Unfinished

On paper, Samantha’s relationship made perfect sense. David came from a good family, shared her values, and held a respectable job. He was the kind of man any mother would approve of, and hers certainly did. In him, her mother saw tradition, stability, and the kind of life she had always envisioned for her daughter; one that was predictable, respectable, and safe.

Yet, Samantha felt stifled. There was something unyielding in David, with a firmness that resisted change. He held tight to old-fashioned roles, ones that had no space for the woman Samantha was growing into. Every time Samantha attempted to gently push the boundaries he had established around her, she encountered silence and defensiveness instead of understanding. Though she longed to leave, she also feared the heartbreak, the guilt, and the weight of disappointing everyone who had already sketched out the future they believed she deserved.

Then someone else stepped into the frame.

Matthew arrived quietly, like fresh air after a room had been sealed too long. At a time when she was still gathering the strength to walk away from David, Matthew’s presence awakened something dormant. He saw her with a gaze that made her feel known and spoke to her with a softness that felt like a reprieve. There was confidence in his manner, and a magnetic kind of charm that drew others in. Samantha felt a sense of rescue and it didn’t take long for their connection to shift into a meaningful bond. What began as glances and late-night conversations quietly deepened into something sudden and undeniable. She was once in a relationship that was visible, respected, and predictable. Now, she had the strength to walk away from it and into one wrapped in excitement, secrecy, and thrill. It was private, passionate, and filled with possibility.

Samantha didn’t question the happiness she felt. For the first time in a long while, she realised she could face the disappointment of others for trading in her seemingly blissful life for one with this stranger. Matthew’s world felt expansive, full of energy and unpredictability. He worked in a field that fascinated her, surrounded by people, by stories, by movement, and always – though she tried not to notice – by women. Still, Samantha felt a sense of something she hadn’t known before – being desired. Chosen. When her mother voiced concern, it only seemed to make the pull stronger.

Within months, cracks began to show. Matthew started stepping away to take calls and silencing his phone when she was near. Missed calls. Half-answers. Dodged questions.

The truth didn’t arrive abruptly. The truth quietly and persistently infiltrated, akin to fog drifting in from the sea. One name surfaced again and again, the one he had casually referred to as an ex. However, Michelle was not in his past at all. She was still very much present and without realising it, Samantha had walked into someone else’s story.

Samantha never confronted Matthew directly. She suspected that he had convinced himself it was over with Michelle without ever ending it. She waited for him to reveal what she already knew, but he would never come clean. She began to withdraw quietly. She pulled back, made excuses, and created space. He didn’t stop her, but he called constantly and obsessively, wanting to know where she was and what she was doing. Did he want her in his life, or did he want to make sure she was not finding out? She kept up the performance, unsure of how to exit something that had once felt like salvation. It became a cruel act, one she thought she could control. In truth, she was only postponing the inevitable.

The breaking point arrived during a weekend trip with friends. Matthew had joined them, though his presence felt disconnected from the start. He had almost missed the flight and left halfway through the trip, claiming there was something “urgent” he had to attend to back home. Samantha drove him to the airport, and as they walked through the terminal, her voice was low and sharp, “By the time you get back, Michelle will know everything.” As she looked at him, his face full of betrayal, she realised that even then, he wasn’t going to speak the truth. She turned and walked away without waiting for a response.

The calls began soon after she left the airport. They were frantic and nonstop and she ignored them for five days. When Samantha finally answered, Matthew’s voice quivered with panic, half-truths, excuses, and a desperation to rewrite the story. He claimed it wasn’t what it seemed, that Michelle wouldn’t let go, and he hadn’t meant to cause harm.

Samantha listened, calm and eerily composed. Somewhere within, she had resigned herself to this chaos. She didn’t yell and didn’t accuse. A part of her still felt grateful to him for being there when she was falling apart, and for making her feel seen again, even if it wasn’t real.

What she hadn’t realised yet was that she was holding onto a belief she would later have to unlearn; that being rescued is not the same as being loved. The love she deserved would never arrive with confusion or conditions. It needed space, trust, and consistency, and Matthew could not offer her that. She decided she would end it quietly, without spectacle or venom, just closure.

Staying soft in the face of betrayal was one of the hardest things Samantha had ever done, especially because he never really apologised. Not in a way that mattered.

Their last conversation happened over the phone. Samantha stood on her sister’s veranda still in her black work suit, leaning into the quiet dusk as the sun slipped behind the hills. A thought crossed her mind like a whisper: he saved me, then he destroyed me, and worse, he had humiliated me. The sting of abandoning one person only to be abandoned in turn cut deeply. It felt like penance.

Samantha severed the bond. She vowed that unless fate forced them into rooms where they had to work together again, they would not speak. She knew their paths would cross again, and when it eventually did, Samantha felt numb. Yet, the absence of an apology lingered like a bruise that had never fully healed.

Their circles continued to overlap over the years. He greeted her warmly, called her a friend, and slipped easily into familiarity. Those who knew the truth said nothing. They understood the betrayal. They knew she had been deceived. They knew he had never confessed. No one said a word. Samantha didn’t blame them, but she became more guarded. She began trusting her gut. She honoured the voice she had silenced for far too long.

Still, there was something unspoken, and others saw it too. It was evident in the way they looked at each other, the ease in their conversation, and the tension just beneath the surface. Someone once told her that every time she was with Matthew, it felt like watching a story that hadn’t quite finished. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe, in some small way, it never would.

She often wondered if he had been torn, if he had felt duty-bound to someone else. Beneath those questions was the ache of a deeper truth – maybe she simply wasn’t someone he saw a future with. That realisation hurt more than anything else, until one day she realised that the pain no longer came from him but rather from her own refusal to let go, and then she understood it was time to move on.

Eleven years passed.

Now, Samantha is married to a man who is kind and steady, whose love requires no performance. Her husband knows of Matthew and that she occasionally meets him at events and in meetings, and they’ve even exchanged polite greetings. But the full story remains hers alone.

Then life placed them side by side once more.

They were assigned to the same project. It had been years, but the rhythm between them fell into place with little effort. Meetings blurred into planning sessions that rolled into after-hours conversations. There was no flirtation, no boundary crossed, just an ease that felt like something remembered rather than relearnt. Matthew had a new partner and a daughter now. Samantha had her life and her own joy. Still, something stirred beneath the surface. The feeling was familiar, yet not threatening. It was tender, but not active.

On the final evening of the event, after the guests had left and the space had grown quiet, they found themselves alone, standing near the edge of the dining hall looking at the décor as it came down. Their conversation was light with shared jokes, memories of colleagues, and stories from their respective lives. Then he paused. It was not the kind of pause that leads into silence but the kind that gathers weight.

He turned to her, his eyes searching hers. “I think about you more than I should,” he said, almost under his breath.
Samantha looked away, unsure of what to offer in return. The air between them changed, slow and thick with everything unspoken.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you.” His voice was quiet but steady. “I should’ve said that a long time ago. I didn’t know how. I hope you know I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

Samantha froze. She had imagined this moment countless times before, but it had always existed in the realm of fantasy, not reality. It was the apology, the confession, and the acknowledgement of everything he never gave her. Now, it sat there between them, small and sacred.

She didn’t want him to see just how much she longed for this moment. She wasn’t that girl anymore, the one who had waited for an explanation, a gesture, and a reason. That part of her had long since healed.

“It’s in the past,” she whispered.
He nodded slowly. “I just needed you to know. I never forgot. Any of it.”

They stood there for a minute longer before parting. Not lovers. Not strangers. They were just two people who had once collided and left pieces of themselves behind.

That night, Samantha was lost in memories. She ran her fingers over it like a stone she had carried too long in her pocket. It didn’t change the past, but maybe he had changed. Maybe fatherhood had softened something in him. Or maybe it was the way they held each other’s gaze during the group photo the night before for just a second too long. It didn’t rewrite the ending, but it had triggered something. It wasn’t because the words had power anymore, but it was because she had outgrown the need for them.

They would retreat to their private lives and continue living with the weight of what could have been.

A few months later, Samantha became pregnant. At a meeting, Matthew noticed her growing belly and his expression was one she couldn’t quite decipher – surprise, maybe, or something quieter. It wasn’t anger, and it didn’t feel like jealousy. It felt more like a pause, like something inside him gave way for a second. It was as if her pregnancy reminded him that time had moved forward and that her life had taken shape in ways he had never considered for her. Perhaps it made real what had only lingered as a distant thought – that she was truly building a future without him. That quiet realization seemed to catch him off guard, and for a brief moment, it showed. He immediately left the room. Moments later, she received a message.
“I didn’t know you were pregnant. How come you didn’t tell me? Anyway…congratulations.”

This was unsettling to Samantha, but true to form, and she could no longer afford to spend her time reading between the lines. Her reply was an immediate, “Thank you.”

Now, they remain cordial. Their conversations are brief and usually about their daughters. They uphold their boundaries and preserve their distance.

Still, every time they meet, something stirs. Not longing. Not hope. Just a flicker – an echo of the unfinished.

Samantha may never know what it is, but she’s accepted that not everyone who saves you is meant to stay and just because someone saves you from drowning doesn’t mean they’re meant to walk with you on dry land.

Samantha had spent years looking for a saviour, but what she truly needed was healing. That healing did not come from Matthew; instead, it emerged from within her when she chose peace over chaos, clarity over confusion, and truth over illusion. She no longer carries the memory of him, or the apology that came too late – just the quiet lesson he left behind.