The family drifted back into the waking world as strangers.
They seemed perfect: David and Sarah Thompson loved each other with a sincerity that made the whole neighbourhood notice, strolling arminarm through the gardens of their leafy suburb, holding Saturday evening feasts where the whole clan rolled out steaming pork pies and laughed at the ragtag jokes of the children. David was the caring dad, Sarah the gentle mum, and their boy Thomas backed his sister Ethel in every wild scheme. Each night, before the lamps were snuffed, David would slip into the childrens bedroom, sit on the edge of the bed, whisper fairy tales, then dim the light and plant a soft kiss on each forehead. It all felt endless, unbreakable, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
Then, one night, the dream shattered.
David called Sarah in the dead of night, his voice a thin thread. My mother has died. They travelled to a distant cityYork, under a sky that seemed to fold in on itselfto attend the funeral of his grandmother. When they returned, they were no longer the people they had been. No one could say exactly what had happened in those gray corridors of grief, but David emerged instantly altered, as if someone had swapped his very core.
The first fissures appeared as arguments. Sarah tried to speak calmly, coaxing David to stay home, to talk things through. He turned into someone else: the smile vanished, his tone grew sharp, he brushed off her pleas. Chaos settled over the house like a thick fog. The children saw their mothers tears, reached out to comfort her, but the space between them was a gulf they could not cross.
A few months later, David announced he was leaving. He packed a suitcase, withdrew every penny from the joint account, and vanished. At first the family clung to hope that he would return, then the hope ebbed away completely.
On the road, David met a woman far younger than himself in a roadside café near Manchester. She soon announced she was pregnant. It seemed fate was offering a fresh start, a new chapter written in bright ink. But the happiness was brief. The new relationship unraveled faster than it had been stitched together. She left, and David found himself alone again, a hollow echo of the man who had once filled a house with laughter.
He tried to crawl back to his old life, pleading forgiveness to his wife and children, but trust had already slipped through the cracks, irretrievable. New women entered his life, each giving only fleeting relief, each dragging fresh troubles into his wake.
One foggy evening he appeared on the threshold of the Thompson home, insisting he had finally understood his mistake and wanted to reclaim the lost happiness. Sarah, her heart whispering the opposite, believed him once more. David persuaded them to sell their terraced flat, promising to buy a larger, cozier house on the outskirts. The flat was sold, but the £ that should have appeared never did. The deception unfolded quickly, and the familys catastrophe completed its circle.
The remnants of the family were tossed onto the street, hopes crumbling like dry leaves under a cold wind. The parents trust lay shattered beyond repair. The hearth, once warm and beloved, turned to dust, a card castle built on sand.
Repentance rose like a phantom voice in the dream:
Did you ever know my wife, Lydia? The most beautiful womanalways dreamy, quiet, attentive to every creature fluttering around us. We met by chance on the banks of the Thames after a long week of toil, a coincidence the universe hinted at. Perhaps it was destiny, perhaps simply two hearts hearing each other over the roar of wind and water, feeling a kinship they had searched for years.
We spent twentyfive years together, a time filled with joy, warmth, love, and support. I adored our daughter Ethel, cherished our son Tommy. My wife inspired me with her words, her gaze, her voice. Her warmth turned grey days into bright festivals. Even cleaning the flat became a joyous, shared activity, brimming with familial harmony.
One morning my own mother fell gravely ill. She called, begging me to return at once. My world turned upside down. I had always lived by my mothers counsel, as our family creed demanded a son heed his mothers wishes. To defy her felt like losing her respect. So I obeyed, escorting her to her final journey.
We buried her with dignity, and then the abyss began. Returning home, I felt a void I had never known. Life seemed meaningless, directionless. My thoughts scattered like wolves abandoning a pack. Then a young stranger appeared, promising to fill that empty space with warmth and love. We met by accident, yet she captured my heart with passion and tenderness. For the first time I acted on my own desire, ignoring all other voices.
I loved her fiercely, recklessly. The new passion blinded me, making me forget old obligations. I moved in with her, convinced I had found my true purpose, and a child was born, hope revived. Yet the new life proved an illusion. The woman proved unreliable, using me for gain. Loneliness struck again, crushing me harder than before.
One night I awoke with sudden clarity. I realized the huge mistake Id made, losing the dearest treasures of my life. Shame made me dread returning, confessing my failures to my wife and children. Yet the urge to set things right drove me home. I promised to amend, asked forgiveness, vowed a new home in exchange for the old. The sold flat was supposed to be the seed of a fresh, happy beginning. But my dreams shattered against reality. The money dissolved, vanished without a trace. I hadnt even noticed how it slipped away! My honest intent evaporated.
Thus my return ended. The remaining years we lived apart, speaking rarely. Time may heal wounds, but memories linger as a persistent ache in the soul. Perhaps my actions truly destroyed my familys faith in humanity and kindness. Though each person may choose their own road, the consequences of those choices always touch those we love.
Now, looking at old family photographs, I see the great loss I endured. If I could turn back time, I would act differently. I would cherish my mothers wisdom, but also live with my heart, weighing my wifes wishes and my childrens needs. The greatest wealth isnt money or power, but sincere love and the support of those close to us.
I remain a man who made many errors, who has felt deep remorse and seeks to atone for the hurt I caused. I hope one day my children will forgive me, understanding why I acted as I did, feeling the depth of my daily regret. For admission of guilt is the first step toward healing broken hearts.
