**Home is Where the Heart Is**
Nearly a year had passed since Abigail returned to her hometown in the Cotswolds after her divorce from her husband, Edward. The journey back had been filled with dreadshe knew the questions would come.
*Why did you come back for good? Wheres Edward?*
And they did. Every old acquaintance asked the same things, their curiosity thinly veiled as concern.
Abigail and Edward had left for London after schoolshe to study medicine at Kings College, he to engineering at Imperial. Both got in, and the joy had been overwhelming. Theyd been together since sixth form, the kind of couple people whispered about.
*Perfect for each other. Like something out of a film.*
They understood each other without words, their love weathering the distance between campuses. By their final year, they married, renting a flat in Chelsea while Edward worked odd jobs to make ends meet.
Three years after graduationsteady jobs, decent salariesAbigail broached the subject of children.
*Ed, dont you think its time? Were settled now.*
*Too soon. No house, no stability.*
*But London prices are ridiculous! By the time we afford one, itll be too late.*
*I said no. I cant stand kids. The noise, the messno.*
Her breath caught. *Youre saying well never have children?*
*Exactly.*
The confession shattered her. How could a man from a family of four siblings feel this way? That night, the rift between them yawned wide.
Five years in, the argument came to a head.
*Abigail, I wont repeat myself. If you want a child, raise it alone.*
Something in his voicecold, resentfulmade her realise the love was gone.
*I understand. And I see now we want different lives.*
*Finally, she gets it,* he sneered.
The next morning, she resigned, packed her things, and left for her parents cottage in Gloucestershire. The divorce was swift. Now, she was freea paediatrician at the local clinic, surrounded by familiar faces and rolling hills instead of smog and skyscrapers.
But not everyone welcomed her back.
*Couldnt hack it in London, could you?* Lydia, an old schoolmate, smirked. *Edward never loved you like he shouldve. Pity. Id have made him happy.*
Abigail walked away without a word.
Her parents home was peacefula two-storey stone house with a view of the River Windrush. Each morning, shed gaze out at the mist rising over the water and think, *This is beauty. Not concrete and noise.*
Her mother fussed over breakfast while her father ran a small construction business. Comfortable. Simple.
Then came the invitation.
*Ill be late after work,* she told them one morning. *Oliver Whitmore asked me to dinner.*
Her father frowned. *That MP? Three divorces, all style and no substance. I dont like it.*
*Dad, Im not a child. I promised Id go.*
That evening, Oliver waited outside the clinic with an ostentatious bouquet.
*Abigail, darling!* He ushered her into his Jaguar with theatrical flair.
The restaurant was all candlelight and silverware, but it was his mansion that stunned hertasteful, grand, nothing like the garish excess shed expected.
*Hired a designer from Edinburgh,* he boasted, guiding her through marble halls. *Took two years to perfect.*
By the fire, he poured champagne, his gaze lingering.
*Tell me about yourself,* he urged.
*Whats to tell? I worked in London, divorced a man who hated children, and came home. Theres a sayinghome is where the heart is. Turns out, mine was here all along.*
Oliver chuckled. *Three wives, three mistakes. Women only see my bank account.*
His hand brushed hers. She stiffened.
Thensalvation. Her phone rang.
*Abigail, its Sarah next door. Jacks fever wont breakhelp!*
Oliver scowled as she stood. *Cant even relax after work.*
*Call me a taxi.*
In the cab, she exhaled. *Never again.*
Her mother met her at the door, relief in her eyes. *Back so soon?*
*Olivers exactly what you thought,* Abigail said flatly.
Weeks passed. Oliver called, but she brushed him off. Then, one afternoon, a familiar voice echoed in the clinic.
*Hello?*
She looked upinto hazel eyes she hadnt seen in years.
*Thomas!*
He held his three-year-old son, Alfie, flushed with fever.
*No one to watch him. His mum lefttwo years ago.*
She examined the boy, prescribed medicine, then hesitated.
*Your number?* she asked. *To check on him.*
Thomas smiled. *Id like that.*
They talked. Reconnected. And before long, Abigail realised fate had brought her back for a reason.
*Was it worth leaving?* her mother asked, bouncing baby Theo on her knee.
*Every second.* She grinned, watching Thomas play with Alfie in the garden. *Three men in my life now. Who could ask for more?*
