**Shattered Hopes on New Year’s Eve**
In a small town where the winter streets glowed under the soft light of lampposts, Emily hurried home, running through her mental checklist before the New Year’s dinner.
“Mustn’t forget the roast duck with oranges,” she muttered. “Turned the oven off before leaving—it should be perfect now. Fingers crossed. Tonight has to be special, to bring back the warmth between me and James…”
Emily smiled, picturing her husband’s stunned face when he saw her. Unlocking the flat door, she stepped inside quietly.
“Wait till he sees me now!” she whispered, but the flat was eerily silent.
“Probably dozed off on the sofa waiting for me,” she thought. After finishing up, she called out loudly, “Jamie?”
No answer. She walked into the living room and froze, her heart sinking.
—
Earlier that day, Emily had admired her reflection in the salon mirror.
Three hours with the stylist had worked wonders: fresh highlights, a sleek blowout, a manicure, and bold makeup had taken years off her. She barely recognised herself.
“Bloody hell, Lucy! You’re a miracle worker—I look twenty again!” Emily grinned at her stylist.
“Told you, love—time for a glow-up!” Lucy winked. “James won’t know what hit him. Maybe you’ll get a second honeymoon. New Year’s magic, eh?”
Emily paid in cash, thanked her, and headed home.
It was New Year’s Eve. Her plan was simple: first, pop round to Mum’s, then hurry back for a cosy night with James. She practically floated down the snowy pavement, giddy about the romantic evening she’d spent all week preparing.
She’d done everything—cooked a feast, deep-cleaned the flat, wrapped James’ gifts neatly under the tree. The final touch was her salon makeover. Now, just a quick visit to Mum, then home to dazzle her husband.
The path to her mum’s was icy, so Emily tread carefully, balancing a bag of presents in one hand and her handbag in the other.
“Mum, happy New Year!” she beamed, handing over the gifts as soon as the door opened.
“Love, you look gorgeous!” her mum gasped.
Two hours flew by with tea and chatter.
“Right, I’d better dash! Mind if I borrow your umbrella? Don’t want to ruin the makeup—gotta surprise James! I’ll ring tomorrow, tell you how it went,” Emily said, kissing her mum goodbye.
It was nearly nine. James must’ve been waiting ages. Outside, she pulled her coat hood up to protect her hair, popped open the umbrella, and braced against the snowfall.
Running through her mental checklist again, she mumbled, “Roast duck. It’s got to be perfect. This night’s our fresh start. Lately, James has been so distant… I feel like his minder, not his wife…”
Keys in hand, hope swelled in her chest.
“Wait for it—he’ll be speechless!” she grinned, unlocking the door.
She paused at the hallway mirror, smoothing her lipstick. But the flat was dead quiet.
Flicking on the light, she toed off her boots and hung up her coat. Not a peep.
“Must’ve nodded off,” she reasoned. “Good—gives me time to set up.”
After tidying up, she called out, “Jamie?”
Silence. She walked into the living room—empty.
She checked every room—kitchen, bedroom, even the balcony. No James.
“Odd. He said he wasn’t going out… Midnight’s in two hours,” she murmured, anxiety creeping in.
Deciding to set the table, she headed to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she gasped.
It was bare.
No prawn cocktail, no cheese board, no cold cuts. The trifle she’d made? Gone. Even the sherry trifle she’d prepped the night before had vanished. Yesterday the fridge was stuffed—now just a lonely crust of cheddar sat there.
She checked the oven—no roast duck. The Victoria sponge she’d baked? Missing. Even the fresh loaf she’d bought that morning had disappeared.
The champagne she’d saved, even James’ Scotch—all gone.
Hands shaking, she dialled his number. *”The person you’re calling is unavailable.”* She tried again—same message.
“He didn’t even text,” she whispered, panic rising.
Next, she rang his mum—no answer.
“What the hell’s going on?” she thought desperately. She considered ringing hospitals, but—where was the food?
Glancing at the clock, she saw midnight was an hour away. Tears spilled over, smudging her mascara, but she didn’t care.
Emily spent New Year’s alone, nibbling that sad bit of cheese with a cuppa. No energy left to dash to the shops. After ten failed calls to James and his mum, she fell asleep on the sofa to the sound of fireworks outside.
—
The next day, around noon, the lock clicked. Emily bolted to the hallway.
James, rumpled and reeking of booze, dumped his jacket on the floor and staggered toward the bedroom without a glance.
“Nothing to say?” Emily’s voice shook with fury.
“Ugh, feel like death. Let me sleep,” he grunted.
“Maybe explain why my husband vanished with all the food, leaving me alone on New Year’s?!”
He waved a hand. “Stop shouting. We’ll talk tonight.”
He face-planted onto the sofa, still in his clothes, and started snoring.
“Right,” Emily hissed through clenched teeth.
That evening, James wandered into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, and poured himself water.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked, like nothing had happened.
Emily stared him down. “Nothing to say about last night?”
James shrugged. “You said you were knackered, wanted a quiet one. Mum popped round, saw I was alone—wherever you were—so she dragged me to theirs. Aunt Brenda and Uncle Dave were there, sis and her bloke. Proper family do.”
He took another sip.
“Did I cross your mind?” Emily’s voice cracked. “You took the duck! The cake!”
“Sorry, alright?” he mumbled. “Meant to ring, got busy. Then your sherry came out—top stuff. Uncle Dave loved it.”
The doorbell rang. His mum stood there, holding a bag.
“Em, love—happy New Year!” she trilled. “Brought your dishes back. Popped in last night, but you weren’t here. Jamie said you weren’t celebrating, needed space. Well, I couldn’t leave him moping, could I? Took him to ours. And the food—waste not, eh?”
She handed over a bag of unwashed plates.
“Place is still a tip from last night—sorry, didn’t get round to washing up,” she added, not a hint of remorse.
“I rang you a hundred times!” Emily breathed.
“Oh, never heard it!” His mum flapped a hand. “We were having too much fun—singing, dancing. Proper knees-up! Anyway, happy New Year again!”
“So… dinner?” James prompted.
“Your dinner’s at your mum’s!” Emily snapped. “Since that’s where you celebrated, why don’t you live there?”
—
After the holidays, Emily filed for divorce. And she didn’t hesitate for a second.
