Before Saying Goodbye

Before we part

Thomas adored his wife Emily. He could not get enough of her. Yet after six years of lawful marriage they had no children. Emily was seven years younger; Thomas wed her just after she turned eighteen, believing there would be plenty of time ahead for a family. He poured all his energy into shaping their home. After refurbishing their flat in London he turned to building a cottage in the Cotswolds, then a gardenhouse, a sauna

He bought countless saplings and exotic plants, planting ten varieties of strawberry. The centerpiece of his flower beds was the chrysanthemum the proverbial cherry on the cake, for Emily was utterly enamoured of that bloom. She often told Thomas, If you wish to be happy all your days, grow chrysanthemums. Thats the wisdom of the East. So Thomas kept acquiring new strains of the flower. Who could refuse happiness?

In October the chrysanthemum claimed its throne. Not without reason it is called the queen of autumn. Lilac, pink and white needleshaped globes of the flower brightened the entire garden. Their numbers were innumerable. Neighbours strolling past would stare, unable to get enough of the splendid chrysanthemums. What a fine couple, they would mutter. Everything flourishes for them.

Thomas never rested. He laboured from dawn to dusk. Emily gladly assisted him around the house; he did not want her to seek work elsewhere, perhaps out of jealousy, perhaps out of a genuine desire to protect her. The husband is the provider, the wife the keeper of the hearth, was Thomass motto.

At first Emily cherished her husbands industrious concern. She tended the home with love, preparing elaborate meals, baking sweet cakes, canning vegetables, simmering berry compotes. When kitchen chores ended she turned to crafts: knitting fashionable pullovers for Thomas, embroidering napkins with beads, even painting pictures. Yet as time passed Emily began to wonder about the future of their small family. What was all this for? She herself needed little; she only longed for Thomass presence.

She imagined a day when Thomas would finish the garden, step back and announce, Well, my dear, I have prepared the soil for us to multiply. Then the ball would be in her court. What would she answer? Im sorry, Tom, but we shall never have heirs. You know my sister is childless too. Thomas loved Emily dearly, but such a barren love was destined to stall. Sooner or later he would leave his faithful wife for a more fruitful partner. The thought settled like a cold stone in Emilys mind.

The weight grew unbearable. Her spirit suffered. She concluded the knot could not be untied without a clean cut. It would be painful, yes, but necessary while they were still young. Let Thomas find another wife and build happiness elsewhere; let Emily meet whatever fate awaited her. Thomas never once reproached Emily, not a word, not a glance.

Workmates hinted at the need for offspring. Rumour, wingless yet swift, circled. At first Thomas joked, Our flat isnt settled yet, then spoke of a country house, finally retorted, Were perfectly fine as just the two of us. There was also a colleague, Claire, who was openly infatuated with Thomas. She never hid her unrequited love, though she dared not break his marriage, deeming it a sin. She smiled sweetly at him, engaged in heartfelt chats, brushed his shoulder in the morning shift, never taking her eyes off him. Thomas paid her no heed; he was married to his beloved and, thank heavens, had no desire for side affairs, especially not at work. Emily knew of Claire, as Thomas teased, and never saw her as a rival.

One evening Thomas returned home to find Emily absent. The stove still held a warm supper, and on the table lay a note. In Emilys neat hand it read: Dearest Tom, forgive me that we never built the family we dreamed of. Live your life without me. Ever yours, Emily. Thomas was stunned. For six years he had devoted himself wholly to their marriage, carrying Emily in his thoughts, seeing only her. He had imagined spending every breath beside his Emily.

What now of his immaculate flat, his tidy cottage, the sweetscented garden? He knew that Emilys departure meant forever. There was no point in searching; the root was set, unbending, though it could bend it would not break. A wife has fled, dropping her slippers as she goes. What did she lack? People live without children. They manage, he mused, sighing heavily. Nothing could be done; life must go on. Thomas withdrew, becoming sullen and silent, unable to picture another woman beside him. He felt his happiness had been exhausted; the world had lost its colour.

Ten years later Thomas was ordered on an urgent work assignment. No tickets were available, so he bought a lastminute fare to South Wales. He ran to catch the departing train, leapt aboard, and, panting, found his compartment.

Good evening, he said to a woman gazing out the window.

She turned. Emily? he blurted, nearly falling into his seat.

Tom? she replied, not recognizing him at first. The two fell into each others arms as if they were longlost kin, standing together in stunned silence. Years had slipped by. Tell me everything, Tom! Hows the family? Children? Emily demanded.

Well family, Thomas stammered, embarrassed. Seven years of marriage. Remember Claire? My wife. We have two daughters. He winced at his own words.

I have a family too, Emily said. A husband and two sons. I dove into that marriage like into water, fleeing from myself. Now life is calm and orderly, Tom. I moved to Manchester when my husband, a senior manager, transferred us there. Im happy. Im sorry, but I cant go back to you.

She confessed, I once stood at your doorstep, wept, then left. Bridges burned, water poured cannot be gathered. Yet I still love you, Tom, with a feeling that makes my skin tingle, that leaves me breathless. You appear in my dreams often.

Thomas replied, Ah, Emily! Life scattered us. Its a pity it turned out this way. If you ever call, Ill come running, crawling, anything!

Will not call, Tom. I wont hurt my husband. Hes good, loves our sons, raises them right. He wished for a daughter, cares for me, calls me his goddess. I respect and cherish him. That may be more than love My husband and our sons are the sanctuary of my soul. Yet tonight I will give you a memory I want to drink your breath, die in your touch, tear my soul apart This fairytale night will be enough for a lifetime, Emily whispered, exhaling with a relieved sigh.

The train neared its destination. Emily brushed herself up, eager to reunite with her family. Thomas, seeing her careful preparations, felt a pang of jealousy, as though she had not spent a sleepless night yearning for a wild love, as though she had not whispered sweetly of pleasure. The station arrived. Emily said a quick goodbye, planted a kiss on Thomass cheek, waved cheerfully at her awaiting family on the platform. A dignified man stood there with two boys, clutching a massive bouquet of white chrysanthemums.

Emily ran to them, embraced her husband and children, turned, met Thomass eyes and whispered, Farewell, my love. Thomas nodded understandingly, stepped slowly out of the carriage, and watched the departing family with a mixture of longing and resigned acceptance. So it ends, he thought. They say you cant hitch happiness to a cart. Time to mind my own affairs and move on.

Nine months later Emily gave birth to a daughter. Her husband was overjoyed at the arrival of their little girl.