Written in the Stars by Ali Harris Page A

shard of early morning sunshine pierces my eyes. I peer out of the spare-bedroom window – a room that used to be mine when Milly and I lived together – at the view of Greenwich Park, waiting until I hear the front door slam and I know that Milly and Jay have gone to work. I look at the pom-poms of blossom, the bright coats of spring leaves, and spot the Royal Observatory, just visible over the tops of the trees, up on the hill. I feel like I can almost see the famous Shepherd Gate twenty-four-hour clock. Part of me believes that the Observatory’s time ball dropped the moment I ran away from my wedding, and since then I’m sure the hands have been slowly going into reverse, sending my life the same way.
    Sighing, I lift my laptop from the floor, hop onto the bed and click open Facebook, typing Adam’s name into the search box. My heart constricts as his face appears on my screen. It’s a picture from Campaign when he first joined Hudson & Grey as Account Director five years ago. He’s wearing a charcoal-grey suit and a crisp white shirt with the top button open and is looking directly into the camera. I lean my chin on my hand, staring at his dark hair that’s been carefully styled. He’s clean-shaven and looks every inch the successful businessman that 512 of his Facebook friends, family and colleagues know and love. But I know this isn’t Adam. This serious ‘suit’ isn’t the guy I woke up to every day for seven years who was tender and loving, who could make me roar with laughter, who would do naked karaoke for me on demand, who can’t drink red wine because it brings him out in a rash, who makes amazing fish finger sandwiches. The guy who, when we met, acted like I was the most important thing in his life. The guy who always made me feel like, even if I didn’t know where I was going, he could carry me to wherever I wanted to be.
    I go into my message folder and open up a new message. I have an urge to write to Adam, to try and explain my actions better than I did at the church. He deserves that. I hate the thought that I have hurt him and I need to give him some clarity so that he is able to move on. I start typing, the words flowing as freely as my emotions.
    Dear Adam
    I don’t expect you to reply to this message – I wouldn’t be surprised if you immediately deleted it after what I’ve done. I just hope you can find it within yourself to read it because I want you to know, again, how sorry I am. That word seems so empty, doesn’t it? Sorry. You can be sorry for bumping into someone, sorry for missing a phone call – but how can it possibly be enough to convey how I feel about destroying our relationship, our future?
    From the moment we met, you made me happier than I ever thought possible. Happier than I deserved. But that has always been the problem. I don’t believe I deserve you. You are an amazing, loving, kind, thoughtful man. You are so together, so capable and you have always made me feel so safe, Adam, so loved. I loved being loved by you – and being looked after. You made me feel that nothing else mattered as long as I was with you. For seven wonderful years you made sure I never had to worry about a thing. But walking down that aisle I realised that it isn’t right to piggy-back along someone else’s well-plotted path. We get one life, Ad, one chance to get it right, and I’ve hidden behind you for too long. You made my present so perfect I haven’t dealt with my past – or worked out who I want to be in the future. I know now that I need to take responsibility for who I am and who I want to be before I can give myself to anyone else.
    I know I can’t ask you to wait for me but I want you to know that I am better, stronger, happier than I could have been because I’ve been loved by you. And because of that, a piece of my heart will forever be yours.
    Bea xx
    I am sobbing as I press send. I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing and I stare longingly at his picture for a