**Shadows of Love**
In a quiet village nestled between endless fields and rolling grey hills, the air is thick with autumn melancholy. Early October wraps everything in a chilly embrace, and leaves swirl on gusts of wind, vanishing as if carrying away the last remnants of warmth. Tonight, the house at the edge of the village belonging to Thomas is alive with noise—floorboards creak, glasses clink, and laughter carries far beyond the yard.
“Hey, mate!” Thomas swings the door open, welcoming his childhood friend James, who’s just arrived from the city. His voice trembles with joy, though his eyes flicker with unease, as if sensing this visit will turn his world upside down.
“Alright there?” James claps him on the back. “Four months since we last saw each other—back at Nan’s funeral. Work’s been mad. Finally got some leave, though. Needed to escape, you know? Reckon a bit of countryside peace will sort me out.”
“Brilliant idea!” Thomas grins, though a quiet sadness lingers beneath his enthusiasm. “We’ll go fishing, just like old times—remember that pond past the hill? Or sneaking off to the river as kids?”
They were inseparable as boys—racing down dusty footpaths, scrumping apples from orchards, diving into icy streams. James was always the leader, full of reckless schemes, while Thomas followed, ready for any adventure. Their bond felt unbreakable, like the ancient oak at the edge of the village.
“Just you here, then? Where’s your lovely missus?” James glances around the cosy, slightly worn house.
“Emma’s just popped to the shop—won’t be long. She’s a crackin’ cook, honestly, proper spoils me,” Thomas boasts, though a shadow crosses his voice. “Fed me so well I’ll not fit through the door soon.”
Thomas and Emma married seven years ago, but no children had come. They’d seen doctors, had tests—always the same answer: “Everything’s fine, just wait.” Thomas adored her, helping with chores, lifting anything heavy before she could, treating her like delicate china. Neighbours whispered—some envious, some disapproving. “Emma’s lucky, Thomas dotes on her, doesn’t touch a drop, loves her silly.” But sometimes, Emma felt smothered, like a scarf tied too tight.
“Hello,” comes Emma’s soft, slightly weary voice as she steps inside, lugging a heavy bag. Thomas instantly takes it, whisking it to the kitchen as if afraid she’ll strain herself.
“Ello,” James grins, his gaze lingering on her slender frame and windswept dark hair. “I’m James, Thomas’s mate—grew up together.”
“Tom never mentioned you,” Emma blinks, glancing at her husband.
“Ah, well, he’s gone all city now,” Thomas chuckles, returning from the kitchen. “Moved after school. His gran, Auntie Vera, lived t’other side of the village—maybe you remember her? You’re not from round here, so you wouldn’t know James.”
“Oh, right—Auntie Vera, yes.” Emma nods. “So you’re her grandson.”
“Spot on,” James laughs. “City life now, but roots are here.”
“Right, Em, we’re off for a stroll—you work your magic in the kitchen,” Thomas says, and the men leave.
It’s the weekend, and Emma’s holiday starts Monday. Autumn is in full swing—crimson leaves, drifting cobwebs, the wind humming a mournful tune. She sets the table in the garden under an old birch—too nice to stay indoors. When the men return, she’s laid out snacks and homemade cider.
“Jim, proper chuffed you’re here!” Thomas exclaims, pouring drinks. “We’ll make up for lost time—fishing, like when we were lads! Remember herding sheep with my grandad? Or pinching fruit from old Mr. Higgins’ orchard?”
“Blimey, Tom, don’t remind me,” James laughs, thumping his shoulder. “This place is home, mate. City’s just noise.”
Emma watches them, their easy camaraderie making her heart ache with a warmth that doesn’t belong to her. She rises, remembering the pie in the oven, and soon returns with golden pastry.
“Is that—pie? Emma, you’re a gem!” James takes a bite. “Absolute perfection!”
“Aye, my Em’s a wizard in the kitchen,” Thomas beams. “Fattening me up proper—shirt buttons’ll ping off soon!”
They sit till dusk, laughing over old tales. Emma studies James—too charming, too handsome, with a smirk that spells trouble. “Bet he’s got girls lined up in the city,” she thinks. “Never settling, always chasing.” Yet something in his gaze makes her pulse quicken.
James starts visiting often. Thomas is at work, but evenings and weekends belong to fishing trips and bonfire cookouts with old pals. September lingers warmly, and they feast on catches under the stars. One night, Emma catches James’s stare—hungry, unmistakable. She realises: he fancies her. And that knowledge sparks something long buried.
Later, shutting the shed, she turns—and there he is.
“Blimey! You scared me.”
“Just admiring the view,” he teases.
“Closing up—hens’ll scatter else,” she mutters, cheeks flaming.
“I followed you, Emma,” he murmurs. “Fancy you rotten. Proper smitten. Can’t you tell?”
“James, you’ve had one too many,” she steps back, voice shaky.
“Dead serious. Two weeks I’ve been thinking of you,” his eyes burn in the dark.
“Emma!” Thomas calls, and she jerks away.
“Just shutting the shed—hens’ll wander!” she calls back, forcing calm.
“You out here too?” Thomas frowns at James.
“Just needed air,” James grins, while Emma slips inside.
She tosses all night, cursing herself. “Why’m I thinking of him? Probably a cad—city girls queue up. And I’m *married*.” But his words burn like embers, impossible to forget.
Next day, James arrives while Thomas is at work.
“Missed you,” he says, stepping inside.
“Thought we agreed last night was daft,” she whispers.
“Daft? I’m gone on you, Emma. Life’s bleak without you.”
Her resolve crumbles. His hands clasp hers, his whispers melt her doubts. Suddenly, she aches to be just *herself*—not a wife, not a homemaker, just a woman. James is dazzling, his attention intoxicating.
“You’re everything,” he murmurs, pulling her close.
Later, flushed and breathless, she watches him eat her pie at the kitchen table.
“Always wanted a wife like you,” he says. “Perfect in every way.”
“Ta, James,” she smiles. “See you tonight.”
After he leaves, she floats. Even the grey sky seems golden. But guilt creeps in: “Why did I marry Thomas? Should I have waited? Was this meant to be?”
Their secret meetings continue. James’s words spin her head—she’s never known men like him. Bold, thrilling, dangerous. Then one day:
“Emma, my leave’s ending. I’ll be gone soon. This can’t last.”
“Stay,” she pleads. “Commute to the city—live here.”
“You *want* that?” His eyes narrow.
“Yes. I can’t lose you,” she admits.
“I’ll go, but be back in two weeks. It’ll work out,” he promises. “Tom’s friendship—doesn’t matter, not with you.”
James leaves. Emma pines. Her holiday ends, and she acts: leaves Thomas, scribbling *”Tom, our seven years are over. I’ve fallen for someone. You’ll understand soon.”* She moves in with Natalie, a divorced single mum.
“Em, this is daft,” Natalie sighs. “How’d you explain it?”
“Left a note. James’ll return—we’ll live at his place.”
Thomas doesn’t seek her. Autumn turns bitter, rain lashing the village. Emma waits—she never took James’s number, love blinding her. Three weeks later, lights glow in his windows. She runs, heart soaring.
“James! I left Tom! I’m free!” she gasps, flinging herself at him.
“Why’d you do that?” His voice is ice.
“For *us*! You said—”
“I never promised marriage. Got a fiancée in the city. Tom’s a good bloke—where’d you find another like him? And why’d I want a wife who jumps ship so easy? One wink, and you dropped him. I’m not coming back. Wedding’s soon.”
He says it calmly, smiling slightly—it cuts deeper than anger. She walks away, numb. Natalie takes one look and knows.
“He called me unfaithful. Said he’s engaged,” Emma sobs. “He’s right, Nat.”
Two weeks passEventually, Emma and Thomas rebuild their life quietly, the echoes of autumn’s betrayal fading into the muted rhythm of winter’s forgiveness.
