her. Emma skimmed the report; tears sprang to her eyes.
How? When? she whispered.
Emma, Ive made a decision. You need to understand me he stammered.
About what?
About the house
The house what?
The flat, Emma. You know we live in my motherinlaws house. My own flat was a gift from my mother; Im the sole owner, so I get to decide
If we can sell it for treatment, fine, lets do it.
No, you dont get it! I cant help myself, and Im giving the flat to Lucy. She needs it more than we do! he shouted, his fury palpable.
Emmas world shattered. What did you just say? she cried, her voice cracking.
You heard me! James leapt from the sofa, eyes wild. Consider this my final will! Im the owner, and Ill decide!
Lucy? Lucy Whitfield? The same Lucy you adored in school? Emma stammered, disbelief flooding her. The pieces finally clickedwho James had been texting, who hed hidden from her.
Yes! She still matters to me. Who knows what could have happened if she hadnt moved away? he blurted.
Emma stood frozen for a heartbeat, then, in a cold, steady tone, said:
If thats your choice, let Lucy chase you. I have nothing left here. She gathered her things in silence, called a cab, and fled to her mothers house on the outskirts of Manchester.
James hadnt expected such a calm exit. He had hoped Emma, upon hearing he was dying, would stay by his side.
For three months Emma lived on autopilot, her spirit crushed by Jamess words. Tommy visited his father a few times despite his mothers pleas, each trip a painful reminder.
Mum, can you believe it? Dads lying in bed, cant get up, and Aunt Margaret is running the flat, looking for buyers. The hospice wants to admit him soon. he said, eyes red.
Emma tried to move on, going out with friends to a restaurant, laughing, dancing, shedding a few tears as they talked about their own burdens. It felt like a breath of fresh air after years of being tethered to Jamess endless routine.
She returned home late after midnight. Her mother and Tommy had gone to bed, leaving her alone in the quiet house. Stepping out of the cab, the cool summer night wrapped around her. A streetlamp flickered dimly opposite her block, casting long shadows as she made her way up the terrace, humming a soft tune.
Emma, Ive waited for you! a voice called out from the darkness. She turned, heart leaping, and saw James perched on a low wall by the gate, dressed in a white shirt and dark trousers, motionless.
Oh my God! she shrieked, half thinking shed imagined his ghost.
Emma, Im sorry! I didnt mean to frighten you! he pleaded, his voice trembling.
She clutched at her chest, realizing it was not a vision but the real man, standing there as if a ghost from their past had returned. A wave of shock knocked the breath out of her.
What are you doing here? she shouted, fury and grief mixing. Get out of my sight! Ill never forgive you! she screamed, her hands flailing, her mother and Tommy rushing out, startled by the scene.
James tried to explain, his voice cracking.
Im not sick. It was a mistake the doctors report was a mixup. My scanner malfunctioned. Three other men got the same false diagnosis that day.
He handed her the same crumpled paper. I was going to sell the flat to Lucy, but I realized I was trying to run away from everything.
Emma stood, tears streaming, unable to decide. James knelt, pleading, Please, Emma, I understand now. Im sorry.
She didnt return to him immediately, choosing instead to think it through. James spent every spare moment with Tommy, trying to be a better father. Emmas mother, Margaret, finally cleared the garden for autumn plantingsomething shed never done in fifteen years of marriage.
On weekends, Emma helped her motherinlaw sell potatoes at the market, a chore shed never imagined doing.
Lucy had indeed taught him a harsh lesson, one he would carry for the rest of his life. He drafted a deed transferring the flat to Emma as a final act of contrition.
Now Emma hesitated, wondering whether to go back to the man who had once broken her heart, or to keep moving forward alone. The deed lay on the kitchen table, a silent promise that perhaps, after all, forgiveness might still be possible.
