Shadows Of A Forgotten Spring

With the last packing box in her hands, Emma stood in the doorway, gazing at the empty hall. The walls that had echoed with her father's laughter, the floors that had carried his dreams felt like a hollow shell. Her tears blurred everything and she let them spill freely- each drop was a burden of its own. It was inconceivable that all that her father had built with his sweat and toil had vanished, seeped through her fingers despite her feverish struggle to keep it intact.

She had fought so hard, clinging to hope, but maybe Alexander was right. Maybe it was time to let go. The thought pierced her heart, and a fresh wave of grief washed over her. With trembling hands, she looked around the hall that had been her father's legacy, her life's purpose. Then she turned and walked out of the hall and locked the door behind her, knowing as she did that a part of her soul went with it. And promising herself that she would never return-never to this place, never to these memories that were now not even bittersweet but only dolorous scars.

A short, stocky man hurried up to her, taking the box from her arms. It was Carl, her personal driver for as long as she had been married. He carefully placed the box in the backseat of the car before opening the door for her. She gave him a small smile but he knew better than to ask how she was doing. Carl had seen how much toll this had taken on her and his heart broke for this woman.

The drive home was a blur. Emma sat in the back seat, her eyes on the landscape speeding by, but not truly taking it in. She felt numbed, all but paralyzed by disbelief and something akin to grief. Part of her was still trying to collect herself, to steady the fragments of that terrible shock. By the time they reached their destination, Emma knew she had no choice but to rouse herself from her stupor. She couldn't let others see her shattered like this. Not yet.

Evening had come before she knew it. The faint light of dusk sent long shadows across the floor as Emma made her way to the kitchen, her low heels echoing on the polished tiles. Miranda, a chef, smiled at her but Emma waved her away.

"Miranda, tonight I'll take care of dinner," she answered in a level voice, but one that held so much more underneath the words. "You have the night off."

Miranda hesitated, it quite took her aback. Emma wasn't one for letting anyone else take over the cooking, but she wasn't going to argue. She nodded, picking up her things, leaving Emma to ponder in peace.

Emma could not help but think, as she cut the vegetables and tended the pots in the kitchen, that things started to change between them. After five years of cold distance and silent words, there was this fragile warmth beginning to grow between them-an analogy to tending to a small flame. And Emma made up her mind to care for it and to feed it with everything it needed, even if it meant self-sacrifice through doing all these necessary chores. Maybe, just maybe, they could manage to construct again what they had never actually owned in the first place.

She took care in setting the table when the meal was cooked: the candles flickering softly in the center, the glow warm against the fine china. She had picked out a gown for the evening, deep red in color with the richness and vibrancy of blood against her pale skin. She'd pulled her hair back firmly into a ponytail, simple and elegant, just the way Alexander liked it.

She looked at her watch, and her heart was beating with expectation. This evening felt somehow not like many others, full of the promise of new and perhaps better times. She sat down and waited for him, hoping that maybe something new would pop up in their lives this night.

Alexander usually arrived home around eight in the evening, and his punctuality was something Emma had grown to rely on. Tonight, however, time crawled by, and by ten, he had still not appeared. She kept a strong heart and waited, refusing to let disappointment take root despite the growing ache in her chest. The hours ticked by, the candles burned low, and still she waited.

It wasn't until eleven forty-five that she finally heard the recognizable crunch of his car in the garage. Relief washed over her, but tinged with a flutter of anxiety. She nuked dinner quickly, hands shaking a little as she set the dishes back on the table. The quiet house felt too large, too empty, as she moved through it.

The front door opened, and Alexander stepped inside. Emma's breath caught as her gaze rose, her eyes meeting his. All these years, and the effect of his sight on her hadn't changed a bit: it still made her heart miss beats. He was an angel who took the form of man-a riddle she could never quite fathom. His presence was commanding and effortless, filling the room, and she couldn't help but smile with her heart pouring into that simple gesture.

"Welcome," she said softly, taking her seat with a grace that belied her nervousness.

her greeting. He just passed by her and then took his seat with a worn-out expression on his face. His hair was ruffled, his shirt a

coldness in his tone anymore; she should be used to it by now. It was the silence between them that stung-the heavy, unspoken words in the air. At the same time, she wasn't mad at

still were from each other, even when seated across the table. She knew all the same that it wasn't going to change in one day. They had been so distant from one

anything, she wanted to reach out and close this broadening chasm between them, but he instilled fear in her. All she did was wait- like

locked onto hers, his glare raking down her spine and giving her goosebumps. The thick atmosphere was so heavy it did not permit any air to be exchanged between them. Her heart pounded inside her

tell you," Alexander said, his voice flat and

wide with curiosity. Alexander had never initiated a conversation of this nature before, not in all the years they were married. She hardly dared to believe it- perhaps this was

slight blush crept onto her cheeks. She held her breath, waiting, hoping this to

the words that fell from

is back. I want a

2

process the words. Divorce? The word rang in her head like the peal of a cracked bell, cruel and sharp. All these years, she had braced herself for many things-his distance,

to hide the shaking. A wave of nausea washed over her, and her vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes. She had fought so hard and waited so long for even

with. Now she was back, and with her, she had taken whatever small hope Emma had clung to. Emma felt a tightening in her throat, her speaking suddenly very hard to do, but she willed herself to swallow

He was serious. And in that moment, Emma felt

divorce papers. I will send you a copy tomorrow," Alexander added, as

willed herself still to speak, when everything in her never wanted to. She had spent years trembling at his words and his presence, always trying to be the perfect wife, all for him to never be satisfied. But now, after all she had given, all she had endured, this was how it ended a divorce paper as his final act. "Okay," she said, a little steadier this time, but

than before. Alexander watched her face with his eyes, trying to find something more, possibly. But Emma had nothing more to give. More than a moment passed before

think you should be the one to break the news to

of warmth that she once tried so hard to

he continued, "Regarding

his decision made, and began to walk away,

in a whirl at all that was happening. Then she pushed her chair back and stood up,

Something flickered in his eyes-something she hadn't seen in them before, but she was too drained to really think about that. It didn't matter anymore. It was over