My Ex-Husband Returned to Seek Forgiveness When He Learned About My Promotion

14October2025

Dear Diary,

I can still hear Sarahs voice echoing through the polished oak of my new office as she handed me the promotion letter. Congratulations, Emma Whitaker! Regional Director now, she beamed, pushing a thick folder onto the mahogany desk. The chair behind my predecessor was still warm, and I slipped into it as if it had been made for me. Honestly, Im thrilled that the role went to me rather than that pompous bloke from the City.

Sarah, head of HR and a longtime friend, dropped the paperwork with a flourish and flopped into the visitors armchair, looking as radiant as if shed just won the award herself. I ran my hand over the smooth surface of the desk, feeling the surreal weight of fifteen years at this firm. Id started as a junior administrator, endured endless client whims, stayed late to finish reports, and corrected other peoples mistakes. Now I have a private office with a panoramic view over London, a company car, and a salary that used to feel like a fanciful daydream.

Thank you, Sarah. Without your support when I wanted to quit three years ago, none of this would have happened, I said.

Dont be daft, Emma! she waved her hand. You would never have walked away. Youve always had nerves of steel. Remember how you were when you left? Divorce, depression, Jamesyour exdriving you mad. Yet you clenched your teeth and threw yourself back into work. This is your reward for perseverance. Speaking of James, you wont believe who I saw in the supermarket yesterday.

The name James still sends a chill down my spine, even though three quiet years have passed since we split. Three years of rebuilding the selfesteem he had chipped away from me over a decade of marriage.

Who? Him? I asked, bracing myself.

Yes, him. He looks lets just say hes not exactly winning any beauty contests. Remember how he used to parade around, calling himself a creative soul? Well, his search has landed him in the discountgoods department. Hes in a threadbare coat we used to buy together, munching on the cheapest dumplings and sipping bargain beer.

Maybe hes just going through a rough patch, I replied, though a small, vindictive smile flickered inside me.

Hes in a rough patch because he now expects his new young flame to foot the bill, just as you once did for him, Sarah snorted. Anyway, shall we celebrate tonight?

Absolutelylets do it tomorrow. Tonight I just want to get home, draw a bath, and soak in the fact that Im now the boss.

I craved that quiet. After work I parked my brandnew crossover in the driveway of the upscale block where Id bought a flat a year ago with a modest mortgage. The concierge gave a polite nod as he opened the door for me.

I headed up to my floor, looking forward to a book and a glass of wine, when I stepped out of the lift and froze. Someone was standing at my front door, shifting nervously, clutching a wilted bouquet of three halfdry roses in a clear sleeve.

My heart missed a beat. It was James.

Hed aged. Dark circles haunted his eyes, his hair had thinned, and the swagger he once wore like armor was gone. When he saw me, his smile stretched wideno longer the hypnotic grin of our past, but a tacky, pleading grin.

Emma! he called out, a little breathless. I I thought Id surprise you. I rang the intercom, nobody answered, a neighbour stepped out, I slipped in. I thought Id wait.

I moved toward the door without taking my keys. Part of me wanted to turn and run, yet curiosity and a newfound confidence kept me rooted.

James, what brings you here after three years? I recall you swore at the divorce that youd never appear in my life again, lest you ruin my karma with your whining and earthiness, I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He chuckled nervously, fiddling with the plastic wrap on the roses. Old habits die hard. I was a mess thenmidlife crisis, you know? You look wonderful, Emma. That suitexpensive, I bet? It suits you.

Lets get to the point, James. Why are you here?

Perhaps youll let me in? Its awkward talking on the stairwell. Were not strangers, after all. Ten years together isnt nothing.

I hesitated. Letting him into my freshly renovated sanctuary, where his smelly shoes and petty demands had never fit, felt wrong. Yet leaving him out there to linger would be foolish.

Come in, but not for long. I have plans, I warned.

He stepped inside, eyes scanning the bright, minimalistic spacewhite walls, designer furniture, a striking abstract painting. He slipped off his shoes, which were caked in mud, and paused at the immaculate carpet.

Wow, this place is it yours? Do you live alone? he asked.

Alone, I replied.

And I heard you went up the hill. They say youre a director now? Thats a serious title. Your salary must be astronomical, he said, trying to sound impressed.

I walked to the kitchen, not inviting him to follow, yet he trailed behind, plopping down at the table and spreading his hands on the quartz surface.

James, where did you get this information? Are you stalking me? I asked, a little amused.

The citys small, gossip travels fast. Mutual friends mentioned youre now soaring like an eagle. I was genuinely happy for you. Remember how I always said you had potential?

I almost choked on the water I was about to sip.

You kept telling me I was a grey mouse, that my career was just shuffling paperwork, and that I should be grateful a talented man like you lived with me. You called my work office slavery.

Motivation, Emma! I was being reverse psychology. I wanted you to prove me wrong. And lookworks for me, he said with a grin that still felt forced.

He stared at me, waiting for a grateful outburst. I saw not the man I once adored but a pathetic figure trying to latch onto my success.

Tea? I asked, dryly.

Sure, and perhaps a biscuit. Im starving, he replied.

What do you do now? I asked.

Temp driver, honestly. The crypto startup I tried to launch stalledpartners bailed. Im hunting for a new gig. And Nataliemy former partnerleft me. She wanted money, not love. She said I was a failure despite my double degrees. You, Emma, always understood and waited for me.

He reached across the table, attempting to place his hand over mine. I recoiled.

I didnt wait, James. I worked. While you lounged, I took side jobs, studied English at night, endured your jokes. When I earned my first raise, you blew up, accusing me of neglecting you. Then you packed and ran off with Natalie because she seemed light and inspiring.

He slammed his fist on the tabletop, startled by the sound. I was a fool, Emma! Youth blinded me. But the love we had was real. Ive thought of you these three years.

Really? Even when you hauled our old computer and my laptop full of work files out of the flat? I retorted.

Dont bring that up. I needed money to start over Emma, lets start again. Were perfect together. Youre successful now; Ill be the man whos proud of you. Ill stay home, fix the taps, hang the shelves

I laughed, a genuine, ringing laugh. You think I need a handyman? I have an app called ManforanHour. I pay a bloke ten pounds to do a shelf, and he disappears. No need to feed, wash, or listen to his selfproclaimed genius.

His face fell. Youve become cynical. Money has corrupted you. Im offering a family, warmth, and you give me a handyman app?

Im realistic. Youre not offering a family, youre looking for a sponsor. Natalie dumped you, youre broke, and now my former grey mouse has become a director. Bingo! You think a few compliments and a wilted bouquet will get you back in my life.

He tried to protest, but his pocket phone blared. He fumbled, answering on speaker.

Hello? he shouted.

James! Its your mother, Zena. Did you get her? Tell her Ive agreed to cover the loan, that the collectors are breathing down my neck. She needs your help she babbled, demanding he pressurise me.

James turned a shade of crimson, his voice trembling. Mum, Im busy

Dont be lazy! Tell her youll sort the mortgage! Shes waiting for you to be a hero! his mother shrieked.

He finally hung up, staring at me with the guilty look of a schoolboy caught with a cigarette.

Emma, Im desperate. Im in debt, big debts. Natalie left me with loans for a car we crashed. Please, you have the meanshelp me. Ill pay you back someday, he pleaded.

I steadied my breath. Three years ago when you left, I asked you to leave the washing machine. Id just paid for your dental treatment and had no money. You said, Earn it. I owe you nothing. Remember?

He muttered, I know but Im rich now!

The situation hasnt changed. I owe you nothing. Your debts are yours. Your housing problems are your choices.

So youre kicking me out? On the street? he shouted.

You have a car. Drive to your mother. Shell be waiting, judging by the call, I said calmly.

He tried to beg, Dont be a witch! Give me a chance! I can work for youdriver, anything! A director needs a trusted man.

I shook my head. Trust? You betrayed me when I was down. Youre trying to cheat now when Im up. No trust there.

I walked to the entrance and flung the door open.

Leave, James. Take your wilted roses and go. Ill tell the concierge to never let you back in.

He trudged down the corridor, his eyes a mix of hatred and desperation. Youll regret this! Money wont bring you happiness. Youll die alone in your golden cage! Who needs you, old careerchaser? I was the only one who mattered to you

I snapped, Out! My voice rang like steel, the authority of someone who has finally taken command.

He slipped out, almost tripping on the threshold. I slammed the door, turned the lock twice, and leaned against it, eyes closed. I expected tears, sorrow, a flood of guilt. Instead a light, intoxicating wave of triumph rose within me.

I had not given in. I had not let guilt or ghosts steal my present.

Back in the kitchen, the teacup James left sat halffull, the three wilted roses lay in their clear wrap. I tossed the flowers into the bin, shoved the cup into the dishwasher, and wiped the table with a disinfectant wipe, as if erasing his lingering scent.

My phone buzzed. A text from Sarah:

Ready to toast, boss? Bubble bath or champagne?

I smiled and typed back:

Champagne. And sushi. The most expensive. Im celebrating not just the promotion but the final breakup in my mind.

Half an hour later I was lounging on my plush sofa, gazing at the glittering London skyline, marveling at how life works. Sometimes you need a relic from the past to try pulling you back into the mud, and only by pushing it away do you realise your wings are real.

Tomorrow morning, as I entered my new office, I felt like a different person. I greeted the receptionist politely, ran the first team meeting, handed out directives. Later, the secretary, Lucy, popped in, eyes wide.

Emma Whitaker, theres a man shouting that hes your husband, saying its urgent. Security wont let him in, hes causing a scene.

I didnt look away from my screen.

I dont have a husband, Lucy. Have security escort him out. If he resists, call the police.

She nodded and disappeared.

From the hallway came muffled shouts, then silence. I walked to the window. From the tenth floor, the people below looked like ants. I saw a familiar figure in a ragged jacket being led by two guards past the buildings gates. He waved helplessly as the doors closed.

I turned away, back to my work. There are too many tasks, too many plans, and too fascinating a life to waste even a minute on ghosts. I chose myself. And at eightytwo years old, that feels like the most sensible decision of all.