The Shadow of Autumn Rain
Manchester drowned in a cold November downpour. The city lay shrouded beneath a grey veil, the relentless drumming of rain on rooftops wrenching Eleanor from her restless sleep. Outside, darkness clung stubbornly, though the clock neared seven. She lay still, watching blurred shapes of houses and trees struggle through the watery haze. How could she send her daughter to school in this? Especially since Emily had been coughing just two days ago.
“Freezing…” Eleanor murmured, curling tighter beneath the quilt.
The habit of sharing morning thoughts with her husband lingered, though Daniel had left three months ago. The flat was icy—central heating hadn’t kicked in yet. She dragged the covers to her chin, willing sleep back, but it wouldn’t come. Guilt gnawed at her: time to wake Emily. With a sigh, she rose, flicked the kettle on, and moved to the kitchen. The fridge was nearly bare—appetite had abandoned her recently, so she bought only essentials. She spread jam on toast, roused Emily, bundled her into a thick coat, and shut the door behind her. Then she hunted for her favourite scarf—the one with the willow branch pattern—but gave up and retreated under the duvet.
The rain amplified the loneliness already eating at her. Three months since Daniel walked out. At first, they met for divorce papers, then even that stopped. He sent money for Emily, called her, took her out. But Eleanor avoided speaking to him directly. She pretended all was fine: new haircut, smiles at work, jokes with colleagues. Inside, everything screamed otherwise.
She’d nearly purged his belongings—souvenirs from their trips, his cologne, that “World’s Best Dad” mug. But removing them hurt in a way that felt perversely comforting. Pitying herself offered bitter solace. Every attempt to tidy led to another relic: a wooden charm bought in York, back when they’d wandered the city laughing and dreaming; the headphones he’d gifted her last Mother’s Day. “Women love with their ears,” he’d joked. “No diamonds, so here’s something to keep yours happy.”
His scent haunted her. Clothes, pillows, even her own skin held traces of his aftershave. In those moments, she slipped into memory—their family, their plans, their joy. But the smell faded, and reality crashed back. No family. No future. Just routine: home, work, Emily.
She avoided friends—the same ones she and Daniel had shared. Facing them alone meant questions, pitiful glances, phrases like, “You two were perfect together.” She knew exactly how perfect they’d been. Past tense.
She was certain: Daniel had someone else. That was why everything collapsed. Five years ago, he’d taken a job on an oil rig. It saved them—paid off the mortgage, bought a new car. But it also stole him. She still remembered the call. An unknown woman, a “well-wisher,” announced, “Your husband’s been cheating.” Daniel hadn’t denied it. Sat on the sofa, face in his hands, silent. Then left for his parents’.
He returned the next day while Emily was at school.
“Ellie, I can’t do without you and Emily,” he’d whispered. “It was a mistake. Let’s start over. Please?”
“No, Daniel,” she’d replied, voice steady. “We promised honesty. You broke that. Go.”
No shouting, no scene—just quiet finality. He explained things to Emily, moved his belongings out, and left for another rig. Probably to her—the one he’d left them for. Eleanor refused to know more. The well-wisher kept calling, eager to share details, but Eleanor blocked her. The truth was enough.
Four months of forcing herself forward, proving she could manage. She never asked about Daniel. Surely he was happy with his new love. But his parents surprised her. Especially his father, Geoffrey. When shy, nervous Eleanor first met them, he’d embraced her instantly—gave her small tasks, cracked jokes, drew her into family chatter. She suspected he’d told his wife not to beg for their son’s forgiveness. They respected her choice, treated her and Emily no differently.
Now, as Manchester dissolved into rain, the doorbell rang. Wrapped in her dressing gown, Eleanor opened it. Geoffrey stood there.
“Morning, love,” he smiled.
“Hello,” she flustered. “Come in. I’ll put the kettle on.”
“Don’t fuss. Sit.” He guided her gently. “Need to tell you something.”
She obeyed, unease coiling inside. Geoffrey rarely spoke so gravely.
“When Danny—Daniel—was five, Nina and I split,” he began. “We’re together now, remarried even. But back then, I left. Fell for a lass at work—lovely girl, hair down to her waist. Thought that was it. Walked out. But I couldn’t live without my family. And Daniel… he can’t live without you. There’s no other woman. He quit that job, came home to us. But he’s not living—just existing. Walks past your window every night. And Ellie… your scarf’s in his pocket. Saw him with it—nearly broke me. He loves you. Suffers. Nina’s beside herself, scared he’ll drown in drink…”
Geoffrey paused, sipped tea, visibly drained. Not one to meddle, but this was his son.
“Right, I’ll go,” he said, standing. “Your choice. Forgiving betrayal… near impossible. But sometimes a man learns from his mistakes. Guards what he’s got now like treasure. Daniel will. Sorry for interfering. And… don’t mention this visit, eh?”
Eleanor nodded. He left, and she collapsed onto the sofa, heart splintering. Forgive betrayal? How? Once a cheat, always a cheat. Or not? The more she thought, the more tangled it became. Living with him again seemed unthinkable. Yet the pain without him was unbearable.
Late that evening, returning from work, exhaustion pinned her down. Rain lashed harder, as if the sky blamed them all. She changed, helped Emily with homework—usually a struggle, but tonight Eleanor kept slipping.
“Mum, what’s wrong?” Emily frowned.
“Need some air.”
“You’re joking! It’s pouring!”
“I’ll take an umbrella.”
By the playground, beneath an old oak, a man stood. Soaked, pressed against the trunk, oblivious to the downpour. A silk scarf—willow-patterned—clutched in his fist. His car idled nearby, yet he remained, as if punishing himself with the chill.
“Daniel!” Eleanor called.
He startled, certain he’d imagined it.
“Daniel!”
He turned. There she stood, drenched, umbrella in hand. Every rehearsed word fled.
“Dan, come home,” she said softly. “You’ll catch your death out here.”
“I… just brought your scarf. Got mixed up with my things.”
“My scarf? Glad it’s safe.” She met his eyes. “I’ve decided, Daniel. Let’s try again.”
He didn’t know how to apologise, but his gaze said enough. Warmth flooded her chest.
“I love you, Ellie. And Emily. Thank you,” he whispered.
Let the scarf bind them anew. Let the autumn rain wash away the hurt, leaving room for hope.
