He couldn't remember the last time he'd been at the nursery. It had been, what, two years since Grace had started school? And even then Charlotte had always bought her home with her at the end of her shifts. There had been the odd celebration or athletics day he had tried to make an appearance at, but truthfully, he and his ex had already long since fallen into patterns of silent distance, trading off on family events and activities - not because they were loathe to see each other but because the denial over the state of their marriage was much easier to uphold with a little air between them. He hadn't dropped in with a surprise coffee at lunch time in years. Hadn't even driven Charlotte to work or picked her up afterwards on days he knew had been long and trying. Not that she had done the same for him, but these were occurrences that had long since ceased to be considerations in his mind, let alone actualities and it was only now, sitting in his car in the nursery car park, that he fully perceived the slow crumbling loss of them.
He had dropped the girls off at their after school activities - art class for Matilda, gymnastics for Grace - only to find that Tilly had left her school bag on the back seat. It was the final afternoon in his week with the girls, their mum scheduled to pick them up from lessons after work, and he knew the bag would be needed. As the nursery was on route back to his apartment he had figured a quick pit stop was in order. Which is how he found himself parked in the far corner of the car park for an uncomfortably and, if the glances from passing parents were anything to go by, suspiciously long time. He had passed the wait on his phone, catching up on work emails and rereading the sweetly indecipherable messages from his daughters, but he had now found his attention caught elsewhere.
The car could be heard before it could be seen, its engine reverberating as it drove way too fast down the street. Showing some regard for safety, it slowed as it turned into the car park, and yet the long sleek curves of the black mustang signalled anything but safety. It was, frankly, the sexiest car he had ever seen and completely out of place among the sedate sedans and mini-vans that populated the rest of the lot. He watched the car swing effortlessly into a spot nearer the door and give a final raspy grumble before falling quiet. The windows were darkly tinted but he could just make out the red leather interior within. The mustang was a far cry from the sensible family car he drove, with its handle bar height scratches from his eldest's bicycle and a back seat with enough embedded cookie crumbs to sculpt a completely new vehicle. It wasn't entirely true to say he was envious, but he couldn't deny that he wished he had the kind of daring required to pull off such a ride.
The door opened and a slim booted foot emerged under the door, taking him aback slightly. He knew that the owner of the nursery had more money than sense and, according to Charlotte, was all too happy to show it off - so he had assumed that the flashy car belonged to this Mr. Knight. However, instead of the stodgily suited older man he had expected, out stepped a woman about his own age. It wasn't like him, to be sure, but he found his jaw dropping open at the very sight of her. She was tall and slender, but even at this distance he could see that the arms on display were toned and strong. She wore all black - black vest top, black tights, black boots, black cut off jean shorts just this side of inappropriately short for public viewing - all of which offset the cherry red of her long hair in a manner beyond striking. She moved with an economy of purpose to the front of her car, hopping up to sit on the bonnet with an insouciant air completely out of keeping with the expense of the car beneath her. She was quite the image, sitting there scrolling on her phone, completely indifferent to the looks (admiring and glaring alike) of passing parents.
He squinted at her in mild confusion. Clearly she wasn't here to pick up a child, for she had made no effort to move towards the door. In fact, she seemed quite content to sit and wait in the car park. Periodically her sharp eyes would look up from her phone, giving the carpark a quick scan, assessing the space with a confidence that indicated to him that she obviously considered this her domain. As she did so again, looking towards the nursery, she caught the eye of a woman through the office window. Marjorie, Charlotte's boss. Having been spotted, her face shifted from relaxation into a clear and cheeky smirk, and she lifted her phone in Marjorie's direction in a small salute of acknowledgement. Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she leant back on arms stretched out behind her, lifting her face to the sun and basking in its warmth like a cat. But this was no pampered house cat, he knew, this woman was all lion. The sun kissed her hair as she gave an effortless little shake, allowing her shining mane to flick back over her shoulders. It was quite the transfixing image, and somehow he understood that she knew exactly what she was doing. Tearing his eyes from her reluctantly he saw Marjorie, framed in the window, scoffing in annoyance and turning away in an overly exaggerated huff. This felt highly performative on both sides of the exchange and, just as he made the mental note to ask Charlotte about it, he rid the thought from his mind. Asking his ex-wife about random goddesses in carparks seemed entirely far too removed from comfort.
Startled by her quick movement as she leapt off the bonnet, he bumped his knees painfully on the underside of the steering wheel. Entirely far too invested in who this woman was and why she was here, he found himself craning forward to see what had got her attention so completely. Was someone new driving into the carpark to meet her? Had her husband emerged from the nursery, their child in tow? But no. There was no one of note entering the field of view. It was just Charlotte leaving the nursery at the end of her shift. Before he could reach out to collect Tilly's bag however, he saw something he hadn't seen in an achingly long time.
Charlotte stopped dead in her tracks mere steps out the door. She had spotted the very woman who had had him entranced and her face - the face he knew better than his own, the face he had woken up next to for eleven long years - immediately beamed with sheer unadulterated joy.
Her big beautiful eyes, that he had once looked into longingly, crinkled happily.
Her smile, that he once wanted nothing more than to fall into, was wider than it had been in years.
Her pale skin, that he once had traced so lovingly, was flushed pink with anticipation.
In this moment she was so beautiful, so Charlotte, and at the same time so painfully unknowable to him. He watched as she - calm, careful, patient Charlotte - dropped her bag, allowing the contents to spill across the ground unheeded, as she ran - ran! - across the lot to launch herself into the arms of the strange woman. He felt his stomach drop to his ankles as he watched the red head catch Charlotte and pick her up, allowing her to wrap her legs around her waist and bring her in close for a long, slow, searing kiss. He watched, dumbfounded, as the red head let Char take her time, peppering her lips and cheeks with affectionate kisses, smiling at her indulgently, before letting her slowly slide down her own body to rest, pressed up against her, held squarely within her arms.
He had thought Charlotte might be dating someone, his daughters having told one too many stories involving Charlotte singing and dancing at home, something she had not done frequently since the early days of their marriage. But to witness the truth of it so viscerally as it played out directly in front of him... he could not have anticipated the jarring flood of emotions, the punch to the gut. It wasn't that he wished himself back beside her, but that he realised deeply and completely that he had failed to cherish her as she had deserved, as he had once promised. And in his failing to do so, she had found someone who would.
Charlotte, as though made perfectly to fit, nestled her face into the woman's neck, sharing quiet words he would never hear but that made the taller woman utter a breathy laugh. Charlotte pulled back just enough to look up at her face, completely enraptured by the sound. She reached up and tucked an errant red lock behind the woman's ear - only to blush and grin all the more soppily as the other turned into her hand kissing her wrist. It was all so very affectionate. So very unabashed. He couldn't remember a time when he and Char had ever been quite so publicly demonstrative. He had always been too concerned about propriety and she too shy.
No longer it seemed.
His eyes followed as his ex-wife's new love took Charlotte by the hand and led her to the front seat of the black car, opening the door for her and seeing her comfortably secured within before scooping up Charlotte's fallen belongings and stepping into the car herself and driving safely, almost too cautiously, out of the car park.
And she was gone.
Finding his breath again he started his own car and drove in the opposite direction, shaking with the undeniable truth that they had both moved on in ways he hadn't fully grasped until now. The image of Charlotte's radiant smile and the tender embrace she shared with the red headed woman replayed in his mind, a stark contrast to the hollow exchanges that had polluted their last three years together. As he pulled up to Charlotte's house to leave Tilly's bag on the porch, he found himself smiling for the first time in what felt like ages. Placing the bag down gently, he paused, recognising this simple act as part of a larger handover, a passing of care and love from one phase of life to another. He realised that while he had let go of Charlotte, she had found someone who would love her anew. And now, perhaps, it was time for him to find his own path to happiness.
