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.

But Alexander barely acknowledged 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 bit untucked, but he still looked like a god-untouchable, far away.

She wasn't surprised by the 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 him.

Without another word, as they so often did, they began eating. The only sound was that made by the spoons, clinking against plates, something that had become rhythmic a long time ago. Emma's heart ached at how far away they 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 another for such a long time; rebuilding something that never truly was would take time.

Her gaze darted up to his after every bite, wondering what thoughts had been masked behind those very tired eyes all along. More than 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 she did tonight-and hope that someday he might see her, really see her, and they could finally begin again.

He jerked his head up, and his cold blue eyes 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 chest, and the beats echoed in her ears.

"I have something to tell you," Alexander said, his voice flat and emotionless.

Emma straightened up instantly; her heart raced with excitement and nerves. She laid down her cutlery, her eyes 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 that moment she had been waiting for, the breakthrough she had been praying for.

A smile tugged at her lips, and a slight blush crept onto her cheeks. She held her breath, waiting, hoping this to be the start of new things, better things.

Then his lips parted, and the words that fell from them shattered her world.

"Annie is back. I want a divorce."

2

The smile froze on Emma's face as the breath caught in her throat. The room seemed to tilt, her mind struggling to 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, his coldness, his silence-but not this.

Her hands were shaking, and she quickly clasped them together in her lap 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 a glimmer of hope in their marriage, only to have everything taken away in one single, devastating moment.

Annie. The name was like a dagger thrust into her heart. The woman who had always been a shadow between them, a ghost from the past whom Emma just couldn't compete 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 the growing lump down her throat. "A-Are you serious?" she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible, as if speaking louder would make a nightmare more real.

The look in Alexander's eyes, though, told her all she needed to know. He was serious. And in that moment, Emma felt her heart shatter into a million pieces, the weight of his words crushing her beneath their finality.

"Kevin is preparing the divorce papers. I will send you a copy tomorrow," Alexander added, as his voice was cutting through the thick silence strumming in the room.

Emma turned her eyes at him, brimming her eyes with full containers of unshed tears. But she quickly blinked them away, refusing for them to fall. Her body was so weary, her heart in pain, but she 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 hollow, her fists clenched hard at her sides, under the table, where he couldn't see.

The silence returned, more weighted 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 he finally broke the awkward silence again.

"I think you should be the one to break the news to my mother. She'll take it better if it comes from you."

"Okay," Emma agreed, her tone flat, void of warmth that she once tried so hard to give him.

Alexander's gaze lingered on her, piercing and intense, before he continued, "Regarding alimony, I'm ready to pay you 20 million dollars."

He rose to his feet, his decision made, and began to walk away, his footsteps echoing in the quiet room.

Emma sat a little longer, her mind was in a whirl at all that was happening. Then she pushed her chair back and stood up, her voice cold as she spoke, "All I need is a week to find a new apartment. Bring the papers as soon as possible."

Alexander stopped and turned towards her, his face unreadable as if he wanted to say something more. 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 between them and she was done being the girl he had been forced to marry by their parents.

Emma didn't say anything; she turned around and walked away. There was a firm heaviness in her steps. She was walking towards her room-a haven where, at last, she could let go of the pretence. Upon the door closing behind her, the tears that she had held back all night began to spew forth; they were silent but relentless. Her shoulder shook with soundless sobs as she fell onto the bed, burying her face in her hands.

In that room, alone with her grief, Emma mourned not just the end of her marriage, but the end of the dreams she had once dared to believe in. The woman who had fought so hard to be loved by a man who had never truly seen her now realized that it was time to let go, not just of him, but of the life she had tried so desperately to build.

The night was a torture from which there was no refuge for Emma. The words of Alexander-that Annie was back-echoed in her mind like a cruel refrain that just would not let her rest. Every time she closed her eyes, the reality of all that crashed over her like some relentless wave, threatening to drown in despair. Annie. Here was the name that haunted her marriage, the woman who had always been at the center of Alexander's heart. If only she could go back, change the past. Perhaps things might have turned out differently. But now it was too late.

Morning had finally come around, dragging her into a whole new day she now had to face. She had not slept at all; the dark circles under her eyes testified to a personal battle that had raged all night long. There was so much she had to do, people she needed to see one last time before bidding this life goodbye once and for all.

Taking a deep breath, she then wiped her face of residual tears and stepped into the shower, hoping the hot water might help wash away some of that pain. But it didn't. That ache in her chest remained as fierce as ever-a reminder of everything lost.

She dressed with some care in her elegant outfit, which spoke of dignity, which she refused to lose whatever the shreds it was in, inside. As she came out of the house, she met Alexander in the dining room, having his breakfast. She didn't spare him a glance. There was nothing left to say, nothing to mend that chasm yawning between them.

She stopped first at a flower shop and bought a bunch of white lilies, her father's favorite flowers. The thought of that was what brought her renewed tears, yet she was resolved to finish this.

When they finally reached the cemetery, Emma's heart contracted at the view of her dad's grave. The headstone had a simple design, but it bore the significance of a man who held everything for her. She kneeled down, placing the flowers gently on his grave, her fingers lingering on the cool stone.

"Dad," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I tried... I really did. I tried to make it work out with the man you married me to. I wanted to please you, to make you proud. But..."

Her voice broke, and she swallowed again, using her will to keep herself going. "But I failed. I couldn't make him love me, no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't save the company, and I couldn't keep the life you wanted for me. I'm so sorry."

She didn't bother wiping at the torrent of tears sliding down her face. This was her final good-bye-not only to her father but also to a life that had been hauling her down, weighing her down for so long. It was time to let go, to know when some things just weren't in her

hands.

"I'm leaving, Dad," she said softly, though her voice was firm despite the tears. "But I shall never forget all that you have taught me. I shall carry your love wherever I go."

She took a final, trembling breath and stood up, brushing the dirt off her knees. With a heavy, heart-sinking sensation, she turned her back to the grave and firmed up her resolve. There were a few more things she needed to do, a few people to whom she needed to bid goodbyes before she finally backed out of this life once and for all.