A revised version of my short story "Seasons".

Spring.

They lay in bed, their limbs entangled, and she ran her fingers along the contours of his chest. He allowed his hands to gently pull her closer to him, sighing contentedly as she looked up at him. Her blue eyes held affection, love, even as she regarded him gravely.

"When do you have to leave?" she asked, her delicate, fragile voice breaking the silence. He lifted his arm in order to look at his watch. It was ten o'clock.

"In a few minutes," he sighed. He rolled out of bed, gathering his clothes together.

She propped herself up on her elbows and watched as he got dressed.

"You'll be back?"

"In three months," he said, "possibly sooner. I'll call you."

She nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. He gave her a last smile as he slipped into his blazer. "Take care," he said as he opened the door. He made a move as though to kiss her goodbye, thought the better of it, and left.

"I'll miss you," she whispered as the door closed. He didn't hear her.

Summer.

Her skin glistened as she emerged from the pool, her hair dripping water. She bent down to pick up her towel, which she wrapped around her body before turning to him.

"It's been a while," she said, and he nodded, his eyes – and emotions – hidden by mirrored sunglasses.

"I'm here for a week," he said.

"Just a week?"

He nodded again. "Deirdre's only away for a week and a half – she's visiting her brother, as per usual."

Fiona sighed as she always did at the mention of his wife. She stepped closer, and he thought that she was going to embrace him, but she surprised him, brushing past on the way to the house.

"You know where the bedroom is," she called over her shoulder.

He sat down on the lounge chair, leaning back and closing his eyes. Why was he still married to Deirdre? He didn't love her, and they didn't have children. So why were they still married?

It was convenient. She was the perfect woman to have on his arm for society events, the perfect wife in general. She always put his needs first, supported him and his career through the darkest times.

But Fiona... Fiona was... well, quite simply, the woman he loved. But he was afraid of divorcing Deirdre, afraid that if he divorced her his career would be over. And Fiona certainly would not help him advance his career, certainly would not put his needs first, would not fit the 'wife' role as Deirdre did – he did love Fiona for that, for her independence, but it would not be conducive to furthering his career.

"Are you coming in or not?" she asked him, appearing in the doorway. She was still clutching her towel around her body, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders.

He stood up, taking off his sunglasses.

"I'm coming in," he said, and followed her up the stairs.

Autumn.

The leaves were falling from the trees the next time he appeared.

"I thought you'd never arrive," she said, pouring him a glass of cider as they stood in her kitchen.

"Deirdre kept postponing her trip," he said. "I think she's beginning to suspect I'm cheating on her."

"I see," she replied, pushing the cider across the counter to him. He took a sip.

"Did you make this?"

"While I was waiting for you," she said.

"It's good."

She had turned away, placing the jug back in her refrigerator.

"I'm going for a walk."

"Want some company?"

"No." She left him standing alone in her kitchen. He set the glass down and followed her anyway, catching up with her halfway to the orchard. She let him entwine his fingers with hers.

Winter.

The house was covered in snow when his rented Jeep pulled up to her driveway. The house was dark, save for a single lamp in the downstairs window. Parking the car, he hopped out and took his suitcase from the backseat. He bounded up the stairs to her front door, unlocking it, and entered the house.

"Fiona!" he called out. She emerged from the bedroom, a diaphanous white nightgown only slightly obscuring her slender form.

"You're back," she said, still at the top of the stairs.

"Of course," he said. "Did you not expect me to return?"

"If I didn't, would I have left the light burning?"

He set his suitcase down and took her into his arms, looking into her eyes.

"I'm glad you did," he said, and kissed her.

"Come to bed," she said after their kiss ended. He followed her into her bedroom, the suitcase waiting patiently at the top of the stairs. It would not be needed that night, nor the next, but it would be needed soon. It would always be needed.