The past is called so because it’s passed.
«Go and finally settle this disputed matter with our partners,» said the director, slightly irritated. «I’ve already spoken with their team, so they’re expecting you. Leave tomorrow morning—don’t forget the documents. I’m counting on you,» he added firmly.
«Understood, it’ll be sorted. I’ll take the car,» replied Geoffrey.
Geoffrey worked in a role that required frequent business trips. He enjoyed it—new faces, different towns, interesting conversations. His job was straightforward, predictable. Trips were always planned, never rushed or chaotic. The routine was familiar: drive or fly, meetings, a hotel, a meal, then home again.
His wife, Emily, had long grown used to his travels. Every week or so, Geoffrey would set off, sometimes to bustling cities, sometimes quiet market towns.
«Emily, I’m off on business tomorrow,» he told her when he got home.
«Oh? Long trip or the usual?» she asked—always the same question.
«Just the usual,» he smiled, pulling her close and kissing her cheek.
His travel bag was always packed. Emily made sure of that. He trusted her completely—just tucked in his documents and left, knowing everything he needed was there.
They’d been married twelve years, raising their son, Oliver, who was in school and played football. This was Geoffrey’s second marriage, and a happy one. He adored Oliver—bright, well-behaved, a good student, kind and organised.
With his mates—whether over a pint, fishing, or at the cottage—Geoffrey always spoke warmly of Emily.
«I’m lucky to have a woman who makes home feel like home. I trust her completely, and she trusts me.»
«Lucky sod,» some would mutter, envy in their voices—not all of them had the same fortune. A few, like him, were on second marriages. His closest friend, James, was on his fourth.
Early the next morning, Geoffrey woke to the smell of frying pancakes.
«She’s up already, making breakfast… I’m a lucky man,» he thought, smiling to himself. «Better not jinx it.» He stretched and got up. «Best leave early.»
«Morning, my lovely housekeeper,» he said, grinning before disappearing into the bathroom.
Freshly shaved and cheerful, he sat at the table.
«You know exactly how to feed me—my favourite pancakes.»
«Of course,» Emily laughed, sipping her coffee. «I want you back as soon as possible.»
They both chuckled. Then Emily added,
«Oh, Geoff—Oliver’s got that big match today. A team from out of town’s coming. He says they’ll fight tooth and nail for the trophy.»
«Really? Didn’t realise. I’ll call him later to see how it went.» Oliver was still asleep.
After breakfast, Geoffrey grabbed his travel bag and briefcase, tucked the documents under his arm, kissed Emily goodbye, and left in high spirits. A four-hour drive lay ahead.
The motorway was quiet, the early September air still warm. Yellow leaves danced in the wind, some sticking to the windscreen before whirling away. Geoffrey drove steadily—no reckless speeding, not at his age. His mind wandered to the upcoming meeting.
Business trips often brought unexpected encounters. He had friends all over the country, some he still kept in touch with online.
The meeting went smoothly. After, he decided to grab dinner before heading home—late, but he didn’t mind. He preferred night driving, the roads quieter. He chose a familiar, unassuming café on a side street, avoiding noisy crowds.
Parking, he glanced up—dark clouds loomed, distant thunder rumbling.
«A September storm? Rare,» he mused, stepping inside.
He took a seat by the window. The waiter took his order. Outside, lightning flashed, thunder muffled by the walls.
Then the door swung open—rain and thunder louder now—and a woman stepped in. Geoffrey would’ve recognised her anywhere.
Eleanor. His ex-wife, once worshipped, then despised. Just as striking as ever.
Their marriage had been chaos. He’d left her, returned, left again. Five years—not long to some, but an eternity to him. Love that had worn him out. Then, finally, he’d cut ties. Tired of her jealousy, her infidelity.
After Eleanor, he’d met Emily—steady, clear, everything Eleanor wasn’t. He hadn’t seen Eleanor since.
«Of all places,» he thought. «Miles from home. What’s she doing here?»
Eleanor glanced around. The waiter seated her nearby. She unbuttoned her light jacket—same proud poise, same chestnut curls.
Geoffrey hesitated. Leave? But the storm… Stay? Then she spotted him.
«Geoffrey! Can’t believe it! What brings you here? Fate, surely.»
He forced a polite smile. «Hello. Yes, it’s me.»
«I’m joining you,» she declared, sliding into his booth.
The rain hammered on. The waiter took her order, apologising for the delay.
Eleanor wiped her hands with a tissue. «So, how are you?»
«Great. And you?» She didn’t answer, chattering away, but he wasn’t listening.
He remembered their first meeting. She’d worked in a branch office—they’d spoken on the phone but never met until a company gala.
They’d clicked instantly. Ended up at the same hotel, talking all night in his room. By dawn, he was smitten.
The next day, they visited a gallery, then a café. That night, sleep was forgotten for different reasons.
«I drove here,» he told her then. «So we can head back together. No arguments.»
«None from me,» she’d beamed.
They dated, moved in, married. At first, bliss. Then—the phone calls. Flirting with clients.
«Why do you flirt with them?» he’d snapped once.
«It’s part of the job,» she’d shrugged.
Once, returning early from a trip, he found her gone. She stumbled in at dawn, reeking of booze.
«You’re back early?» she’d slurred.
«I wanted to surprise you. Where were you?»
She’d dodged the question. Months later, he caught her with another man. She hadn’t even bothered lying.
«Geoffrey?» Eleanor’s voice snapped him back. She leaned closer. «Come back to mine after this. I live here now—sales director. We could relive old times…»
He studied her. Still beautiful, but it stirred nothing in him. No longing, no bitterness. Just… nothing.
«No, Eleanor. Absolutely not.»
The waiter arrived with their food. Geoffrey excused himself.
«I need to make a call,» he said, stepping outside.
Suddenly, he ached to hear Emily’s voice.
«Hello, love,» she answered, warm as ever. «I’ll be waiting, no matter how late.»
«I’ll be back soon. Just having dinner. See you soon.»
They ate mostly in silence. Eleanor prattled; he barely listened, pushing food around his plate.
«Guess they say ‘give dinner to your enemy’ for a reason,» he said finally. «Thanks for the company.»
He stood, bid her a curt goodbye, and left her bewildered.
Back in the car, he sped home—where he belonged, where Emily and Oliver waited. He’d already called Oliver, heard his excited shouts about winning the match.
Some ghosts belong in the past. And the past stays there for a reason.
