The Longing Hours

He arrived late, again, just like every other night. Liz's heart clenched with a mixture of frustration and longing as she tightly gripped the armchair. Her stocking snagged on a splintered corner of the parquet flooring, causing her to steady herself before resuming her endless pacing in the front room. Back and forth, back and forth she went, each footstep echoing the cheerless ticking of the grandfather clock.

"Where is he?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. She paused, gazing through the bay window into the darkening garden. The gate stood open, waiting for him to return and park outside the front door.

She rolled back the sleeve of her cardigan, checking the time on her watch. It was well past six o'clock, nearly seven. He should have been home by now. Their house was not far from his office, after all.

...tick, step...

...tick, step...

Perched on the arm of the chair, Liz watched as a double-decker bus shuddered to a stop outside, its windows twinkling in the fading light. Her eyes followed the passengers spilling out onto the pavement, disappearing into the darkness.

Everyone seemed in such a hurry to get home, except for him.

This had been going on for weeks now. Countless times, Liz had waited in the shadows, catching a glimpse of his car headlights flashing across the driveway. She would hurriedly enter the kitchen, opening a book and pretending not to notice how late he was.

But tonight, she had hoped—no, she had yearned—for him to come back early. It was their wedding anniversary, a milestone celebrating thirty years of togetherness. Yet, perhaps he had forgotten, or worse, maybe he didn't deem three decades as something worth celebrating.

Liz trudged into the kitchen, blinking as she switched on the harsh overhead fluorescent lights. The candles in the center of the table were extinguished, their flickering warmth replaced by a cold emptiness. She switched off the oven, acknowledging that there was no point in salvaging the stew now. The steak she had prepared would be dry and tasteless. All her efforts had been in vain.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought back the tears welling up inside her. She refused to cry. In all the years they had spent together, she had never questioned his loyalty. But now...

...now, he was never there. Always at work or the gym. And even when he was home, he would lock himself away in his office, consumed by something "important."

In a moment of desperation, she had turned to the internet, searching for signs of infidelity. As she scanned the article, her head nodded in agreement, but by the time she finished reading, her stomach churned with sickness.

Liz collapsed into one of the dining table chairs, staring at her silent phone. Shaking her head, she wondered what she had done wrong to provoke her husband's cold indifference. The only time she saw him animated these days was when he spoke about his personal trainer, Tania, and how she pushed him at the gym. She had even caught him sucking in his stomach and flexing his muscles in front of the bedroom mirror. It would almost be amusing if it weren't happening to her.

Oh, where are you?

Liz snatched up her phone. She had to do it. She had to call Sally, his personal assistant. The call connected after a single ring, leaving her no time to change her mind.

"Sally, hi. It's Liz, Tom's wife..." Her voice wavered, and she coughed to conceal the growing pause.

"Mrs. Bailey? Is everything okay? I mean, I know it's..."

"No, everything's fine. I was just wondering if you've heard anything from Tom. He's late coming back from the conference in Plymouth, and..."

"Plymouth? Tom isn't in..."

"He isn't?... but I thought... Listen, never mind, Sally. It's probably my mistake. I must have misunderstood what Tom told me. Thanks anyway."

She ended the call before Sally had a chance to respond, letting the handset fall onto the table. It spun slightly but remained precariously close to the edge. Liz left it there, dangling.

Why can't you call me for once? Just let me know where you are.

Liz jumped at the sound of the front doorbell, rushing to the hallway with anticipation. "Why don't you use your key?" she muttered as she unlocked the door, swinging it open. "Oh, I thought you were Tom."

"Hi Liz," Isobel said, shuffling from foot to foot, clutching a large brown package. "I think the postman delivered this to the wrong house."

She handed over the envelope, and Liz stared at the typed label on the front. It was addressed to her, a rarity as most mail was always meant for Tom.

"I meant to say," Isobel continued, pausing and biting her lip, "how sorry we were and that we're just next door if you need anything. Anything at all..."

Liz looked up at her neighbor and nodded, her mind racing to understand what they were sorry about.

"Well, I'll be off. I have to pick Sophie up from swimming in half an hour. But remember what I said. We're right next door."

As Isobel walked away, she turned and waved briefly before disappearing into her own driveway. Liz closed the front door but peered through the spy hole, watching as Isobel reversed onto the street and drove off toward the town center.

Maybe you'll cross paths with each other as you head home, Tom.

Liz glanced down at her watch, surprised to find herself still clutching the envelope. She had completely forgotten about it. Leaning against the hallway wall, she tore open the package. A couple of brochures for Peru fell to the floor, accompanied by a handwritten note. As she read the words, Liz sank to the ground and let out a soul-stirring cry.

"Mum? Mum, are you there?"

Liz jolted at the sound of her daughter's voice and the creak of the backdoor. Tom should have fixed that hinge; it made such an awful noise.

"Mum, why are you sitting down there? And where's Aunt Jane?"

Liz stared up at her daughter, her eyes filled with grief, as Emily draped her handbag strap over the newel post and tossed her coat on top. Emily lowered herself to the floor, sitting beside her mother and running her hand through her hair.

Her eyes... they remind me so much of yours.

"Mum, you promised me you wouldn't be alone, not today. I thought Aunt Jane was coming over?"

"She got called into work. They're short-staffed again, and..."

Emily slapped her hand down on the carpet, cutting her off. "But she promised! She promised she wouldn't leave you today... Dad's funeral was just last week."

"I'm fine, Emily. Truly, I am."

"No, Mum, you're not fine. You're..." Emily's voice broke, her body shaking as she buried her face in her hands. "You won't even acknowledge that Dad is gone. You just wander around the house, waiting for him to come home from work, waiting to hear his key turning in the lock, but he's not coming back, Mum. He's gone!"

Liz reached out, taking hold of her daughter's hand and soothingly stroking it with her thumb. "I'm sorry, Emily. I'm so sorry. I feel like I've been so disconnected from everything. I've spent weeks worrying about your dad, about us. He has been so distant and distant. I genuinely thought he was going to leave me. But then I opened this, and it feels like your dad has finally come home. Look."

She passed the letter to her daughter and closed her eyes, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips as tears streamed down her face.

"My dearest Liz. Happy Anniversary! It took me forever to plan this, but I believe thirty years together deserve to be celebrated. I know you've always dreamed of trekking the Inca Trail, so I've booked two tickets for us to fly to Peru in August. Hopefully, all those hours at the gym will pay off, and I'll be fit enough to keep up with you! Here's to us! All my love, Tom."