Julia flew a day earlier than the rest for her mother-in-law’s anniversary, and just as she settled into her plane seat, she flinched — someone called her name out of nowhere…

Molly had flown out a day earlier than the others for her former mother-in-law’s birthday. She had barely sunk into the aeroplane seat when she flinched: someone had called her name out of nowhere.

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her handbag as she stood in the queue at check-in. There was still one day before her ex-mother-in-law’s birthday, yet Molly had deliberately chosen the early flight. She knew Jack would, as always, put everything off; he would probably fly the following morning. Three years had passed since the divorce, and in all that time they had managed to live in the same city without crossing paths once. The last thing Molly wanted now was to disturb that fragile balance.

Seat 12A, she read on the ticket. By the window, the way she liked it. On the plane she reached, as usual, for her book—a new novel she had started the day before and couldn’t put down. A story about love, betrayal and forgiveness. She used to avoid such stories, but time healed.

“Molly?” A familiar voice made her shiver. What a coincidence.

Slowly she looked up. Jack was standing in the aisle, holding the handle of his suitcase. Just as well-groomed as ever, in his favourite grey jacket. There was a little grey at his temples that she had never noticed before.

“You’re the one who’s always late,” she blurted out instead of saying hello.

“And you always plan everything in advance,” he replied with a smile, pulling out his ticket. “Hm. 12B.”

Molly felt her cheeks redden. Three hours in the air next to the man she had carefully avoided for all these years. Fate seemed to be playing a trick on them.

“I could swap with someone,” Jack began.

“Leave it,” Molly cut in. “We’re adults.”

Jack nodded and sat down beside her. His familiar aftershave drifted over to her, and the scent hit her like a knife to the heart. How many times had she woken up with that smell in her nostrils?

“How’s work?” he asked after take-off, once the silence had become unbearable.

“Good. I’ve opened my own yoga studio,” she answered calmly. “And you? Still there?”

“No, I moved into consulting. Do you remember how I always dreamed of that?”

Of course she remembered. She also remembered the endless arguments about it. She had been afraid of change; he had longed for it. Now, years later, they had both got what they wanted. So why did it hurt so much?

“Mum will be over the moon to see you,” Jack said after a pause. “She still keeps the ceramic vase you gave her for her last birthday.”

“Peggy was always,” Molly paused, searching for the right words, “so good to me.”

“Even after the divorce she said you were the best daughter-in-law anyone could wish for.”

Molly felt tears pricking her eyes. She reached for her book to hide her emotion.

“What are you reading?” Jack glanced at the cover.

“The Time of Forgiveness,” she answered, and they both fell silent as they took in the irony of the title.

They spent the rest of the flight in silence, but it was a different kind of silence—not strained like a taut string, but almost cosy, as it used to be. When the plane landed in London, Jack helped her take her bag down from the overhead locker.

“Shall we share a taxi?” he suggested. “We’re going the same way anyway.”

Molly hesitated. Three years earlier they had separated, convinced they would never stand beside each other again. Yet here they were, and the world had not ended.

“All right,” she nodded. “But I’ll keep an eye on the sat nav; you always argue with technology otherwise.”

Jack laughed, and that familiar laugh made something tremble inside her. Perhaps you sometimes had to let go of the past so the present could grow brighter?

As they left the plane, she realised that for the first time in a long while she did not regret a chance encounter. Ahead of them lay the birthday: a festively laid table and the uncertain glances of relatives. But now she knew they would manage. After all, they always had.

The taxi wound through the evening streets of London. Molly, as promised, kept her eye on the route, while Jack sat beside her, only a bag on the middle seat between them.

“Turn right here,” Molly said, and Jack had to smile: she knew the way to his parents’ house better than he did.

“Do you remember the first time we drove to Mum’s?” he asked suddenly. “You were nervous the whole time.”

“Of course!” Molly snorted. “I changed my clothes three times, I was so worked up. I wanted to make a good impression.”

“And then you spilled soup all over yourself.”

They both laughed, and for a moment time seemed to stand still. But then the taxi stopped in front of the familiar house, and the moment disappeared into the twilight.

Peggy met them at the door and raised her hands in surprise.

“You came together? What a surprise!”

“We happened to meet on the plane,” Molly explained hastily, catching a glimmer of hope in her ex-mother-in-law’s eyes.

“Come in, come in! Molly, I’ve prepared your room, the same one as always.”

Molly froze. Her room—the upstairs bedroom where she and Jack had always stayed whenever they visited. Where the morning sun painted playful patterns on the wallpaper and the old apple tree could be seen from the window.

“Mum, maybe I’d better take the guest room?” Jack tried.

“No arguments!” Peggy cut in. “The guests are sleeping there tomorrow. Molly gets the main bedroom, and you get your old room. Everything as it used to be.”

“Everything as it used to be.” Those words echoed in Molly’s mind. In truth, nothing was as it used to be, but neither of them dared argue with Peggy.

The evening passed with preparations for the party. Molly helped in the kitchen while Jack sorted through old boxes in the attic—a job his mother had been wanting him to do for ages. They deliberately avoided being alone together, but under one roof that was not easy.

That night, Molly couldn’t get to sleep for a long time. The bed felt too big, too empty. Behind the wall, in the old room, the floor creaked; clearly Jack couldn’t sleep either. She recognised the pattern: three steps to the window, four back. That was how he always paced when he was mulling something over.

Suddenly it went quiet. Molly turned onto her side and looked out of the window. The apple tree rustled in the wind, and for a moment it seemed as if the last three years.