He came back for his… but it was too late
Margaret was about to retire for the evening when an unexpected knock came at the door. On the threshold stood a man she had never hoped to see again.
“You?” she murmured, startled, as she swung the door open.
Before her stood her former husband—Edward. The very same man who had walked out a year and a half ago, slamming the door behind him and abandoning everything for a younger mistress.
“It’s me,” he said with a smirk. “Going to let me in? I’m hardly a stranger here.”
Margaret stepped aside. Whatever his purpose, there was no avoiding this conversation.
“I’ve a proposition for you. Doubt you’ll refuse,” Edward began with a knowing grin, settling onto the worn settee as though it still belonged to him.
Margaret listened in silence. With each word, her eyes widened further. A proposition? To sell the flat where she and their daughter had lived since he left—just so he could afford a new place for himself. The same flat he had willingly given up in a fleeting show of nobility.
“You said you wouldn’t lay claim to the property. You left of your own accord,” she reminded him softly.
“I was in love then,” he dismissed with a wave. “Now things are different.”
Margaret exhaled heavily. The man before her was not the Edward she once loved. He was a stranger now—greedy, restless, bitter. He demanded, threatened, manipulated.
“I’ve no intention of selling,” she said firmly. “This flat hasn’t been yours for years. Nor was it ever Elizabeth Whitmore’s. She signed it over to me long before you married your Emily.”
Edward sprang to his feet.
“You wormed your way into her good graces! Played the doting caretaker! Now I see your scheme!”
“I schemed nothing. I simply didn’t abandon an ailing old woman—unlike you. And yes, it was her wish, not mine.”
Edward paced the room like a caged animal. He had lost. He had expected to stride in, bark orders, and take what was his. Instead, he would leave with nothing.
“You were always selfish!” he shouted as a parting blow.
“And you a coward,” Margaret replied calmly. “One who never understood love. Go. And don’t come back.”
He lingered at the door for a heartbeat, as if hoping she might relent. But she did not. Instead, she shut the door behind him—this time for good.
Leaning against the cold wooden frame, Margaret closed her eyes. There was no ache in her chest. No fury. Only lightness. And in that moment, she knew with perfect clarity: this was not an ending. It was the beginning—of a life without him, and at last, for herself.
