10 Year Gap Novels & Stories

In the end, she'd been left dreamless and scarred. There were times when she desperately wanted to break off her shackles and be free to do what she wanted. "Am I really qualified?" Unfortunately, she spiraled into self-doubt. She took out her résumé and scanned past the awards she'd won five years ago, her gaze landing on the blank space that should have been filled with her working experiences. She confessed, "There's a five-year gap in my working experience." Anathea had to admit that she'd been stuck in the same place for five years while Evangeline had gone on to build a career.

"She's an adult, and so are you. So if you really want to take things to the next level." "Okay", I held up my palms, "first, I met her one week ago. There's nothing going on. Second, she didn't show the slightest interest in me that way. Also, the age gap is ten years, mom. Ten years". 7 "Your dad and I are seven years apart", she said, "and sometimes I wonder when he's going to grow up. Most men are so slow to mature." 8 "Mom." I groaned, and looked at dad with pleading eyes. He put an arm around mom's shoulders and kissed her temple.

They were as right together as James and I were. "At least my girl didn't take a two-year, international hiatus." This was an ongoing ribbing between James and Neil, and thankfully, they usually left me out of it—even though I was the one who'd left. "I hate to tell you, Mr. Carpenter, your stats aren't much better. We had a decade under our belt when you finally got serious." I loved to jab him. "High school hardly counts, and again, you left for two years—so by default, those two things take off three and half years. I should get credit for having the ring even if it wasn't on your finger."

Emerald sat on a white couch alone with her father Wade while the kids were still having dessert with Petra’s helping hands. She tried to avoid her father’s gaze. It had been five freaking years since she last saw him. On the day she had screamed and poured out her mind, letting her dad know how she hated being raised behind those large walls with no friends, no outing and worst of all, being homeschooled. “I’m glad you finally came to your senses...now all you need to do is divorce him...err, what’s his name again?” Mr. Wade asked after listening to Emerald’s part of the story.

Something that should have been there all along. Cole braced both hands against the sink. Ten years. His daughter was ten years old. Somewhere out there was a first report card he had never seen. A first bicycle he had never taught her to ride. A favorite movie he didn't know about. A favorite food. A favorite color. Hundreds upon hundreds of tiny details that made up the shape of a person, and he knew almost none of them.

And now, she is coming back? "What?" It was all I could manage. “She’s returning," he said simply. Then, before I could demand answers, the line went dead. I sat there, gripping the phone like it was the only thing holding me upright. My pulse roared in my ears. Ten years. Ten years of nothing. No calls, no letters, no whispers of where she’d gone. Just my mother’s quiet sadness of how she hated her, our father’s stiff silence, and the unspoken rule that we didn’t talk about her.

Stanley Cup Final. Ten Years Later. CAL I've been hitting Ethan Locke for ten years. Not always legally, not always cleanly. Sometimes only with my eyes, sometimes with words, mostly with the full, undeniable weight of my massive body driving him into the boards. Ten years of crossing ice, a decade of wanting – needing – to leave a mark that he can’t just get up and skate away from. Ten years ago, I wanted to hit him because he mocked me, now I hit him because it’s the only language loud enough to fucking reach him.

Every interview I have attended in the last three weeks all asked the same thing: why the three year gap? "Miss Gregory, I'd appreciate it if you can be more coherent. You are not the only one in line for this role. Now tell us what made you leave your errand staff role and what kind of personal matter takes three years," the thin woman says sternly, eyeing me with eyes that only seemed to remind me of Georgia. "Yes, I will. Life happened but I kept up with-" "What. Kind. Of. Personal. Matters. Take. Three, Years?" My throat tightens. "I was... it was a difficult period. A marriage, and then-"

Elias set his coffee down with a shaking hand, his expression hovering between shock and a dawning, terrible realization. "I sent it, Clara. I remember hitting send on the platform while I watched the clock." He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he touched the corner of her blueprint. "Ten years," he whispered, his voice breaking. "We lost ten years because of a glitch in a network? Because of a tower that didn't relay a signal?" "Or because we were both too proud to pick up the phone and just ask 'why'," Clara added softly, her eyes filling with tears.

Then back again. Comparing. Checking. Verifying. The room waited. Finally she looked up. "The first confirmed image." My stomach tightened. "What about it?" Mara pointed toward the date beneath Arthur's notation. Then toward another entry several pages later. The gap between them was tiny. Only three weeks. Three weeks between locating Site Ten and beginning what appeared to be years of investigations. Years. Obsessive years. Protective years. Fearful years. Mara looked around the room and then quietly said the one thing none of us had considered.