“Back After Ten Years”

“What on earth are you on about, Natalie? That can’t be possible!” Margaret slammed her fist on the table so hard the teacups rattled. “Are you sure you saw him? Maybe it was someone else?”

“Mum, I’m not blind!” Natalie nervously stubbed out her cigarette on the saucer, ash scattering onto the floor. “He was standing by the post office, talking to Thomas Wilson. He’s aged, gone grey, but it was definitely him—our Victor. I nearly passed out on the spot!”

“Good Lord…” Margaret sank into a chair, clutching her chest. “Fetch me the smelling salts, quick!”

Natalie fumbled with the medicine cabinet, her hands shaking too much to open the bottle.

“Mum, don’t get yourself worked up! Maybe he’s just passing through. Could be here on business.”

“Business?!” Margaret gulped down the remedy, wincing. “What business would he have here after everything that happened? Does he think we’ve forgotten? Forgiven?”

The front door banged shut, heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway. The women froze. In walked Richard, Margaret’s husband, pulling off his worn flat cap and hanging his jacket on the hook.

“What’s with the long faces?” he grumbled, scrubbing his hands at the sink. “Someone died or what?”

“Richard…” Margaret swallowed hard. “Victor’s back.”

Richard went still. The tap kept running as he stood there, hands dripping, staring out the window.

“You’re lying,” he muttered.

“Natalie saw him. Near the post office.”

Slowly, Richard rinsed off the soap and dried his hands. His face turned to stone.

“So the coward’s finally shown his face. Thought time would smooth things over, did he? Not a chance!” He sat at the table and poured himself tea from the pot. “Does Emily know?”

“How would she? She’s been out in the garden all morning,” Natalie said, crushing her cigarette. “Should we tell her?”

“Tell her?!” Richard snapped. “Did you see her yesterday? How happy she was when Lily got into university? First time she’s smiled properly in ten years! And you want to ruin that?”

Margaret sighed heavily, brushing crumbs into her palm.

“Richard, if he’s really here, she’ll see him sooner or later. Our village is tiny—nowhere to hide. Better it comes from us than her stumbling into him by chance.”

“Bloody hell…” Richard rubbed his forehead. “We’ve had peace at last. Emily was finally moving on, Lily’s thriving… And now this.”

Natalie peered out the window.

“Maybe he’s not here for us? Could be work or something. It doesn’t have to—”

“Work!” Richard scoffed. “What work? He burned his bridges here ten years ago when he ran off like a coward!”

Just then, the garden gate creaked. In walked Emily, Richard and Margaret’s youngest, tall and slender despite her forty-two years, carrying a bucket of potatoes. Her hair, tied back, escaped under her scarf, cheeks flushed from the fresh air.

“Potatoes came up lovely!” she called, setting the bucket by the sink. Then she froze, sensing the tension. “What’s happened? You all look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Margaret and Natalie exchanged glances. Richard stared into his tea.

“Emily, sit down,” Margaret said softly.

“You’re scaring me. Is Lily alright?”

“Lily’s fine. She’s at the library. Emily… Victor’s back.”

Emily slowly lowered herself into a chair. Her face paled.

“When?” was all she asked.

“Natalie saw him today. Near the post office.” Margaret touched her daughter’s hand gently. “Darling, are you alright? Do you need something?”

“I’m fine,” Emily whispered. “Just… didn’t expect it. Thought he’d never come back.”

“And he shouldn’t have!” Richard burst out. “No right to show his face here after what he did! He made his bed—let him lie in it!”

“Dad, don’t,” Emily said quietly. “It’s in the past.”

“The past?!” Richard shot up. “You think I’ve forgotten how you cried yourself to sleep? How Lily asked where her dad was? How you carried it all alone—work, the baby, the house? Where was he then? Where?!”

“Richard, calm down,” Margaret urged. “The neighbours will hear.”

“Let them! Let everyone know what kind of man—”

“Enough, Dad.” Emily stood, walking to the window. “I know you’re angry for me. But shouting won’t change anything.”

She stared at the garden, where neat rows of tomatoes and carrots grew. Ten years she’d poured her heart into this home, into raising Lily, teaching maths at the local school. She’d closed herself off, even when others tried to get close. Something inside her had hardened the day he left.

“Natalie,” she asked without turning, “what did he look like?”

Natalie hesitated. “Older. Grey. Thinner. Dressed… well, smart. City clothes.”

“So he’s done alright for himself,” Emily remarked dryly.

“Emily,” Margaret ventured, “do you think… he might come here? To talk?”

“I don’t know,” Emily admitted. “Part of me wants to know where he’s been. Part of me’s terrified.”

The gate creaked again. In rushed Lily, seventeen, breathless, her blonde ponytail bouncing.

“Gran! Grandad! Mum!” she exclaimed. “You’ll never guess what Sarah Jenkins just told me!”

She skidded into the kitchen, flushed and wide-eyed.

“She said my dad’s been seen in town! After ten years! She swears it was him!”

Silence. Lily looked around, sensing the mood.

“You already knew?” she whispered. “Mum… is it true?”

Emily put an arm around her. “Yes, love. Aunt Natalie saw him.”

“What happens now?” Lily’s voice wavered. “Will he come here? Does he… want to meet me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Do you want to see him?” Lily searched her mother’s face.

Emily hesitated. Did she? The pain had dulled to a quiet ache, surfacing only on lonely evenings when Lily studied and she sipped tea alone.

“I suppose I do,” she admitted. “If only to ask why he’s back.”

“Maybe he regrets it?” Lily offered. “Maybe he’s missed us?”

“Lily,” Richard cut in, “don’t get your hopes up. If he regretted it, he’d have come sooner. Who knows what he’s after?”

That night, Emily lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She remembered their college days—Victor, charming, popular, choosing her, the quiet one. Their marriage, sweet at first. Then the changes. His restlessness, the drinking. Then Claire from the council office, all manicures and city airs. She’d known, but stayed silent, hoping he’d come to his senses. Until the day he left, saying he needed a new life. With Claire, of course.

The next morning, Emily made breakfast as usual, but her hands trembled. What if he did come?

At school, she struggled through lessons. Kids asked why she seemed distracted. She brushed it off. On the way home, nosy Mrs. Thompson waylaid her.

“Emily, love—did you hear? Your Victor’s back. Saw him myself by the grocer’s. Lost weight, gone grey. Dressed sharp, though—must be doing well.”

“I heard, Mrs. Thompson.”

“And how are you? Holding up?”

“Fine. It was a long time ago.”

“Well, I’d have given him a piece of my mind! Abandoning his family like that—no shame!”

Home was quiet. Her parents were at the doctor’s; Lily stayed late at school. Emily tidied, though nothing needed tidying. Then—a knock at the gate.

Her heart lurched. She knew. Peering out the window, she saw him—older, greyer, but unmistakable. She smoothed her hair, took a breath, and opened the door.

“Hello, Em,” Victor said softly.

“Hello.”

They studied each other. His face was lined, his temples silver. But his eyes were the same—brown, earnest.

“Can we talk?”

She nodded, stepping aside. In the kitchen, he sat in his old spot. She poured tea.

“Thanks,” he said, cradling the cup. “How’ve you been? How’s Lily?”

“We’re fine. Lily’s in sixth form—aiming for university.”

“Bright girl, then. Takes after you?”

“Looks like me. But her temper…”

“My temper?” He smiled ruefully. “Hope she got the good bits.”

Silence. He drank; she waited.

“Why are you here?” she finally asked.

“Dunno. Or—I do, but it’s hard to explain. Mum died lastVictor looked down at his tea, then met her eyes and whispered, “I came home, Em, because I realized too late that running away never fixes anything—but it’s not too late to try and mend what I broke, if you’ll let me.”