On the Eve of the New Year
Edward stepped out of the construction company’s office, nearly slipping on the icy steps of the porch. The night before had brought sleet, and by morning, a bitter wind gnawed at the streets.
The rush hour traffic was relentless. Cars honked impatiently, cutting each other off in their haste to get home. Once, Edward would have fumed at the delay, but now he almost welcomed it. Lately, returning home had lost its appeal.
Something had soured between him and his wife. Perhaps they’d simply grown weary of each other. It was no surprise—they’d met at university, married seven years ago, and now the spark had dulled.
More and more, Edward wondered where the love had gone. Had it ever been there at all? Every couple faced rough patches, tension, quarrels. Most stayed together—for the children, if nothing else. But he and Emily had no children.
***
Their relationship had always been steady, even from the start. Edward hadn’t been swept off his feet, nor had he ever been madly in love. They were just… comfortable together.
“We’ve been together four years. Where is this going? I need to know if I’m in your future,” Emily had asked one evening.
She was hinting at marriage. Truthfully, Edward hadn’t given it much thought, but he assured her otherwise.
“Of course you are. Once we graduate and settle into jobs, we’ll marry. Why ask now?”
“I just want certainty.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll have it all—the white dress, the wedding, children.” He hugged her, genuinely believing it at the time.
Emily was satisfied, and she didn’t bring it up again until after graduation. They found work—Emily insisted on separate firms—and saw less of each other. Then, just before her birthday, she hinted again, this time about a ring.
“Mum keeps asking when we’ll marry.”
“What’s the rush, Em? Let’s wait a bit longer.”
“For what? Don’t you love me? Don’t you want to marry me? Why string me along all these years?” Her voice wavered, edged with tears.
Edward was used to having Emily around. Why rock the boat? On her birthday, he did what was expected—he gave her a ring and proposed. She kissed him joyfully; her mother wiped away tears.
At home, Edward told his parents.
“Why the hurry? Get yourselves established first. Or is there… another reason?” His mother frowned. She’d never warmed to Emily, finding her too stubborn beneath her quiet facade.
“Mum, there’s no ‘reason.’ We love each other. Four years is long enough.”
“This is Emily’s doing. Think carefully, Edward. Don’t rush.”
“I’ve already thought.”
They married in May. Emily, in white, was as radiant as spring itself. They agreed to wait for children—buy a flat, a car first. No need to hurry.
Edward’s parents helped with the mortgage deposit. The young couple bought a two-bedroom flat, furnished it, and settled in. His father upgraded his car and passed the old one to Edward. Life was good—until Emily decided Edward should start his own business.
She’d met a former classmate selling computers, who promised riches if Edward joined him.
“I’m a builder. I like my job. Besides, that market’s packed. No point jumping in.”
“I thought you’d want to work for yourself, not some boss. Computers sell to everyone—even kids and pensioners. We could find a way to stand out.”
“Em, I said no.”
“So you’re refusing?” Her tone sharpened.
“Yes. If you’re keen, do it yourself.”
Emily was hurt. Their first real fight simmered for days before they made up. But soon, she brought it up again, insisting it would pay off the mortgage faster.
For the first time, Edward wondered if his mother had been right. Had he rushed into this? Did he even love Emily enough to risk everything for her? Still, he nearly relented—until her classmate’s business folded.
Emily quieted for a while. They paid off the mortgage; Edward took a loan for an SUV. A year later, they bought Emily a small car. Time to think about children. His mother pressed the issue.
“All our friends have kids—even Simon and Lucy have two. We’ve got jobs, a home, cars. It’s time, Em. Let’s have a baby.”
“Baby? I can’t drop everything now. My promotion’s finally coming. I’d have to start over.”
“Take maternity leave. Stay home with the child.”
“You want me to quit? Wipe noses, cook stews, turn into some frumpy housewife like Lucy? You’d stop loving me. I’d hate myself. No.”
Soon after, Emily got her promotion. But projects piled up, and children were pushed further away.
***
Edward finally escaped the traffic. Home wasn’t far, yet he still hadn’t decided what to do.
Inside, Emily sat on the sofa, glued to her phone.
“You’re late,” she said, not looking up.
“Traffic.”
“Charlotte Rodwell called. They’re hosting New Year’s. We’re going.” She finally glanced at him. “Well?”
“What’s to say? You’ve already agreed.”
“I have. Got a better idea?”
“I’d rather stay in. We barely see each other lately. Drifting apart.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. A quiet night, candles, a romantic dinner. It’s a family holiday.”
“Sit all night by the telly, then lunch at your parents’ on the first, mine on the second. Boring. Besides, I promised Charlotte.” She returned to her phone.
“We could say plans changed. Em, let’s just stay home.”
She shook her head firmly.
The Rodwells’ party was loud, packed with strangers. Edward noticed one man watching Emily. She eyed him back, laughing too loudly at his jokes. When he asked her to dance, she went eagerly, forgetting Edward entirely. Later, they huddled in a corner, deep in conversation. Edward left without a word.
Emily stormed in three hours later.
“You abandoned me!”
“You were busy. Did you even notice I’d gone? Your friend saw you home, I assume.”
“Of course he did. A proper gentleman—unlike you.”
“Oh? He’s got money, a business, and I’m just a failure? We don’t even hear each other anymore. Maybe we should end this.”
“Fine,” Emily snapped.
So they rang in the New Year. And as the saying goes, how you welcome it is how you’ll live it. In the end, they divorced. Emily demanded the flat. Edward refused—he’d paid his share. With no children, why should he walk away?
She blamed him for their childlessness—if he’d earned more, she’d have had one. But the court split the flat’s value. She even had to surrender some furniture; it wouldn’t fit in her new one-bedroom.
At first, the solitude ached. Then Edward grew to like it—cooking for himself, the washing machine handling laundry. He even mastered ironing.
One evening, parking by his building, he’d barely set foot on the steps when the door flew open. A woman rushed out, her heel catching on the threshold. Had Edward not been there, she’d have tumbled down the iron-edged steps. Instead, she crashed into his arms.
“Oh no—my heel’s snapped. Now I’ll be late!”
“Come on, I’ll help you inside. Change your shoes, and I’ll drive you.”
“Really?” She smiled, though her eyes stayed sad.
The whole drive, she thanked him.
“You don’t remember me, do you? I’m the one who flooded your flat two months ago. I live above you.”
Edward did recall her—though she’d seemed older then.
“My son died a year and a half ago. My husband left—he’s remarried, with a baby on the way.” Her voice faltered. “You don’t seem happy either.”
Before he could answer, they reached the hospital where she worked.
The next day, she knocked with a dish of roast beef and potatoes.
“I had to thank you. Cooked too much for one.”
Edward invited her to share it. They talked.
“I’m Maia. My son loved that cartoon—called me ‘Maya the Bee.’” Her eyes darkened with tears at the memory. Soon, she left.
They exchanged greetings in the hallway or courtyard. Once, when Edward fell ill, she brought medicine.
“I heard you coughing through the ceiling.”
Her cooking was splendid, and she often shared. Edward repaid her by fixing things in her flat.
Another New Year approached. Edward planned to stay in, despite his parents’ invitation. He drank, flipping through TV programmes, feeling marooned.
Near midnight, his doorbell rang. Maia stood there, transformed—new hair, makeup, a lovely dress. “Not bad,” Edward thought.
She’d cooked a feast but had noThe clock struck twelve, and as the first snowflakes of the year drifted past the window, Edward realized that sometimes, love arrives quietly, not with grand gestures, but with shared meals, mended hearts, and a child’s laughter echoing through the halls of a home that had waited too long to be filled.