So What If You Stumbled? It Happens to Everyone!

For heavens sake, a stumble is just a stumbleit happens.

“Must you keep harping on it? That Natashas gone now, and yet you still nag and pick at me. Emma, will you ever let it rest? Weve got more pressing matters to sortwhat about little Sophie?”

Emmas brows shot up in surprise. For a moment, she said nothing, wondering if shed misheard. Any second now, she half-expected her husband to blame *her* for *his* betrayal.

“George, youve got the wrong door. My priorities lie elsewhere now. The only pressing matter I have is divorcing you.”

“*Divorce*? Good Lord, weve been perfectly fine all these years! Nearly a decade gone by, and wed have carried on just the same if you hadnt found out. What difference does it make now?”

“It changes everything,” Emma said, meeting his gaze squarely. “All this time, Ive lived a lie. And now you stand there acting as if its nothing.”

His unshakable stubbornness grated on her as much as the betrayal itself. Emma had known George for over twenty-five yearsknew the way he frowned when criticised, the tight press of his lips when wounded. But this? This was something new. It was as if she were seeing him properly for the first time.

“What lie? I loved you then, and I love you now. That other business” He waved a hand dismissively. “That was years ago. Might as well never have happened.”

Hard to pretend it never happened when an eight-year-old girl was the living proof. Now George insisted it was his *duty* to bring the child into their home. The alternative? His ageing mother, who could barely care for herself. The thought of an orphanage was unthinkable to himhed declared, ever the chivalrous knight, that *his* children would not grow up parentless.

Emma could never forgive the betrayal. Shed been raised in a home built on trust.

Her father was a homebody, while her mother adored travelshed often whisk herself off to Cornwall on a whim. Her father would see her off at the station with a smile, helping with the suitcases, never once doubting her. Her mother, in turn, would kiss him goodbye when he left for business trips, handing him a basket of scones and tucking a small cross into his coat pocket.

Yes, theyd had their rowsher mother might raise her voice and slam a door, her father might retreat into silence for days. But never once had they questioned each others fidelity. Even when her father drank at company dinners, his eyes stayed fixed on his wife, his arm around her, boasting of her virtues to anyone whod listen.

That was the model Emma had grown up with. Love meant trust. And if there was no trust, what was the point?

She and George had lived well enough. Once, theyd been comfortable together. The only shadow had been children.

“Emma, why rush? Let me secure our future first, settle into a proper jobthen well think about children,” hed said in their fifth year together.

“Were not getting any younger. Im thirtyyou too, by the way. Or do you want our child to have grandparents instead of parents?” shed grumbled.

And shed waited. But the “proper job” never came, and her clock ticked mercilessly on. So shed leapt aboard the last trainbetter that than risk no children at all. Shed had her son at thirty-eight. Now the boy was twelve.

George had taken up work in the North, months away at a stretch, to support them. Three months there, one month home. Hed return exhausted but with good money. Emma missed him too, but she saw it as an investment in their future.

What she hadnt known was that George hadnt been nearly as patient.

“What did you expect? Three months alonehardly counts as anything. Just necessity, really,” hed explained when the truth came out.

“*Necessity*?” Emma had snapped. “Why arent *my* windows crowded with suitors, then? Or are we made of different stuff?”

“Well, youre a womanits not the same for you.”

Perhaps they *were* made of different stuff. To George, it had been a moments weaknesslike sneaking an extra biscuit. To Emma, it erased every good thing between them.

She might never have known if not for the tragedyif George hadnt come to her so casually, as if discussing the weeks shopping, asking what they ought to do about Sophie now.

“You see, George,” Emma said, surfacing from the memory, “its not even about the girl. If you strip away the situation, shes just an unlucky child. But *you*I wont live with you.”

Her husband scowled and waved her off.

“Whats got into you? Fine, well talk in the morning. Night brings counsel.”

Come morning, George rallied reinforcementshis mother, Margaret. She had skin in the game: if Emma refused, the girl would be *her* problem. So of course, she pleaded with her daughter-in-law.

“Emma, be reasonable! Have a heart for the child!” she pressed. “Shell be a comfort to you in your old age. Boys fly the nest, but girls stay and care for their parents. Look at it another wayperhaps its a blessing? Too late for you to have another, and heres one ready-made!”

“Margaret, I cant do it. I wont manage. Do you honestly think I could ever look at that girl without resentment?”

“Oh, nonsense! Youd grow used to hermotherly instinct would kick in. Youre not the first! Think of wartimeremember *The Son of the Regiment*? Or women who marry widowers with children? Or adopt from orphanages? They make it work!”

Emma exhaled sharply. One man believed betrayal expired with time; another woman compared it to a war story. Meanwhile, Emma felt shed been living someone elses life, blind to the shadow over her own family.

“Margaret, what youre describing only works when both agree. I never agreed to betrayal.”

“But the girls innocent.”

“Yes. And so, I think, am I.”

They talked for hours, but no agreement came. To Margaret, it was a trifling misunderstanding. To Emma, it was the end.

So that evening, after thought, she didnt open the door. She left Georges bag in the porch, bolted the lock, and settled with her favourite series. Of course, her nerves were frayedbut after all this, peace was impossible anyway. George didnt even grasp what hed done. Hadnt even apologised. Or perhaps he was playing the fool.

By seven, the scrape of a key in the lock. Then insistent knocking.

“Emma, I know youre there! Open up! Youre acting like a child!”

“And youre the picture of maturityscattering children across England,” she shot back, leaning against the hallway table. “You wanted my decision. Here it is. Raise your daughter with your mother. The two of you will suit each other perfectly.”

“Dont be absurd! So I slipped upwho hasnt?”

“*I* havent. Not me, George. Take your Sophie and go. I dont care how many years have passed. Betrayal doesnt come with an expiry date.”

“At least let me say goodbye to William!”

“So you can upset him too?” She nearly refusedthen relented. “Fine. But dont expect me to open this door.”

“Twenty-five years together, and now Im barred from my own home!” he lamented.

But Emma wasnt listening. She went to her sons room. The boy had been unusually quiet all evening. Hed seen her packing his fathers thingsasked no questions. Hed heard the fights, after all.

Even a child knew where this was headed.

“William, your father wants to say goodbye.”

The boy didnt look up from his homework.

“I dont want to,” he muttered, lips pressed tight.

“Are you sure?” she asked gently, stepping closer.

She dreaded him blaming herfor not keeping his father. Or worse, choosing to leave with George. But

“Sure. He used to be my hero. I thought he sacrificed so much for us. Now I dont want to see him, Mum.”

Emma exhaled, wrapped her arms around him. His words lifted a weight from her heart.

“Im sorry I couldnt keep our family together.”

“*He* lost the family. Not you,” William said firmly, hugging her back. “*Im* staying with you.”

George was stunned when told his son wouldnt see him. He hammered at the door another ten minutes, demanding to “talk properly,” but finally left.

Bitterness still gnawed at Emmayet beneath it, relief swelled. Shed drawn the line.

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