Nothing really had changed after all…
Emily was anxiously twisting the edge of her sleeve, staring out the window of the cab. The streets she knew so well from childhood blurred past the same ones she’d run along with Ethan, giggling and dreaming up their future together. Seven years… A full seven years since she’d last been back home.
“We’re here,” the driver’s voice came softly, pulling her from her thoughts.
The cab eased to a halt outside the old block of flats. Emily checked her phone was in her bag without thinking, got out some cash, settled the fare, and climbed out. The door clicked shut, and she paused for a bit, taking in the air of her hometown. It felt different, not like the bustling London where she lived these days. Every scent and sound here seemed to wake up something buried deep inside. There was the smell of freshly cut grass from the nearby square, a hint of freshly baked bread from the little shop on the corner, and that special something you could only describe as home. The combination made her chest tighten it hurt but felt sweet too, like she was glad and scared all at once about what was coming.
She was only staying for a few days. On the surface, it was to see her mum and help sort out some old documents that needed attention. She also fancied wandering around the familiar spots, just to see if they matched her memories. But way down, there was another reason, perhaps the biggest one. She really wanted to see Ethan! And maybe, just maybe, things in her life would turn around.
Emily knew he lived close by. It’s not that she was checking up on him or anything she never asked about him straight out. But whenever friends met up with her or chatted on social media, they’d drop his name now and then. That’s how she picked up bits of news: he’d switched jobs and landed a great position, bought himself a flat, brought his mum to live with him… Each time, she’d picture him for a moment how he might look, what he was doing, what was on his mind. Then she’d shake it off quick, scared of letting those thoughts settle too deep in her heart…
On the next day, Emily thought she’d take a walk through the town centre. She didn’t have any big plans just wanted to breathe in the city air, see the old places in daylight, feel the pace of the streets that used to be part of her everyday. She walked slowly, peeking into shop windows, smiling a little when something jogged her memory: the news stand where she used to buy comics, the bench where she and her mates sat after school, the cafe where she first tried a cappuccino and nearly spilled it on her new top.
And then she spotted him.
Ethan was walking on the other side of the street. He hadn’t seen her he was looking ahead, head slightly tilted, like he was thinking about something. Emily froze. Everything inside her flipped so fast she forgot how to breathe for a second. He hadn’t changed a bit still tall, with that easy, relaxed walk she remembered from when they were young. Same outline, same movements, even the same haircut.
Without a second thought, she dashed across the road. The lights turned amber, a horn blared from somewhere, but she barely noticed. Her legs carried her forward on their own, her heart pounding so loud it felt like everyone could hear it.
“Ethan!” she shouted as she caught up with him by the shop.
Her voice shook she hadn’t realised how nervous she was. He turned around and… nothing. No joy in his eyes, no anger. Nothing at all.
“Emily?” he said calmly, almost like he didn’t care.
That flat tone hit her harder than she thought it would. All the feelings she’d bottled up for seven years burst out. Her eyes filled with tears, her voice trembled, and she couldn’t stop.
“Ethan, I… I’m so sorry,” she managed, struggling to find the words. “I know I don’t have the right to even come near you, but I…” she sobbed, tried to pull herself together, but the tears kept rolling down her cheeks and she didn’t even try to wipe them. “I love you. I still love you. Forgive me. Please, forgive me!”
She spoke fast and jumbled, afraid that if she paused she’d never finish. So much was spinning in her head excuses, explanations, pleas but only the most important words came out. The ones she’d kept locked away all those years.
She wrapped her arms around him, pressing close to his chest, as if that could bring back what they’d lost seven years ago. In that moment, the noisy street, the passersby, time itself none of it existed for her. Just the warmth of his body and the desperate hope that he’d hug her back.
Ethan didn’t pull away right away. For a split second she thought he might his shoulders dropped a little, his hands lifted slightly, like he wanted to hold her too. That tiny move sparked hope in her: maybe it could still be fixed, maybe he had held onto those memories too… Maybe they still had a future!
But the moment passed. Ethan gripped her shoulders firmly and gently but surely pushed her back. His face stayed calm, almost blank, his gaze steady and almost cold. There was no trace of the lad she’d laughed and dreamed with. In front of her was a grown man whose feelings were locked behind a strong wall.
“Just go away,” he whispered close to her ear.
He said it softly and without any feeling, like she meant nothing to him. Like she was just some stranger not worth his time.
“I hate you,” he added a second later, and only then did his eyes show clear disgust.
He turned and walked off without looking back. Emily stood there stunned. The world kept going: people hurrying about, cars honking at the crossing, kids laughing somewhere far off… A few passersby gave her odd looks, maybe wondering why she was standing in the middle of the street with that blank stare and pale face. But she didn’t notice any of it.
Just the sound of his footsteps fading away, and her own breathing ragged, broken, helpless. Every second stretched out forever, and one thought kept looping in her head: “This is the end. For good.”
She slowly made her way home. Her legs felt like they weren’t working right, each step was an effort, but she kept going, staring ahead without seeing. Her mind was empty no thoughts, no feelings, just the hollow echo of his words bouncing around inside.
When Emily got to her mum’s flat, she didn’t even try to explain anything. She just walked quietly into the room, sank onto a chair, and stared out the window. Her mum saw her tear-streaked face and dull eyes but didn’t ask questions. She just sighed softly, like she’d been expecting this, and went to put the kettle on. The familiar sound of boiling water, the smell of tea brewing it all felt so normal, such a contrast to what was going on inside Emily. But that everyday stuff helped bring her back a bit.
“He didn’t forgive me,” Emily whispered, clutching the hot cup of tea. The steam tickled her face, but she hardly noticed. Her fingers gripped tighter without thinking, like she was trying to hold onto something slipping away, while her eyes stayed fixed on the golden surface of the drink, reflecting the dim lamp light.
Her mum sat down beside her, quietly, without a word, and patted her shoulder. It was a gentle, familiar touch the kind from when Emily was little and came home with a scraped knee or after a row with a friend. That simple gesture made her feel small and vulnerable again, like all the grown-up choices and actions of the last years had melted away.
“You knew it would turn out this way,” her mum said softly, not scolding, more with quiet sadness.
“I knew,” Emily nodded, finally looking up from the cup. Her voice was steady but tired, like she’d been going over this line in her head for ages, getting ready for it. “But I hoped. Silly, right?”
“Not silly,” her mum said gently. “It’s just… you chose this path yourself. You hurt Ethan really badly, and it took him a long time to get over your breakup… He sort of turned into Kai from that old children’s story. No one could reach his heart after that.”
Emily took a deep breath, set the cup down, and leaned back in the chair. Scenes from seven years ago popped into her mind uninvited.
Back then everything seemed so straightforward, so clear. She was twenty-two that age when the future looks full of bright colours and every obstacle feels beatable. Ethan was there kind, dependable, the one person you could count on no matter what. He wasn’t one for fancy words or talking big about feelings, but his actions spoke louder: he was always there to help, good at listening, supported her even in little ways.
But there was one issue or what Emily saw as a problem then. Ethan worked on building sites, studied by correspondence, dreamed of starting his own business. His plans were solid and thought out, but they needed time and she didn’t want to wait.
She wasn’t after wealth, not really. She wanted stability, not luxury, just knowing that in a year, two, five years she’d have a job, a place to live, the chance to shape her life how she wanted. With Ethan, it all looked too uncertain: endless odd jobs, evening classes, dreams of the future that were still just dreams.
And when her uncle from London offered her a job in his company, she said yes. No real thinking, barely any hesitation. It was an opportunity real, solid, one she couldn’t pass up.
There was another truth one Emily tried not to think about. Around the time she moved to London and started the job, Richard came into her life. He was a well-off businessman, twice her age, with confident ways and a habit of getting what he wanted. They met by chance at a work do, where Emily showed up in a new dress, feeling a bit out of place among the smart colleagues. Richard noticed her straight away: came over, started chatting, asked about her work, plans, life.
He didn’t hold back with the attention. First it was flowers not big bunches of roses, but neat little bouquets delivered to the office with a note: “For the most beautiful.” Then invitations to restaurants she could only have peered into from outside before. He took her to exhibitions, theatres, gave her things she’d never dared dream of: silk scarves, delicate jewellery, shoes with thin heels. Each gift came with words about how she deserved a better life, how she shouldn’t limit herself, how important it was to take what life offered.
At first Emily pushed back she got embarrassed, refused, tried to say she didn’t need such gifts. But Richard kept on gently, saying it was just a sign of care, that he truly admired her smarts and looks. Slowly she started accepting his advances. The shiny new world pulled her in: evenings in cosy restaurants, rides in fancy cabs, the ability to walk into any shop and buy what she liked without checking the price. It all felt like a magical dream she didn’t want to wake from.
And somewhere in those glittering moments, she started seeing Richard. Not because she was head over heels, but because his world tempted her with its ease and certainty. With him she didn’t have to worry about tomorrow, wonder if there’d be enough for rent or a new outfit for a big meeting. He just took care of everything, wrapping her in a bubble of no worries.
And she really liked that life. So much that Emily forgot all about the lovestruck guy back home. Even more she started looking down on him, saying Ethan would never get anywhere in life.
One day Emily went back to her hometown. Not to see Ethan, not to explain or even just say hello. She wanted something else to show him her new life, prove what she was really “worth”. Deep down a thought flickered: let him see she hadn’t made a mistake, that her choice was right, that she’d escaped the uncertainty that hung over their relationship.
She planned the visit carefully. Picked a cafe on the main street the one Ethan sometimes popped into for coffee after work. Put on an expensive dress Richard had given her for her birthday elegant, with a slim belt that showed off her waist. On her finger sparkled a ring with a big stone another of his presents. In her hand she carried a bag from the latest collection, which she’d bought the day before after spotting it in the window.
When Ethan walked into the cafe, Emily noticed him right away. She was sitting by the window, laughing loudly at something her companion said on purpose, and turned so Ethan would definitely see her. Their eyes met. In his she read confusion, pain, bewilderment all the things she’d been trying not to see in herself for months. But instead of getting flustered or looking away, she held his gaze without flinching.
In that moment she felt like it was a win. She’d proven to herself and him that she’d made the right choice. That her life now was real chances, luxury and confidence, not endless talks about the future. She told herself she felt satisfied, that she’d finally got what she deserved.
But when Ethan left the cafe and she stayed sitting at the table, her laugh faded bit by bit. She looked at the ring, the bag, her companion still chatting away, and suddenly felt a strange emptiness. All of it the pricey things, the nice gestures, the attention suddenly seemed far away and not real. And even though she kept smiling and joining in the talk, inside something whispered quietly: “Was it worth it?”
The win turned out bitter Emily realised that not straight away, but gradually, day by day, it became clearer. At first Richard kept up the image of the generous, attentive man: invited her to restaurants, gave flowers, paid compliments. But over time his interest started to fade, like a candle running out of wax.
It showed in small things first. Instead of warm words cool comments. Instead of surprise gifts short texts: “Pop into that shop, pick something yourself.” And then came the sharp digs. He started picking at her looks: “Maybe you should pay more attention to yourself?”, her way of talking: “Why do you laugh so loud? It’s common,” her friends she saw now and then: “Those small-town mates again? Don’t you think it’s time to find a more interesting crowd?”
He was around less and less. He’d disappear for days, sometimes weeks, leaving her alone in the big flat he’d rented for them. Emily spent evenings by herself, listening to the clock tick or aimlessly sorting through clothes in the wardrobe. When she tried to talk to him, say she missed their time together, he’d just brush it off, not looking at her:
“You got what you wanted. What more do you need?”
Emily tried to make excuses for his behaviour. “He’s got a tough business,” she’d think, “probably a lot of stress.” Or: “He’s just tired, he needs time.” She convinced herself it was temporary, that things would settle soon, that she was just being too demanding. But deep down she knew: it wasn’t tiredness or work. She’d become just another pretty toy for him bright, new, eye-catching. And when the newness wore off, the interest died.
She put up with it. Put up with his cutting words, his cold silence, his long absences. Put up with it because she was scared to admit one single but huge thing: she’d been wrong. If she admitted the flashy life was empty, she’d have to admit something else that she’d betrayed the only person who’d loved her for real. That Ethan, with his modest job and dreams of his own business, was the one who valued her just for being her, not for the shine and fitting some idea of the perfect partner.
Over time even the outer signs of luxury stopped bringing joy. The expensive dresses she used to look at excitedly in shops now hung lifeless in the wardrobe. The jewellery that once made her heart race sat in the box like it wasn’t hers. The restaurants she loved at the start with their soft lights, fancy food and party vibe now just annoyed her to look at. The smell of pricey perfume, which used to seem like a symbol of her new life, now made her feel a bit sick.
She caught herself more and more staring out the window, watching people go by, thinking: “What if…” But she’d cut those thoughts short, scared to let them loose. Because behind them came the question she had no answer for: “What next?”
On those lonely evenings, when the twilight slowly gathered outside and the flat was filled with an almost ringing silence, Emily thought more and more that her dreams of stability had turned out kind of hollow. She imagined a life with certainty about tomorrow, where you didn’t have to worry about money, where everything was planned and in order. But now, sitting in the big, well-furnished flat, she suddenly saw clearly: without someone to share that stability with, none of it meant anything.
Her thoughts kept drifting back to Ethan. She remembered his hands strong, a bit rough from work, but so warm when he took her hands in his. She remembered his smile not bright and showy, but quiet and genuine, the one that came when he was truly happy. She remembered how he talked about the future: no big words or loud promises, just shared plans, believed that they’d make it. And that belief was so real, so solid, that Emily had felt back then with him she could face anything without fear…
On the third day of being home, Emily decided to walk in the park where they’d strolled together once. There was that same bench under the spreading maple they’d often sat there, chatting about everything, laughing at silly things. Emily remembered how Ethan, watching the falling leaves, had suddenly said: “You know, I want us to have our own house. With big windows so the morning sun comes right into the room. And there’d always be lots of light and happiness.” Back then she’d just smiled, thinking it was just dreams. Now those words sounded different like something missed, lost.
She stopped, breathed in the cool air, trying to gather her thoughts. And right then she heard a familiar voice:
“Emily?”
She turned. There stood Tom their mutual friend with Ethan. He looked surprised but smiled straight away, like he was glad to see her.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, raising his eyebrows a bit. “How are you?”
Emily hesitated for a second, picking her words. She wanted to answer lightly, casually, but her voice wobbled a little, even though she tried to hide it.
“Fine,” she tried to smile, and it came out not as forced as she’d feared. “Came to visit mum.”
Tom nodded, giving her a careful look, but didn’t press for more. Instead he pointed to a bench nearby:
“Fancy sitting down? I was just out for a walk, wondering where to go next.”
Emily agreed, and they headed slowly to the bench. On the way Tom talked about how things were going for him, what was new in town lately. His voice was calm, friendly, and it helped Emily relax a bit. She listened, chipped in with short comments now and then, while thinking how odd it all was: she’d come back to her hometown where every corner reminded her of the past, and here she was already bumping into someone from that old life.
Tom nodded, stayed quiet a moment, like choosing his words, then asked calmly, without pushing:
“Seen Ethan?”
Emily dropped her eyes without meaning to, her gaze sliding over the fallen leaves underfoot. She didn’t answer right away memories of yesterday’s meeting flashed through her mind, his cold look, those short hurtful words. Finally she said quietly:
“Yes. Yesterday.”
“And how did it go?” Tom asked, watching her closely.
“He… he doesn’t want to know me,” Emily breathed out, finding it hard to say each word. Her voice was even but heavy, like she was holding back a storm of feelings. “He hates me.”
Tom sighed, sat on the bench next to her, rested his elbows on his knees and looked off into the distance, where the park path faded into the golden autumn haze. He was silent for a few seconds, like weighing what to say, then spoke softly:
“You know, he took a long time to get over it. You just disappeared, Emily. No call, no letter. For him it was like a punch in the back.”
Emily clenched her fingers, feeling everything tighten inside. She knew this, understood, but hearing it confirmed by someone else was tougher than she’d expected.
“I know,” she whispered, not looking up. “It’s my fault.”
Tom turned his head slightly towards her but didn’t push or start lecturing. Instead he went on, just as calmly:
“He tried to forget you. Saw other people, but nothing worked. Says he can’t love anyone the way he loved you. He was in a really bad way, you know? And after your showy visit… I thought he’d shut himself off completely!”
Emily nodded silently. She pictured how Ethan had tried to carry on, how he’d made himself stop thinking about her, how he’d probably jump at a similar voice or a random memory. And that thought made it hurt even more not because he suffered, but because she was the cause of that pain.
“I didn’t know it would be like this,” she said quietly, more to herself than to Tom. “I thought I was making the right choice. I wanted stability.”
Tom didn’t argue or try to convince her otherwise. He just sat there with her, giving her time to take it in. The wind rustled in the park, leaves swirled in a slow dance, and somewhere far off kids laughed as they played by the fountain. Life went on as usual.
Emily clenched her fists so tight her nails dug a bit into her palms. She tried to hold back the tears, but they still welled up, blurring her view. Everything inside tightened with the bitter realisation: she couldn’t fix anything, couldn’t turn back time, couldn’t undo what she’d done.
“I’m not asking him to forgive me,” she said in a shaky voice, struggling for words. “I just wanted him to know I’m sorry! I regret what I did every single day. These thoughts won’t leave me alone! I keep remembering how it was… and how I wrecked it all.”
Tom looked at her carefully, without judging. He didn’t rush to answer you could see he was thinking over every word.
“Maybe he doesn’t need to know,” he said at last, quietly but firmly. “Leave him be, don’t come back, you’re only making it worse. It took him ages to get back on his feet after you left. And he’s probably learned how to cope somehow. But your showing up… it’s stirred everything up again! Yesterday he called me and… he was really drunk. I haven’t seen him like that for years, you know? Don’t mess up his life, Emily.”
The girl bit her lip hard but stayed quiet. She understood Tom was right. Her sudden return, trying to see Ethan it had just reopened old wounds he’d been trying to heal all these years. She wanted to make up for her guilt, but maybe all she’d done was cause him fresh pain…
In the evening Emily sat by the window in her mum’s flat. Outside the lights of the town were slowly coming on yellow, orange, white blending into a strange mosaic, twinkling and shifting, making it look like a party. But she wasn’t in the mood for the beauty of the evening streets. Thoughts kept turning in her head one after another, like scenes from an old film she couldn’t stop.
She imagined how it might have been if she’d stayed back then. How they’d have rented their first flat together, how Ethan would have built his business, how they’d have planned their future, laughed at small troubles, celebrated little wins. She thought about how many happy moments she’d missed, how many warm words she’d never said, how many touches she’d never shared. But the past can’t be changed she understood that clearly, more than ever before.
The next day Emily left. She packed her things slowly, without rushing, like she wanted to put off the goodbye. Her mum stood in the doorway of the room, watching her silently, and in her eyes was a quiet sadness not a telling off, just sadness that her daughter was leaving again.
“Take care of yourself,” her mum said when Emily was already in the hall, suitcase in hand.
Emily nodded, kissed her on the cheek, paused for a second breathing in the familiar smell of home, then stepped out onto the street.
At the station she bought a ticket to London she wanted time to think. A couple of days on the train, with strangers around… Maybe that would help her figure out how to go on.
The train pulled away smoothly, rocking gently on the tracks. Emily kept her eyes on the window. Outside the familiar shapes of the town slid by slowly: blocks of flats with balconies full of flowers, the playground where she’d once walked with friends, the little bakery with its bright sign. People hurried about their business someone with a bag of shopping, someone with an umbrella open even though it was clear, someone rushing to the bus stop. All of it was so ordinary, so everyday, but now it felt endlessly far away.
Somewhere there, among those streets and houses, was the person she loved more than anything. The person whose eyes lit up when he talked about the future, whose hands could do hard work and hold her hand gently. The person she hadn’t taken the time to explain her leaving to, hadn’t given a chance to say goodbye. And now he was lost to her forever she understood that clearly, no matter how hard she tried to tell herself it wasn’t over yet…
Six months went by. Emily kept living in London, going to work, meeting friends for coffee at weekends, answering questions about how she was and her plans. On the outside everything looked the same as before: same routine, same places, same chats. But inside something had changed for good. She no longer ran from the past, didn’t try to hide it behind new people, expensive buys or a packed schedule. Now she looked at it straight on, without fear: she accepted her mistake, admitted the pain she’d caused, and her real regret.
She’d learned to wake up thinking that life goes on. Learned to tell herself: “I did what I did. It was wrong, but there’s no changing it now.” And in that acceptance there was a strange, quiet relief not happiness, no, but at least the chance to breathe easier, to look ahead without panicking.
One evening, while Emily was making dinner, her phone gave a quiet ping with a new message. She wiped her hands on a towel, picked up the smartphone and saw an unknown number. Just one sentence on the screen: “I don’t hate you. But I can’t forgive you.”
Emily froze. Her fingers tightened on the phone by themselves, and her heart seemed to stop for a second before racing faster. She slowly sank to the floor, pressing the smartphone to her chest, like she was trying to feel another heartbeat through it the one belonging to the person who’d written those words.
She didn’t know what it meant. She didn’t understand how to read those lines whether it was a step towards her or a final “goodbye”. But for the first time in a long while it felt like there was still some kind of thread between them. Thin, fragile, ready to snap at the slightest wrong move, but still a connection. Someone out there, in another city, was thinking about her. Someone had decided to write, despite the pain and hurt. Someone hadn’t shut the door completely.
Emily smiled through her tears. The smile was shy, unsure, but real. Maybe this wasn’t the end. Maybe one day they could talk calmly, without blame, without trying to justify themselves or the other. Maybe they’d find the words that would help them both move forward together or apart, but with a clear understanding.
For now… for now it was enough to know that he was still thinking about her. That somewhere out there, hundreds of miles away, lived a person who remembered her not just as a mistake from the past, but as part of his story.
And that for now was enough.Nothing really had changed after all…
Emily was anxiously twisting the edge of her sleeve, staring out the window of the cab. The streets she knew so well from childhood blurred past the same ones she’d run along with Ethan, giggling and dreaming up their future together. Seven years… A full seven years since she’d last been back home.
“We’re here,” the driver’s voice came softly, pulling her from her thoughts.
The cab eased to a halt outside the old block of flats. Emily checked her phone was in her bag without thinking, got out some cash, settled the fare, and climbed out. The door clicked shut, and she paused for a bit, taking in the air of her hometown. It felt different, not like the bustling London where she lived these days. Every scent and sound here seemed to wake up something buried deep inside. There was the smell of freshly cut grass from the nearby square, a hint of freshly baked bread from the little shop on the corner, and that special something you could only describe as home. The combination made her chest tighten it hurt but felt sweet too, like she was glad and scared all at once about what was coming.
She was only staying for a few days. On the surface, it was to see her mum and help sort out some old documents that needed attention. She also fancied wandering around the familiar spots, just to see if they matched her memories. But way down, there was another reason, perhaps the biggest one. She really wanted to see Ethan! And maybe, just maybe, things in her life would turn around.
Emily knew he lived close by. It’s not that she was checking up on him or anything she never asked about him straight out. But whenever friends met up with her or chatted on social media, they’d drop his name now and then. That’s how she picked up bits of news: he’d switched jobs and landed a great position, bought himself a flat, brought his mum to live with him… Each time, she’d picture him for a moment how he might look, what he was doing, what was on his mind. Then she’d shake it off quick, scared of letting those thoughts settle too deep in her heart…
On the next day, Emily thought she’d take a walk through the town centre. She didn’t have any big plans just wanted to breathe in the city air, see the old places in daylight, feel the pace of the streets that used to be part of her everyday. She walked slowly, peeking into shop windows, smiling a little when something jogged her memory: the news stand where she used to buy comics, the bench where she and her mates sat after school, the cafe where she first tried a cappuccino and nearly spilled it on her new top.
And then she spotted him.
Ethan was walking on the other side of the street. He hadn’t seen her he was looking ahead, head slightly tilted, like he was thinking about something. Emily froze. Everything inside her flipped so fast she forgot how to breathe for a second. He hadn’t changed a bit still tall, with that easy, relaxed walk she remembered from when they were young. Same outline, same movements, even the same haircut.
Without a second thought, she dashed across the road. The lights turned amber, a horn blared from somewhere, but she barely noticed. Her legs carried her forward on their own, her heart pounding so loud it felt like everyone could hear it.
“Ethan!” she shouted as she caught up with him by the shop.
Her voice shook she hadn’t realised how nervous she was. He turned around and… nothing. No joy in his eyes, no anger. Nothing at all.
“Emily?” he said calmly, almost like he didn’t care.
That flat tone hit her harder than she thought it would. All the feelings she’d bottled up for seven years burst out. Her eyes filled with tears, her voice trembled, and she couldn’t stop.
“Ethan, I… I’m so sorry,” she managed, struggling to find the words. “I know I don’t have the right to even come near you, but I…” she sobbed, tried to pull herself together, but the tears kept rolling down her cheeks and she didn’t even try to wipe them. “I love you. I still love you. Forgive me. Please, forgive me!”
She spoke fast and jumbled, afraid that if she paused she’d never finish. So much was spinning in her head excuses, explanations, pleas but only the most important words came out. The ones she’d kept locked away all those years.
She wrapped her arms around him, pressing close to his chest, as if that could bring back what they’d lost seven years ago. In that moment, the noisy street, the passersby, time itself none of it existed for her. Just the warmth of his body and the desperate hope that he’d hug her back.
Ethan didn’t pull away right away. For a split second she thought he might his shoulders dropped a little, his hands lifted slightly, like he wanted to hold her too. That tiny move sparked hope in her: maybe it could still be fixed, maybe he had held onto those memories too… Maybe they still had a future!
But the moment passed. Ethan gripped her shoulders firmly and gently but surely pushed her back. His face stayed calm, almost blank, his gaze steady and almost cold. There was no trace of the lad she’d laughed and dreamed with. In front of her was a grown man whose feelings were locked behind a strong wall.
“Just go away,” he whispered close to her ear.
He said it softly and without any feeling, like she meant nothing to him. Like she was just some stranger not worth his time.
“I hate you,” he added a second later, and only then did his eyes show clear disgust.
He turned and walked off without looking back. Emily stood there stunned. The world kept going: people hurrying about, cars honking at the crossing, kids laughing somewhere far off… A few passersby gave her odd looks, maybe wondering why she was standing in the middle of the street with that blank stare and pale face. But she didn’t notice any of it.
Just the sound of his footsteps fading away, and her own breathing ragged, broken, helpless. Every second stretched out forever, and one thought kept looping in her head: “This is the end. For good.”
She slowly made her way home. Her legs felt like they weren’t working right, each step was an effort, but she kept going, staring ahead without seeing. Her mind was empty no thoughts, no feelings, just the hollow echo of his words bouncing around inside.
When Emily got to her mum’s flat, she didn’t even try to explain anything. She just walked quietly into the room, sank onto a chair, and stared out the window. Her mum saw her tear-streaked face and dull eyes but didn’t ask questions. She just sighed softly, like she’d been expecting this, and went to put the kettle on. The familiar sound of boiling water, the smell of tea brewing it all felt so normal, such a contrast to what was going on inside Emily. But that everyday stuff helped bring her back a bit.
“He didn’t forgive me,” Emily whispered, clutching the hot cup of tea. The steam tickled her face, but she hardly noticed. Her fingers gripped tighter without thinking, like she was trying to hold onto something slipping away, while her eyes stayed fixed on the golden surface of the drink, reflecting the dim lamp light.
Her mum sat down beside her, quietly, without a word, and patted her shoulder. It was a gentle, familiar touch the kind from when Emily was little and came home with a scraped knee or after a row with a friend. That simple gesture made her feel small and vulnerable again, like all the grown-up choices and actions of the last years had melted away.
“You knew it would turn out this way,” her mum said softly, not scolding, more with quiet sadness.
“I knew,” Emily nodded, finally looking up from the cup. Her voice was steady but tired, like she’d been going over this line in her head for ages, getting ready for it. “But I hoped. Silly, right?”
“Not silly,” her mum said gently. “It’s just… you chose this path yourself. You hurt Ethan really badly, and it took him a long time to get over your breakup… He sort of turned into Kai from that old children’s story. No one could reach his heart after that.”
Emily took a deep breath, set the cup down, and leaned back in the chair. Scenes from seven years ago popped into her mind uninvited.
Back then everything seemed so straightforward, so clear. She was twenty-two that age when the future looks full of bright colours and every obstacle feels beatable. Ethan was there kind, dependable, the one person you could count on no matter what. He wasn’t one for fancy words or talking big about feelings, but his actions spoke louder: he was always there to help, good at listening, supported her even in little ways.
But there was one issue or what Emily saw as a problem then. Ethan worked on building sites, studied by correspondence, dreamed of starting his own business. His plans were solid and thought out, but they needed time and she didn’t want to wait.
She wasn’t after wealth, not really. She wanted stability, not luxury, just knowing that in a year, two, five years she’d have a job, a place to live, the chance to shape her life how she wanted. With Ethan, it all looked too uncertain: endless odd jobs, evening classes, dreams of the future that were still just dreams.
And when her uncle from London offered her a job in his company, she said yes. No real thinking, barely any hesitation. It was an opportunity real, solid, one she couldn’t pass up.
There was another truth one Emily tried not to think about. Around the time she moved to London and started the job, Richard came into her life. He was a well-off businessman, twice her age, with confident ways and a habit of getting what he wanted. They met by chance at a work do, where Emily showed up in a new dress, feeling a bit out of place among the smart colleagues. Richard noticed her straight away: came over, started chatting, asked about her work, plans, life.
He didn’t hold back with the attention. First it was flowers not big bunches of roses, but neat little bouquets delivered to the office with a note: “For the most beautiful.” Then invitations to restaurants she could only have peered into from outside before. He took her to exhibitions, theatres, gave her things she’d never dared dream of: silk scarves, delicate jewellery, shoes with thin heels. Each gift came with words about how she deserved a better life, how she shouldn’t limit herself, how important it was to take what life offered.
At first Emily pushed back she got embarrassed, refused, tried to say she didn’t need such gifts. But Richard kept on gently, saying it was just a sign of care, that he truly admired her smarts and looks. Slowly she started accepting his advances. The shiny new world pulled her in: evenings in cosy restaurants, rides in fancy cabs, the ability to walk into any shop and buy what she liked without checking the price. It all felt like a magical dream she didn’t want to wake from.
And somewhere in those glittering moments, she started seeing Richard. Not because she was head over heels, but because his world tempted her with its ease and certainty. With him she didn’t have to worry about tomorrow, wonder if there’d be enough for rent or a new outfit for a big meeting. He just took care of everything, wrapping her in a bubble of no worries.
And she really liked that life. So much that Emily forgot all about the lovestruck guy back home. Even more she started looking down on him, saying Ethan would never get anywhere in life.
One day Emily went back to her hometown. Not to see Ethan, not to explain or even just say hello. She wanted something else to show him her new life, prove what she was really “worth”. Deep down a thought flickered: let him see she hadn’t made a mistake, that her choice was right, that she’d escaped the uncertainty that hung over their relationship.
She planned the visit carefully. Picked a cafe on the main street the one Ethan sometimes popped into for coffee after work. Put on an expensive dress Richard had given her for her birthday elegant, with a slim belt that showed off her waist. On her finger sparkled a ring with a big stone another of his presents. In her hand she carried a bag from the latest collection, which she’d bought the day before after spotting it in the window.
When Ethan walked into the cafe, Emily noticed him right away. She was sitting by the window, laughing loudly at something her companion said on purpose, and turned so Ethan would definitely see her. Their eyes met. In his she read confusion, pain, bewilderment all the things she’d been trying not to see in herself for months. But instead of getting flustered or looking away, she held his gaze without flinching.
In that moment she felt like it was a win. She’d proven to herself and him that she’d made the right choice. That her life now was real chances, luxury and confidence, not endless talks about the future. She told herself she felt satisfied, that she’d finally got what she deserved.
But when Ethan left the cafe and she stayed sitting at the table, her laugh faded bit by bit. She looked at the ring, the bag, her companion still chatting away, and suddenly felt a strange emptiness. All of it the pricey things, the nice gestures, the attention suddenly seemed far away and not real. And even though she kept smiling and joining in the talk, inside something whispered quietly: “Was it worth it?”
The win turned out bitter Emily realised that not straight away, but gradually, day by day, it became clearer. At first Richard kept up the image of the generous, attentive man: invited her to restaurants, gave flowers, paid compliments. But over time his interest started to fade, like a candle running out of wax.
It showed in small things first. Instead of warm words cool comments. Instead of surprise gifts short texts: “Pop into that shop, pick something yourself.” And then came the sharp digs. He started picking at her looks: “Maybe you should pay more attention to yourself?”, her way of talking: “Why do you laugh so loud? It’s common,” her friends she saw now and then: “Those small-town mates again? Don’t you think it’s time to find a more interesting crowd?”
He was around less and less. He’d disappear for days, sometimes weeks, leaving her alone in the big flat he’d rented for them. Emily spent evenings by herself, listening to the clock tick or aimlessly sorting through clothes in the wardrobe. When she tried to talk to him, say she missed their time together, he’d just brush it off, not looking at her:
“You got what you wanted. What more do you need?”
Emily tried to make excuses for his behaviour. “He’s got a tough business,” she’d think, “probably a lot of stress.” Or: “He’s just tired, he needs time.” She convinced herself it was temporary, that things would settle soon, that she was just being too demanding. But deep down she knew: it wasn’t tiredness or work. She’d become just another pretty toy for him bright, new, eye-catching. And when the newness wore off, the interest died.
She put up with it. Put up with his cutting words, his cold silence, his long absences. Put up with it because she was scared to admit one single but huge thing: she’d been wrong. If she admitted the flashy life was empty, she’d have to admit something else that she’d betrayed the only person who’d loved her for real. That Ethan, with his modest job and dreams of his own business, was the one who valued her just for being her, not for the shine and fitting some idea of the perfect partner.
Over time even the outer signs of luxury stopped bringing joy. The expensive dresses she used to look at excitedly in shops now hung lifeless in the wardrobe. The jewellery that once made her heart race sat in the box like it wasn’t hers. The restaurants she loved at the start with their soft lights, fancy food and party vibe now just annoyed her to look at. The smell of pricey perfume, which used to seem like a symbol of her new life, now made her feel a bit sick.
She caught herself more and more staring out the window, watching people go by, thinking: “What if…” But she’d cut those thoughts short, scared to let them loose. Because behind them came the question she had no answer for: “What next?”
On those lonely evenings, when the twilight slowly gathered outside and the flat was filled with an almost ringing silence, Emily thought more and more that her dreams of stability had turned out kind of hollow. She imagined a life with certainty about tomorrow, where you didn’t have to worry about money, where everything was planned and in order. But now, sitting in the big, well-furnished flat, she suddenly saw clearly: without someone to share that stability with, none of it meant anything.
Her thoughts kept drifting back to Ethan. She remembered his hands strong, a bit rough from work, but so warm when he took her hands in his. She remembered his smile not bright and showy, but quiet and genuine, the one that came when he was truly happy. She remembered how he talked about the future: no big words or loud promises, just shared plans, believed that they’d make it. And that belief was so real, so solid, that Emily had felt back then with him she could face anything without fear…
On the third day of being home, Emily decided to walk in the park where they’d strolled together once. There was that same bench under the spreading maple they’d often sat there, chatting about everything, laughing at silly things. Emily remembered how Ethan, watching the falling leaves, had suddenly said: “You know, I want us to have our own house. With big windows so the morning sun comes right into the room. And there’d always be lots of light and happiness.” Back then she’d just smiled, thinking it was just dreams. Now those words sounded different like something missed, lost.
She stopped, breathed in the cool air, trying to gather her thoughts. And right then she heard a familiar voice:
“Emily?”
She turned. There stood Tom their mutual friend with Ethan. He looked surprised but smiled straight away, like he was glad to see her.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, raising his eyebrows a bit. “How are you?”
Emily hesitated for a second, picking her words. She wanted to answer lightly, casually, but her voice wobbled a little, even though she tried to hide it.
“Fine,” she tried to smile, and it came out not as forced as she’d feared. “Came to visit mum.”
Tom nodded, giving her a careful look, but didn’t press for more. Instead he pointed to a bench nearby:
“Fancy sitting down? I was just out for a walk, wondering where to go next.”
Emily agreed, and they headed slowly to the bench. On the way Tom talked about how things were going for him, what was new in town lately. His voice was calm, friendly, and it helped Emily relax a bit. She listened, chipped in with short comments now and then, while thinking how odd it all was: she’d come back to her hometown where every corner reminded her of the past, and here she was already bumping into someone from that old life.
Tom nodded, stayed quiet a moment, like choosing his words, then asked calmly, without pushing:
“Seen Ethan?”
Emily dropped her eyes without meaning to, her gaze sliding over the fallen leaves underfoot. She didn’t answer right away memories of yesterday’s meeting flashed through her mind, his cold look, those short hurtful words. Finally she said quietly:
“Yes. Yesterday.”
“And how did it go?” Tom asked, watching her closely.
“He… he doesn’t want to know me,” Emily breathed out, finding it hard to say each word. Her voice was even but heavy, like she was holding back a storm of feelings. “He hates me.”
Tom sighed, sat on the bench next to her, rested his elbows on his knees and looked off into the distance, where the park path faded into the golden autumn haze. He was silent for a few seconds, like weighing what to say, then spoke softly:
“You know, he took a long time to get over it. You just disappeared, Emily. No call, no letter. For him it was like a punch in the back.”
Emily clenched her fingers, feeling everything tighten inside. She knew this, understood, but hearing it confirmed by someone else was tougher than she’d expected.
“I know,” she whispered, not looking up. “It’s my fault.”
Tom turned his head slightly towards her but didn’t push or start lecturing. Instead he went on, just as calmly:
“He tried to forget you. Saw other people, but nothing worked. Says he can’t love anyone the way he loved you. He was in a really bad way, you know? And after your showy visit… I thought he’d shut himself off completely!”
Emily nodded silently. She pictured how Ethan had tried to carry on, how he’d made himself stop thinking about her, how he’d probably jump at a similar voice or a random memory. And that thought made it hurt even more not because he suffered, but because she was the cause of that pain.
“I didn’t know it would be like this,” she said quietly, more to herself than to Tom. “I thought I was making the right choice. I wanted stability.”
Tom didn’t argue or try to convince her otherwise. He just sat there with her, giving her time to take it in. The wind rustled in the park, leaves swirled in a slow dance, and somewhere far off kids laughed as they played by the fountain. Life went on as usual.
Emily clenched her fists so tight her nails dug a bit into her palms. She tried to hold back the tears, but they still welled up, blurring her view. Everything inside tightened with the bitter realisation: she couldn’t fix anything, couldn’t turn back time, couldn’t undo what she’d done.
“I’m not asking him to forgive me,” she said in a shaky voice, struggling for words. “I just wanted him to know I’m sorry! I regret what I did every single day. These thoughts won’t leave me alone! I keep remembering how it was… and how I wrecked it all.”
Tom looked at her carefully, without judging. He didn’t rush to answer you could see he was thinking over every word.
“Maybe he doesn’t need to know,” he said at last, quietly but firmly. “Leave him be, don’t come back, you’re only making it worse. It took him ages to get back on his feet after you left. And he’s probably learned how to cope somehow. But your showing up… it’s stirred everything up again! Yesterday he called me and… he was really drunk. I haven’t seen him like that for years, you know? Don’t mess up his life, Emily.”
The girl bit her lip hard but stayed quiet. She understood Tom was right. Her sudden return, trying to see Ethan it had just reopened old wounds he’d been trying to heal all these years. She wanted to make up for her guilt, but maybe all she’d done was cause him fresh pain…
In the evening Emily sat by the window in her mum’s flat. Outside the lights of the town were slowly coming on yellow, orange, white blending into a strange mosaic, twinkling and shifting, making it look like a party. But she wasn’t in the mood for the beauty of the evening streets. Thoughts kept turning in her head one after another, like scenes from an old film she couldn’t stop.
She imagined how it might have been if she’d stayed back then. How they’d have rented their first flat together, how Ethan would have built his business, how they’d have planned their future, laughed at small troubles, celebrated little wins. She thought about how many happy moments she’d missed, how many warm words she’d never said, how many touches she’d never shared. But the past can’t be changed she understood that clearly, more than ever before.
The next day Emily left. She packed her things slowly, without rushing, like she wanted to put off the goodbye. Her mum stood in the doorway of the room, watching her silently, and in her eyes was a quiet sadness not a telling off, just sadness that her daughter was leaving again.
“Take care of yourself,” her mum said when Emily was already in the hall, suitcase in hand.
Emily nodded, kissed her on the cheek, paused for a second breathing in the familiar smell of home, then stepped out onto the street.
At the station she bought a ticket to London she wanted time to think. A couple of days on the train, with strangers around… Maybe that would help her figure out how to go on.
The train pulled away smoothly, rocking gently on the tracks. Emily kept her eyes on the window. Outside the familiar shapes of the town slid by slowly: blocks of flats with balconies full of flowers, the playground where she’d once walked with friends, the little bakery with its bright sign. People hurried about their business someone with a bag of shopping, someone with an umbrella open even though it was clear, someone rushing to the bus stop. All of it was so ordinary, so everyday, but now it felt endlessly far away.
Somewhere there, among those streets and houses, was the person she loved more than anything. The person whose eyes lit up when he talked about the future, whose hands could do hard work and hold her hand gently. The person she hadn’t taken the time to explain her leaving to, hadn’t given a chance to say goodbye. And now he was lost to her forever she understood that clearly, no matter how hard she tried to tell herself it wasn’t over yet…
Six months went by. Emily kept living in London, going to work, meeting friends for coffee at weekends, answering questions about how she was and her plans. On the outside everything looked the same as before: same routine, same places, same chats. But inside something had changed for good. She no longer ran from the past, didn’t try to hide it behind new people, expensive buys or a packed schedule. Now she looked at it straight on, without fear: she accepted her mistake, admitted the pain she’d caused, and her real regret.
She’d learned to wake up thinking that life goes on. Learned to tell herself: “I did what I did. It was wrong, but there’s no changing it now.” And in that acceptance there was a strange, quiet relief not happiness, no, but at least the chance to breathe easier, to look ahead without panicking.
One evening, while Emily was making dinner, her phone gave a quiet ping with a new message. She wiped her hands on a towel, picked up the smartphone and saw an unknown number. Just one sentence on the screen: “I don’t hate you. But I can’t forgive you.”
Emily froze. Her fingers tightened on the phone by themselves, and her heart seemed to stop for a second before racing faster. She slowly sank to the floor, pressing the smartphone to her chest, like she was trying to feel another heartbeat through it the one belonging to the person who’d written those words.
She didn’t know what it meant. She didn’t understand how to read those lines whether it was a step towards her or a final “goodbye”. But for the first time in a long while it felt like there was still some kind of thread between them. Thin, fragile, ready to snap at the slightest wrong move, but still a connection. Someone out there, in another city, was thinking about her. Someone had decided to write, despite the pain and hurt. Someone hadn’t shut the door completely.
Emily smiled through her tears. The smile was shy, unsure, but real. Maybe this wasn’t the end. Maybe one day they could talk calmly, without blame, without trying to justify themselves or the other. Maybe they’d find the words that would help them both move forward together or apart, but with a clear understanding.
For now… for now it was enough to know that he was still thinking about her. That somewhere out there, hundreds of miles away, lived a person who remembered her not just as a mistake from the past, but as part of his story.
And that for now was enough.
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