No one intends to end up in a sexless marriage.

It happened so slowly with innumerable, seemingly insignificant choices that it was hard to imagine that now years had passed since they had been intimate.

This was what Anne and Michael were each thinking as they strolled arm in arm down the bustling city streets of London. How had it happened that it had been so long since they had sex that neither could recall the last time?

It was a crisp, clear night, and they were in no hurry as they made the familiar walk to the Tube station that would take them home from Michael’s family flat. Christmas carols were drifting out of open storefronts, and twinkling lights cast a heartwarming glow above them. Last-minute holiday shoppers and people on the move bustled all around.

They chatted superficially about the night’s festivities as they strolled, but something felt different this year. The magic and nostalgia of the season brought with them a melancholy. They missed each other in a way neither could articulate.

They turned off the main road to the unassuming entrance to the Tube. This station had long been Anne’s favorite, especially now, draped in festive evergreen boughs and red velvet bows. Built in the late 1800s, it had a conservatory feel with a high, ornamental balustrade roof and sodium lights that reflected warmly off the soft cream subway tiles.

They took the stairs down to the platform. Despite the crowd outside, they waited alone in the station.

“Mind the gap.” A recording boomed as their train pulled in, the volume clearly set to be heard above a crowd much larger than two.

The sodium lights flickered as the doors opened in invitation.

“We have the whole underground to ourselves!” Anne mused.

Michael squeezed her arm and smiled as they stepped on the train. The doors closed behind them, and they were off.

The lights in the car faltered as they whirred forward. Movement caught Anne’s eye. They had been alone in the car a moment before; Anne was certain of it, and yet now, a young couple was visible several rows ahead of them, locked in a passionate kiss.

Startled, Michael turned to look at Anne. “Were they there when we got on this car?” he whispered.

Just as Anne opened her mouth to respond, the young woman stood up to reposition herself. She wore her chestnut hair in a pixie cut with tiny barrettes to hold her bangs back like Anne had when she was much younger. She was wearing a red velvet skirt with white fur trim and a lace choker with a holly charm. Anne was transfixed. Something about this woman seemed so familiar.

“Michael,” she whispered. “I used to have that same outfit. Do you remember?”

She tore her gaze away from the progressing make-out session to look at Michael. “Should we say something? They don’t see us.”

His face was pale. He did not take his eyes off the couple.

“Michael?”

They stared together in the direction of the couple. Still standing, she was teasing the young man with flashes of her red lace panties and perfectly toned thighs. The man reached for her hips and pulled her close. His hands slid up her skirt.

Anne cleared her throat. “Excuse me?” she started.

Unabashed, the man slid the young woman’s panties down and began fingering her right in the front of the train car. They kissed as if they were alone, sloppy, and passionate. Oblivious to their surroundings, the woman swiftly unbuttoned the man’s pants and pulled out his cock.

Anne cleared her throat again, but Michael put his hand out, cutting her off.

“They’re drunk,” he said flatly. “She’s been teasing him all night. His cock is so hard he doesn’t think he can make it home; he wants her so badly.”

Anne stared at the couple and blinked hard.

A sick feeling of déjà vu made her stomach plummet. “They miss their exit and have to double back.”

“We,” Michael corrects softly. “We miss our exit and have to double back.”

“What is going on, Michael?” Panic rose in her voice.

“Come on. I want to see them. I want to see us,” he says, taking her hand, all color drained from his face.

They make their way up the car toward the couple. They are startled by their own passion. Embarrassed, even.

“They look so real. What… what IS this?” He reaches for the couple, but his hand passes through like a movie projected from no discernible source.

“We used to fuck on this train all the time.” Anne offers nervously.

They watch as the image of younger Anne straddles her newlywed husband’s lap, facing him. He’s fingering her from behind and sucking her neck.

“Should we be watching this? I feel like we should give us some privacy.” Michael said quietly.

“I looked good. Like really, really good.” Anne says, nervous wonder filling her voice as she waves a hand through the image.

“You look good now,” Michael says, matter of factually, not taking his eyes off his own fingers in his young wife’s pussy.

Anne’s image threw her head back with a moan. Michael’s thumb pressed down on her clit and began moving in a circular pattern with intent.

“I always wanted you to cum first.”

“Shhh” Anne shushed as they watched with rapt attention while her twenty-something self shuddered with an internal explosion

“I love to hear you cum,” both Michael’s whispered in unison. Michael glanced shyly at Anne.

The images of their younger selves were wasting no time. They watched as Michael pushed Anne’s skirt up, gently lifting and pushing her back against the wall of the cabin. Anne wrapped her bare legs around him, allowing his cock in, her weight pushing him in deep. One of her chunky black heels slipped off her foot and hit the floor. He thrust with the train as it rocked them back and forth, and in a matter of moments, Michael came, issuing a deep groan.

The train sped through a tunnel, and, with another flicker of the lights, the image of the young couple was gone.

“Michael, what just happened?” Anne grabbed his arm as the train slowed to a halt.

Before he could offer an answer, the train doors opened to a platform blanketed thick in eerie fog. Instinctively, they knew this was not their stop.

“I don’t know, but do you remember that night? I mean, did you remember it before whatever that was? We were so young. I couldn’t get enough of you. We couldn’t even wait a Tube ride to get home to get to our bed,” Michael said, his voice thick with longing.

“I know. I was thinking about it while we walked from your parents’. What changed between us? I can’t remember the last time we had sex.” She laid her head on his shoulder as the train car closed its doors and resumed its passage.

They sat in silence, close to each other; they knew they were waiting for something.

They rounded the corner, the lights flickered once again, and a vision appeared.

“This is yesterday. We’re on the way home from that dinner party at your friend’s house. That’s my new dress,” Anne called out.

Their yesterday selves did not acknowledge them. The images sat together in companionable silence. He laid his hand on her lap.

“I love that dress. You look so beautiful,” Michael said, watching the image.

“I didn’t know you liked it. You know, I always wear a dress or skirt if I know we’re taking the train at night, even now, just in case.” She blushed and glanced at Michael.

“I didn’t know you still thought like that.” Michael blushed.

The images leaned in as if they were going to kiss, but suddenly, simultaneously, they raised their left arms to their gaze.

They were looking at their smartwatches. Michael’s image removed his hand from Anne’s thigh.

“Oh, it’s just the group chat. It’s a photo of your niece wearing the outfit your parents got her for Christmas.” Anne’s image picked up her phone to see a larger version of the photo.

“Oh, and there are substitutions to the grocery order. Give me just a minute…”She trailed off.

Michael’s image did not hear her. He was looking at his phone.

“I was thinking I could answer a couple of work emails while you looked at the grocery order,” Michael said quietly.

“We were alone on that train. If I had kissed you then, yesterday, do you think anything would have happened?” Anne asked

“I don’t know. I would have welcomed it. I would welcome it now. I just don’t understand how we went from the last train to this,” Michael answered

“I think it happened just like this. A million missed opportunities. Competing priorities, big and small, but, Michael, it’s not from lack of love or desire! I love you so much! We can fix this, right?” She started to cry.

“Yes, yes! We can. I love you, Anne. We’re getting off this train.”

They stood, waiting for the train to slow, as they watched their images stare into their phones, oblivious to the love emanating from the seat next to them.

The lights faltered, and the images disappeared. Once again, as the car slowed and the doors opened, an ominous fog blurred out the station beyond the doors, preventing them from stepping out.

“Hold the train!” An older woman called from beyond the fog.

“I don’t like this. I don’t want this!” Anne cried and held tighter to Michael as the new scene began to unfold.

An older man appeared alone in the seat in front of them. He did not wear a wedding ring.

The woman rushed onto the train seconds before the doors closed, hurried and flustered, arms full of holiday shopping.

“Michael?” a much older image of Anne called tentatively to the older gentleman sitting at the front of the train.

The image of Michael’s future turned to look back at her. “Oh, Anne. What a coincidence! How is your holiday?” he said politely and without warmth.

“I’m well. I forgot you’d be coming back from your parents’ tonight. How have you been?”

They chatted for a moment longer, but the small talk died away under the heavy weight of things left unsaid through the years.

The lights flickered, and their future selves were gone.

Anne began to cry in earnest. Michael held her as he whispered sweet assurances and stroked her hair.

As the train slowed, they pulled out of the tunnel into a brightly lit outdoor station. The doors slid open and remained open, inviting the couple to depart in their time.

This was their station, and it was bright and beautiful. Lights twinkled from above as snow fell gently and silently.

They did not notice.

“Let’s go home.” They linked arms and rushed down the street.

They tumbled into their flat in a tangle of tears, laughter, and promises. A Christmas new beginning, they made love like teenagers, newlyweds, and a middle-aged couple who knows their partner better than they know themselves all at once. And as they made love, their actions changed the ending into shadows of what would have been.