Ten Years Novels & Stories

'Except me young lady, i'd whoop you even if you're sixty'. If there was one thing i learnt in the passing years, it was that the years you past didn't always affect you physically but also emotionally. For every year turned, there was something we remembered it with. The year i had turned sixteen, was the year my world turned upside down again.

I say as a thought flashes in my head like a reality. "Non posso più aspettare, ho passato dieci anni solo per assicurarmi che ciò accadesse, niente mi rovinerà questo momento. [I can not wait any longer, I’ve spent ten years just to make sure this happens, nothing will ruin this moment for me.]"

Thor Bentley and I grew up together—we were true childhood sweethearts. We were neighbors from the day we were born. We attended the same schools from kindergarten to high school, and we were always in the same class. At sixteen, we confessed our feelings for each other. At eighteen, during our coming-of-age ceremony, our families made it official with an engagement. We'd promised to enter the same university, graduate together, and marry right after senior year.

Could it be…" Although she trailed off, it was clear what she was implying. Turning scarlet in fury, Mr. Wentworth quickly tried to explain, "Watch what you say, Ms. Cobb! I'm two decades older than Evelyn. How could we possibly—" However, Irene put on a pitiful expression and said, "I was just wondering out loud, Mr. Wentworth. You don't have to get all defensive about it." Mr. Wentworth, a man in his 50s, became so furious that he couldn't even speak. "Why, you—"

"She into you? Gonna say yes? Marry her or what?" Alec ducked it and went off on a humblebrag instead. "I've been overseas the past few years. Every July and December, she'd fly in, stay a month. Always brought stuff—fancy watches, ties, cologne..." Felt like my chest caved in. Couldn't breathe. Every July and December, Donna jetted off "to clear her head." Wouldn't let me tag along, wouldn't answer my calls. I chalked it up to stress and sucked it up, missing her like an idiot.

"And now, the truth has finally come to light after so many years. J, the mastermind behind everything, is finally going to get what he deserves and face prison time. "The trap that he'd laid out so meticulously has finally entrapped him in return." The final line in the post said, "Unfortunately, the case happened 11 years ago, and the kind, generous A has already been disowned by his parents and abandoned by his wife and daughter. "They have no idea about the countless times A had to visit a psychiatrist over the decade because nobody believed him. "They never realized that A has so many deep, ugly scars on his wrists that his hand is basically useless to the point that he can't even drive

I turned and fled. I immediately contacted a private investigator to look into what happened. I wanted solid proof. For the past decade, Rudolf had been away for almost two weeks every month on business trips. I had never questioned it, but now I realized those trips must have been spent with that woman and their son. Ten years… And I hadn't doubted him even once. I had trusted him completely. Now, reality had just dropped a bomb on me, mocking my stupidity. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, he would still be deceiving me.

For a moment there I let myself wander in the thought that he still was. But no. There was no way he could be; anybody in their right mind would know not to wait that long for someone, not three or four, but ten years. “Rose, I'll continue to remind you—” And me, “That it's been ten years,” “Well, it's been ten years, and I still love you.” I scoff. “Well, thank you, but we never went out of contact. Alex and I haven't had a single conversation in ten years.”

He made tea in the morning and sat at the south window of the flat. The tenth solstice. He thought about the ten years. He thought about the practice in its tenth year — the school in build, the community centre in its first section, the three-generation house in its first winter, the library in its third year of Thursdays. He thought about the commissions in their stages, the practice in its fullness, the tenth year as the year of the accumulated attendance. He thought about what the tenth solstice was different from the first.

Ten years is a strange measure of time when you have spent your youth measuring the world in heartbeats and crises. For the first thirty years of my life, every day had been a question of survival—first my own, in the Thornback woods, and then the continent’s. Time had been a frantic, breathless sprint against the Rot, against the Alphas, against the human armada. But the last ten years had been a slow, deep exhale. I was sixty-two years old.