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A sleepy row of shops sits above the pebbled shoreline, with Brenda’s Café nestled between the pharmacy and the DIY shop. Far enough from the tourist traps to stay quiet, but close enough to the sea that the windows fog with salt in winter.

It always smells like melted butter and warm sugar, and there’s usually a stack of handwritten specials on the notice board by the door. It’s nothing fancy, but Brenda’s a saint who knows my order before I sit down.

She’s been here for as long as I can remember. Gave me my first job when I was eighteen, a sleep-deprived mum trying to keep my head above water.

On the days my parents couldn’t help—and there were plenty—Mia would nap in her pram, tucked beside the café counter, bundled in blankets, no matter the season. Her dad wasn’t around much in the early days, and I learned pretty quickly that I couldn’t rely on him.

So I brought her with me. Because I had to.

Brenda would fuss over Mia like she was her own. Rocking the pram with one hand and flipping pancakes with the other, somehow managing to do both without ever burning anything.

I don’t think she ever meant to become family. But somewhere between the crumpled baby wipes, and too many pots of coffee—she just did.

Naomi’s already at our usual table by the window, stirring her coffee like she’s in the opening scene of a perfume advert.

She wears her sunglasses indoors, and she’s piled her dark curls—rich against her deep brown skin—into a messy bun.

She’s chaos and charisma wrapped in gym clothes and last night’s eyeliner.

We’ve been inseparable since high school.

The kind of friendship that survives bad haircuts, worse boyfriends, and the general horror of being a teenage girl.

While I was doing bottle feeds and nappy changes, Naomi was off chasing her dream of being the next big soap star—a dream that lasted as long as her patience.

Then, while I was resitting my A-levels, she bounced through a bunch of odd jobs before landing beside me in the first lecture of nursing school.

Like the universe had planned it that way all along.

Some people find their soulmates in romantic partners. I found mine in the girl who punched a boy in the ribs for calling me a milk machine during lunch break.

“Hello, eye bags,” she says as I sink into the chair opposite her.

“If I fall asleep mid-conversation, just roll me into the recovery position and throw a croissant in my bag.”

She grins and slides one across the table. “Already sorted. Salted caramel lattes on the way, too. You’re welcome.”

She sips her coffee and watches me over the rim. “Tonight, right?”

“Same time, same place.”

Naomi lets out a low laugh. “God, we are living the dream , girl.”

“If the dream is running on fumes, then yeah. We’ve definitely peaked.”

She cocks her head and narrows her eyes at me in the way she always does when shit’s about to get serious. “You okay?”

“Same shit, different day.” I shrug, tearing off a piece of croissant.

She doesn’t even blink. “David wasn’t up?”

“How’d you guess?”

“How many times have we had the exact same conversation?”

There's a pause. Just long enough to be heavier than it should be. But she’s right.

“You need to say something,” she says, voice low but steady.

Stirring my just-arrived latte, I sigh as if it might offer a solution. “If I push, it turns into an argument. And honestly, I don’t have the energy for that on top of everything else.”

Naomi frowns. “It’s not about an argument. It’s about being fair. You’re working double shifts, raising Mia, studying, and he’s what?”

“He’s not a bad person, Nay.” I snap, more than I mean to.

“I didn’t say he was, Ellie” she replies.

I look down at the croissant in my hands, suddenly less hungry than I was five minutes ago. “I’m just tired. That’s all. And he’s always working, too. It’s just a lot right now—for both of us.”

Naomi watches me for a long moment, eyes steady. “When was the last time you felt held though, Ellie? Properly held. Supported . You keep doing everything on your own like that’s how it’s supposed to be. But where’s the person who’s meant to meet you halfway?”

“That’s not fair,” I confide, suddenly aware of the sting behind my eyes.

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s easier to pretend you don’t need more than you’ve got.”

I glance down at the torn pieces of croissant on my plate. She doesn’t push. Just reaches over and taps the back of my hand. Her voice softer now.

“I’m just saying. You deserve someone who looks after you , too.”

I nod, and then we fall quiet. Not the awkward kind, but the kind that exists between people who’ve known each other long enough to not have to fill the silence. Naomi never rushes me, she just places the truth gently in my lap with no pressure to pick it up until I’m ready.

The café hums around us now. Cups clinking, the hiss of steaming milk, bursts of laughter by the counter—but Naomi’s words land and lodge deep. When was the last time I felt held? I rake through my memory, looking for something, anything.

Blank.

Maybe that’s the answer right there. I take a sip of my latte—it’s already gone cold, but I drink it anyway.

The drive home is a blur. Hands on the wheel, brain somewhere else entirely.

A few minutes in to the drive, I flick the radio on—more out of habit than anything else.

Static fuzzes for a beat before a voice breaks through, warm and easy.

Some local host chatting about weather fronts and village fêtes.

I let it play in the background, winding through the lanes with the windows cracked just enough for the breeze to stir my hair.

Then: “Next up, a brand new track from Midnight Reverie—these lads have been making waves on the indie circuit, and if you haven’t heard this one yet, you’re in for a treat.”

I freeze, fingers tightening instinctively on the steering wheel.

And then I hear it. That opening riff. A slow build. And his voice.

Kieran.

Smooth, low, unmistakable.

It catches something in my chest and suddenly, I’m not in the car anymore.

I was twenty-five again, standing in a field of strangers, soaked to the skin. Rain poured in sheets, thunder rolling somewhere beyond the hills—but we were laughing, wild and breathless and full of something that felt too big for the moment.

He’d grabbed my hand without hesitation, weaving us through the pulsing crowd, slipping and sliding in the mud.

We’d bundled into my tent, dripping and flushed, steam rising from our clothes as we sat cross-legged on crumpled sleeping bags, talking for hours. About nothing. About everything.

There was one moment where he looked at me like he saw straight through my armour. I’d never felt so known. So… seen.

I blink, the present snapping back around me like elastic.

The lane ahead narrows, trees crowding close.

“What the fuck was that?” I hiss to myself.

I don’t even know the last time I let myself think about Kieran Hayes.

And I’m not about to start now.

I crank the volume down and shove the memory back where it belongs. Lodged deep. Out of reach.

I get a sense of déjà vu as I step back into the house and kick off my shoes—the tile cool beneath my feet. The silence slams into me, and even my breathing feels intrusive, every inhale echoing louder than it should.

I move on autopilot—keys in the bowl, bag on the hallway table, and climb the stairs. I step over the laundry basket that’s officially graduated from to-do to permanent hallway fixture and give it a resigned nod on the way past.

Shadows stretch across the bedroom, curtains still pulled tight, holding the daylight at bay. You know those blackout ones that shut everything out? Best fifty quid I’ve ever spent.

The duvet on David’s side is crumpled and shoved halfway down. His phone charger’s still plugged in, tangled around the empty pillow like he’d left in a rush. But there’s no sign of him now.

I sit on the edge of the bed and run a hand over my face.

My body is screaming for sleep, but my brain won’t get the memo.

It’s still ticking over. Mia’s tired eyes, Naomi’s voice ringing in my head, the song on the radio, that half-finished assignment, and the pharmacology exam I should really start revising for.

Then my phone buzzes.

David

Sorry about earlier babe. I love you, you know that? x

I stare at it for a long moment as I twist my engagement ring around my finger, the metal cool against my skin. I don’t doubt that he loves me. But sometimes it needs more than just words—love is in the doing . In the remembering. In the boring, everyday things.

Love gets Mia out of bed in the morning. It makes sure there’s milk in the fridge, toothpaste in the drawer, and enough energy left over to ask how my shift went. Even if the answer is just, I don’t want to talk about it.

I don’t need grand gestures. I don’t need fireworks, candlelit dinners, or a trail of rose petals leading to the fucking dishwasher.

I just want closeness. The kind that wraps around you and stays .

I want to be known fully, gently, without condition.

I want a love that feels like breathing, not suffocating. A partnership, not a performance.

I used to think we were building that. That it would grow in the in-between moments. Tired laughs, brushed shoulders, shared glances across messy rooms.

But now it just feels like I’m clinging to a version of us that only ever lived in my head. I don’t know when things shifted, or when the warmth dulled into habit. When I stopped expecting to be held and started feeling selfish for even wanting it.

Still. I don’t want a fight. Not today.

Don’t worry. I love you too

It’s automatic, a reply I’ve sent a hundred times before. Short, soft, and non-confrontational. I know what he needs to hear, and I’m too tired to serve up anything else.

I tuck my phone under the pillow, crawl beneath the sheets, and let the quiet press around me.

My eyes close, but sleep doesn’t follow. I lie there, staring up at the familiar outline of the ceiling, and wonder if this is what love is supposed to feel like.

Because if it is… when did it start to feel so lonely?