**The Autumn of Partings: How Edward Nearly Lost It All**
Edward left for his countryside cottage after yet another bitter quarrel with his wife. He craved silence. He wanted to vanish. The house in the village greeted him with dampness, stillness, and chill. He switched on the heating, reheated the leftover pizza from the week before, ate hastily, and collapsed onto the creaky bed without undressing.
Morning came with a weight upon his chest and a weariness in his limbs. His head throbbed. A message flashed on his phone—Sophie, their mutual friend, had written:
*”Margaret is leaving. Saw her getting into a car with some man and a suitcase. Sorry, I couldn’t keep silent.”*
Edward turned off his phone. He hadn’t the strength to think. He slipped back into a feverish, murky sleep.
…Through the haze of delirium, faces drifted before him. Loved ones. Family. Those long gone. His father—stern, silent. His grandmother—holding a lace tablecloth. Uncle Alfred—the cheerful one, who’d died with his father in that motorcycle crash. Cousin Mildred—gone too soon. They sat around a table set as if for a feast, yet none of them seemed to notice him. Even among his own, he felt a stranger.
He waited for one—his mother. The one who’d held him together after his father’s death. But she too had left before he’d found his footing. Now he stood alone before the world. Too alone.
Then—the quiet shattered by a sharp knock at the door.
Edward didn’t want to rise. Yet, in time, he dragged himself up and opened it.
Margaret stood there. And beside her, her cousin Jonathan.
“How on earth did you find me?” Edward managed, stunned by their arrival.
“Where else would you be?” Margaret’s gaze searched his. “Phone off, flat empty. I was worried.”
“I’m ill,” he muttered. “Fever.”
“Clearly!” Jonathan cut in. “I’ll fetch medicine. Margaret, make him tea.”
Once Jonathan left, Margaret sat beside Edward, pressing a hand to his forehead.
“Forgive me, Ed. I went too far. Losing Lucy… I couldn’t bear it. I came not to argue but to talk. You weren’t there. I thought you’d left on purpose. Resentment swallowed me whole—”
“It’s alright,” he said. “Just… water, please?”
She hurried to the kitchen, returning with tea and raspberry jam. She fussed over him, straightening the blanket while he watched, silent.
Jonathan returned with medicine and joked, “Right, make up, you two. I’ll take the garden air.”
Margaret explained that Lucy and her husband had called—all was well, they simply couldn’t reach Edward. He switched his phone on—dozens of missed calls.
Before drinking the tea, he deleted Sophie’s message and replied:
*“Margaret and I are at the cottage. Don’t invent drama. Fancy joining us? You’ll meet Jonathan. He’s unattached. Loneliness is a poor companion, Sophie.”*
No answer came.
By evening, Edward had recovered slightly. They returned home together. The suitcase went back into the wardrobe. Margaret was beside him. Her hands—still the same, familiar. He told her of his dream. Of those who’d visited him in fever.
She held him close and whispered, “Not a nightmare, Ed. A comfort. They came to say you’re not alone.”
He smiled. Slipped into peaceful sleep. Tomorrow—a sick day. Then—a call to Lucy. And the storm… it had passed.
Life settled once more into silence. Warm. Alive.