«Tell my husband and mother-in-law that I died…

Emma returned to her flat a month later, after police cleared it. She threw out the bed James and Sophie used, the dishes, the furniture bought with her money. She hired renovators, gutting the place—new walls, floors, doors. She replaced everything tied to James, buying new furniture, appliances, curtains. It was about erasing memories, though she knew it wasn’t enough. Every corner screamed betrayal.

When the renovation finished, she brought home a tiny grey kitten from a shelter, with one green eye, one blue.
«You’re with me now, Felix,» she said, releasing him. «Just you and me. No more traitors.»

Felix sniffed the flat, then curled up on the sofa, at home. Emma sat beside him, feeling a flicker of peace—not happiness, but calm. She sometimes pictured James in his cell, recalling the night he opened the door expecting a neighbour, finding police. It brought no joy, but no pity either.

Margaret sent a letter from prison—rambling, accusatory, yet begging forgiveness. Emma tore it up halfway through. Sophie tried contacting her—calls, visits, notes. Emma didn’t respond. She didn’t blame Sophie but couldn’t face her, too many painful ties.

She resumed work at the architecture firm. Colleagues, shocked by her survival and story, tiptoed around her at first, then normalized. Life slowly rebuilt. Emma took on major projects, earned another promotion. Evenings, Felix greeted her. She saw friends but avoided new relationships—the wound was too raw.

One day, she ran into Mr. Simmons. His face lit up.
«Emma, you good? All recovered?»
«Yes, Mr. Simmons,» she smiled. «Thanks to you.»
«Don’t mention it,» he waved off. «Anyone would’ve done it. Heard the crash, saw your ex and his mum bolt out, twitchy. Looked in, saw you on the floor. Called the ambulance.»
«You saved my life,» Emma said seriously.
«Meant to be,» he said philosophically. «Got a cat now, I see. Nice one?»
«Very,» Emma nodded. «Come for tea sometime, meet him.»
«Will do,» Simmons promised. «But you brewing the tea yourself?»
He winked, and Emma laughed, truly, for the first time in months.

That evening, on her balcony with a self-brewed tea, watching Felix chase a fly, Emma reflected on life’s strangeness—how those closest can betray, while strangers save you; how fragile existence is, how swiftly certainties crumble. Above all, she thought of justice, sometimes arriving in odd packages. Sometimes, a knock at night, asking for salt.