Simon Franklin

Simon is the past that never fully let go. He isn’t written as a villain or a cartoon; he’s the first love who still has a key to rooms inside Keira’s head. When the story opens, the house is stable but delicate. A five-year marriage contract is nearing its end, and routine has been carrying more weight than feeling. Simon’s presence tests whether history can outvote the present. Most of the time, he doesn’t push. He just exists—confident, familiar, and hard to ignore.

No-spoiler snapshot.
Simon represents the life Keira once wanted. He is charming and sure of himself, the type who looks comfortable wherever he stands. Around him, Keira’s quiet doubts get louder. Around him, Neil’s patience starts to look like a losing game. Simon’s function is simple: he is gravity. He doesn’t need big speeches to move people; his orbit pulls choices out of them.

What Simon wants (and how he moves).
He wants Keira as she was, and maybe as he imagines she could be again. He wants the easy confidence of picking up where they left off, without the messy work of rebuilding trust from zero. He is not cruel by intent. He is casual. That’s the problem. Casual contact—shared plans, old jokes, private messages—can feel harmless to the person sending them and fatal to the person watching from the kitchen doorway. Simon rarely checks how his warmth lands inside a marriage that is already running thin. He treats the present as a flexible space where the past is allowed to stretch.

Why he matters to Keira’s arc.
Keira’s struggle is timing. She is capable in every area except the one that asks for a full-heart choice. Simon keeps the past within reach long enough for that delay to harden into a pattern. With him nearby, Keira can keep the old door half-open and tell herself she will decide later. Later keeps moving. When the contract ends and Neil asks for divorce, it isn’t because Simon is evil; it’s because Simon’s shadow makes the house feel like a waiting room.

Why he matters to Neil’s arc.
Neil is built around care and promises—until he realizes care without reciprocity becomes self-erasure. Simon’s presence sharpens that realization. Neil sees plans being made that do not include him, stories being told where he is a placeholder, not a partner. Simon doesn’t “steal” Keira; nobody gets stolen here. What Simon does—often without meaning to—is make it obvious that Neil’s patience is serving a version of love that doesn’t choose him back. That’s the line Neil won’t cross anymore.

What Simon gets right (and wrong).
He’s not heartless. He gives Keira the feeling of being seen as herself, not as someone’s project, and that matters. But he wants the reward of long history without the responsibility of rebuilding it in the present. He confuses being easy to talk to with being safe to build on. He confuses attention with commitment. When the consequences arrive, he’s surprised. That surprise tells you everything.

How the story uses him.
Simon is a measuring stick, not a monster. He helps the script test its thesis: love that matters is mutual and on time. Place him next to Neil and the contrast is clean. One has patience that finally grows a backbone; the other has warmth that never quite grows a spine. Place him next to Keira and the contrast shifts. One invites delay; the other demands a decision. The story needs both to land its point.

Relationships that define him.
Simon ↔ Keira: nostalgia vs. present choice. Their scenes are quieter than you’d expect and more dangerous for that reason. Watch for the moment Keira stops treating memory like a promise.
Simon ↔ Neil: not enemies, exactly—more like two answers to the same question. Simon asks if charm and history can stand in for commitment. Neil refuses the trade.

How to read his scenes (even in the compiled cut).
Look for micro-behaviors: the way he assumes plans will flex around him; the way he fills silence when a silence should be kept; the way he speaks about Keira in the past tense while standing in her present. In micro-parts, these are short beats. In the compiled cut, they flow into a single line of tension. Either way, the meaning holds: Simon is the comfort that keeps a hard decision from happening—until it does.

Growth or repeat?
Does Simon change? A little. He gets clearer about the difference between attention and commitment. He learns that being liked isn’t the same as being chosen. Whether that clarity turns into long-term change is left open, which feels honest for a character like him. Some people grow in inches, not leaps.

Themes he carries.
Nostalgia vs. responsibility. Status vs. substance. The risk of “maybe later.” If Neil shows how boundaries protect love, Simon shows how the lack of boundaries drains it. If Keira shows the cost of delay, Simon shows how easy it is to enable that delay with a smile and a plan that sounds harmless.

Spoiler-light beats