“Emily! Emily, open the door!” banged James, pressing his ear against the wood, listening for signs of life inside. “I know you’re home—the car’s right outside!”

“Go away!” came the muffled shout from inside. “I’m not letting you in! I’ve had enough!”

“What’s even happened?” James lowered his voice, glancing at the neighbour’s door. “Em, come on, let’s talk properly. What will the kids think?”

“The kids already told me everything!” Emily’s voice shook with anger. “Especially your precious Charlotte! The things she said about you!”

James leaned his forehead against the cold door, racking his brain for what his sixteen-year-old daughter could’ve possibly said. Lately, Charlotte had been sharp-tongued, snapping at every word, openly hostile toward her stepmum.

“Em, at least tell me what she said. Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding?”

“Misunderstanding?!” Emily scoffed. “Twenty years of misunderstandings! You can live wherever you like now—go stay with your ex if you want!”

The door across the hall cracked open, and Mrs. Wilkins, the retired neighbour they’d known for years, peered out in her slippers and tatty old dressing gown.

“James, love, what’s all this racket?” she whispered, stepping into the hallway.

“Just that—Emily won’t let me in. No idea what’s got into her,” James sighed, throwing his hands up.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Wilkins tutted, shaking her head. “You haven’t been drinking, have you? Don’t smell like it…”

“Course not! I’ve been at work all day. Just got back to this mess.”

Mrs. Wilkins eyed him up and down, as if checking for evidence of wrongdoing.

“Another woman, then? Happens to the best of ’em. Smell any different perfumes?”

“Mrs. Wilkins, come off it!” James huffed. “I’ve been married to Emily twenty years. What other women?”

“Emily!” The neighbour rapped on the door. “Love, come out! Let’s sort this like adults!”

“I’m not coming out!” Emily shot back. “And don’t bother! All men are the same—think their wives are idiots!”

James dropped onto the steps with a heavy sigh, fishing out his phone.

“Who’re you calling?” Mrs. Wilkins leaned in.

“Charlotte. Maybe she’ll tell me what nonsense she’s been spouting.”

His daughter took her time answering, loud music and laughter in the background.

“Dad? What’s up? I’m at Sarah’s—we’re studying.”

“Charlotte, be honest—what did you say to Emily? She’s locked me out, says you told her something.”

“Oh!” Charlotte drawled. “Well, I didn’t know she’d freak out! I just said I saw you in a café with some woman. You were only talking!”

“What woman?!” James barked, earning a sympathetic shake of the head from Mrs. Wilkins.

“That blonde one. Fancy dress. You were drinking coffee, and she put her hand on your shoulder…”

“Charlotte! That was Lucy from HR! We were discussing my bonus! She’s married with two kids!”

“How was I supposed to know?!” Charlotte sulked. “I just told stepmum what I saw—Dad with a blonde, all cosy. And she lost it!”

“Get home. Now.” James growled.

“Dad, I can’t, we’ve got a chem test tomorrow—”

“Home. You’re explaining this to Emily.”

“Ugh, I don’t want drama! She hates me anyway—nothing I say matters!”

James hung up and knocked again.

“Em, I’ve worked it out! It’s nothing! Charlotte saw me with Lucy from HR—just work chat!”

“Oh, sure! Work!” Emily sneered. “And the hand on your shoulder? Part of the job?”

“For God’s sake! She was happy for me about the bonus! Lucy’s just friendly—does it with everyone!”

“Lucy, is it?” Emily’s voice spiked. “First-name basis now?!”

Mrs. Wilkins shook her head and turned back to her flat.

“I’ll put the kettle on. Knock if you need me.”

Alone on the landing, James listened as Emily stomped around inside—clattering dishes, probably taking her anger out on the crockery.

“Em, just let me in! Let’s talk properly. The neighbours will hear—it’s embarrassing!”

“I don’t care! Let them know what my husband’s really like! Twenty years I’ve cooked, cleaned, put up with you—and now you’re eyeing up others!”

“I’m not looking at anyone!” James snapped. “You’re smarter than this! Can’t you see Charlotte’s winding you up?”

“Why would she?” A flicker of doubt crept into Emily’s voice.

“Because she resents you! You’ve seen how she acts—rude, dismissive, trying to drive us apart!”

“But she’s your daughter!”

“My daughter—and Claire’s. She remembers her mum young, beautiful. You’re not a replacement, but she’s stuck comparing.”

Silence. Then, softly: “You still there?”

“…Yeah.”

“Open the door. Or am I sleeping on the stairs?”

“Maybe you should! Think about what you’ve done!”

“What have I done? I go to work, come home, watch telly—when would I even cheat?”

“Work trips! Those ‘conferences’!”

James thought of last month’s trip to Manchester. Three days in a hotel, endless meetings, calling Emily every night. She’d joked he’d be lost without her.

“Em, remember Manchester? You rang me daily—asked what I ate, how I slept. Does that sound like a cheating man?”

“Could be a cover!” Her voice wavered.

“Emily,” he softened. “I know Charlotte’s hard on you. But don’t let her stir trouble where there isn’t any.”

A sob. “She hates me. I try so hard… and she looks at me like I’m the enemy.”

“She misses her mum. Claire was thirty when she died. Charlotte remembers her vibrant, young. You’re fifty—different worlds.”

“So I’m old!”

“No. Just wise. But Charlotte doesn’t see that yet.”

“And you?” Emily’s voice cracked. “Do you compare us?”

James paused. Had he? Claire had been lively, impulsive. Emily—steady, dependable. Different loves for different chapters.

“I love you. Not like I loved Claire—we were kids. This love’s deeper. Real.”

“Liar!” Emily wept. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t let her treat me this way!”

“I’ve tried talking to her! She says marrying you betrayed Claire’s memory!”

“Did it?”

“Emily, I was thirty-five when Claire died. Charlotte was five. Was I supposed to stay alone forever?”

“But why me? You could’ve found someone younger, prettier…”

“Because you’re good. Because you embraced Charlotte like your own. Remember baking her that cake when we moved in?”

A sniff. “She refused to eat it. Said her mum’s was better.”

“She was a kid. Doesn’t excuse her now.”

Footsteps thudded up the stairs—Mr. Harris from downstairs, a warehouse worker, wheezing on each landing.

“All right, Jim?” He grinned, spotting James on the steps. “Locked out?”

“Something like that.”

“Ah, marriage!” Mr. Harris chuckled. “My missus once stormed off to her sister’s—said I’d see how lost I’d be without her.”

“How long’d you last?”

“Three days! No clean socks, takeaways every night—drove myself to her sister’s and begged!”

“Hear that, Em?” James called. “Mr. Harris came crawling back too!”

“What’d he do wrong?” Emily shouted.

“Took his wife for granted!” Mr. Harris bellowed. “Now, Emily, open up! Jim’s a decent bloke—won’t leave you!”

The door clicked. Emily stood there, tear-streaked.

“You promise?” she whispered.

James pulled her into a hug. “Where would I even go? I’m fifty-five—not some lad chasing skirts.”

“But Lucy—”

“Married to my mate Dave! Known him since basic training. She’s like a sister.”

“You’ll introduce us?”

“Tomorrow. You’ll see—she’s lovely. Just… not for me.”

Inside, Emily had packed a bag—his joggers, a toothbrush.

“Already packing me off?”

“I thought… you might really…”

James kissed her forehead. “Silly woman. Who’d put up with me but you?”

Dinner was waiting—his favourite shepherd’s pie.

Later, Charlotte trudged in, textbooks in tow.

“Oh, made up already?” She smirked. “StepmJames looked at his daughter sternly and said, “Sit down, Charlotte—this ends tonight,” and for the first time in years, the house fell into a silence that felt like peace