**Diary Entry**
For three Saturdays in a row, Emily said she was “working late.” What I discovered changed everything.
“Staying late again?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it wavered.
Emily froze, her hand clutching her handbag. She turned slowly, as if buying time.
“Yeah, the projects a mess. The boss is losing iteveryones running around.”
“On a Saturday? Three weeks straight?”
“James, dont be childish. Work is work.”
She kissed my cheekquick, perfunctory, like youd kiss a neighbour in the lift. She didnt smell like her usual perfume. Something sweet, milky. I frowned.
“Em, can we talk?”
“Later. Everything later, okay?”
The door slammed. I stood in the hallway, fists clenched. Three Saturdays. Three bloody Saturdays shed left early and come back exhausted, silent, distant.
I couldnt take it anymore. I grabbed the car keys.
Emily stepped out of the building, glanced around. I ducked in the drivers seatthankfully, Id parked behind a van. She got into a cab. I started the engine.
We drove for ages. Not to her officeI knew that immediately. Some rough part of town, miles from ours. My heart hammered. I was about to see. About to know.
She got out near a crumbling block of flats. I parked further down, followed on foot. She disappeared inside. I waited, counting floors by the windows. Third. Left side.
Half an hour passed. Then Emily reappearedbut not alone.
With a pram.
I nearly stumbled. A baby? We didnt have kids. Barely even talked about it since these Saturdays started…
The baby wailed. Emily rocked the pram, murmuring. She looked flustered, out of her depth. Then a woman dashed outEmilys younger sister, Lily. Irresponsible Lily, whod been married and divorced twice by twenty-five.
“Em, thank you! Ill be quicktwo hours, tops!”
“Lily, you said an hour!”
“Please! I really need this!”
Lily bolted, leaving Emily with the screaming baby. She helplessly pushed the pram back and forth.
I stepped back, leaning against the wall. So, not an affair. A nephew. But why the secrecy? Why the lies?
I returned to the car, sped home. Needed to beat her back. Needed to think.
At home, I paced. I could just ask. *”Where were you, Em?”* But shed lieI knew it. Just like Id lied.
Because I had a secret too.
Sarah. The receptionist from the next department. Nothing seriousjust coffees, chats, the odd film. She listened to me rant about coding, laughed at my jokes, looked at me the way Emily used to. Before our life became *”buy bread,” “pay the bills,” “pick up your socks.”*
Sarah was easy. She reminded me of the Emily I fell for seven years agoplayful, carefree, willing to listen to me ramble about algorithms for hours.
The key turned. I grabbed the remote, flicked on the telly.
“Hey,” Emily peeked in. “Youve been home all day?”
“Yeah. Couldnt be bothered going out.”
She went to the kitchen. I heard water running, dishes clinking. I followed.
Emily stood at the sink, scrubbing a mug. Her shoulders slumped, dark circles under her eyes. A stain on her jeanslooked like baby formula.
“Em.”
“What?”
“Youre exhausted.”
She turned, surprised.
“Yeah. I am.”
“Fancy dinner out? That Italian place from our anniversary?”
“James, Im shattered. Lets just order pizza?”
I nodded. Watched her fumble with her phone, searching for delivery. Her hands shook.
“Em, whats going on?”
“What dyou mean?”
“Youve been… different. For weeks.”
She froze. Her phone slipped, clattered onto the table.
“Just work, James. A lot of work.”
“On Saturdays?”
“Yes! On Saturdays! Why the interrogation?”
She snapped. I saw tears welling. I hugged her. She stiffened, then sagged, face buried in my shoulder.
“Sorry. Im just knackered.”
She smelled of baby powder and something sourspit-up, probably. I stroked her back, felt her heart racing.
“Em, if somethings wrong, tell me. Im not a stranger.”
She pulled back, wiped her eyes.
“Its fine. Really. Just a rough patch. Itll pass.”
Pizza arrived. We ate in silence. Emily showered; I stared at a cold slice of ham and pineapple.
I could say it. *”Em, I saw you with a pram. Lilys kid?”* But then Id admit I followed her. And shed ask, *”Where were you on Fridays?”*
What would I say? That I sat in cafés with another woman? That I told her things I hadnt told my wife in years? That sometimes I wondered*what if?*
My phone buzzed. A text from Sarah: *”Still on for Monday? Want to show you that film.”*
I deleted it. No. Not happening. Enough.
Emily emerged in a towel robe, hair damp. She sat beside me.
“James, lets stay in tomorrow. Just us.”
“What about work?”
“Sod work.”
I smiled. When had she last said that?
“Alright. Just us.”
She took my hand. Her fingers were cold, despite the hot shower.
“We lost something, didnt we?”
“What?”
“Us. We lost us.”
I squeezed her hand.
“Well find it.”
Next morning, we slept in. Emily made pancakesfirst time in a year. I brewed coffee, sliced fruit. We ate on the balcony, even though it was chilly.
“Remember breakfast in Edinburgh?” she said. “That tiny café terrace?”
“Where you nearly dropped a cup on some blokes head?”
“I did not *nearly* drop itI set it down badly!”
We laughed. How long since wed laughed together?
The day passed strangely. Like playing newlyweds. We watched telly curled up on the sofa. Cooked togetherI chopped, she stirred. No talk of work, money, plans. Just *now*.
That night, she fell asleep on my shoulder. I studied her facerelaxed, peaceful. The crease between her brows was gone. She looked like the girl whod spilled coffee on me seven years ago. *”Sorry! Let me pay for dry cleaning! Oror buy you another coffee?”*
Id bought her one. Then another. Then dinner. Then a ring.
Emily murmured in her sleep. I tucked the blanket around her.
On Monday, I went to Sarah.
“Hey! Thought you forgot about the film”
“Sarah, we need to talk.”
Her smile faded. Clever girlshe knew.
“Your wife?”
“Yeah. No. I mean… I cant do this.”
“James, nothing even happened.”
“Exactly. And it wont. Im sorry.”
She nodded, turned to her screen.
“Go. Just go.”
I left. Heavy-hearted but lighter. Id done right. Long overdue.
Emily wasnt home. A note on the fridge: *”Back by seven. Dinner in the oven.”*
I reheated it, set the table. She returned on time but twitchy.
“James, I need to tell you something.”
I froze. Here it comes.
“Lily has a son. Four months old. The dad bolted when he found out. Shes skint, no job. Ive… been helping. Watching him while she interviews. Or justjust so she can breathe. Sorry I lied. Thought youd hate it.”
“Why would I?”
“Well… weve talked about kids. And here I am, minding someone elses. And lending her money sometimes. From my wages,” she added quickly.
I stood, hugged her.
“Silly woman. Of course you help. Shes your sister.”
Emily sniffled into my chest.
“Im so tired of lying. Of making up where Im going.”
“No more lies.”
I thought of Sarah. Of my own lies. But nothat was different. Just chats. Just…
“James, what about you? Any secrets?”
My heart skipped.
“No. Well… sometimes I wasnt at work late. Just at the pub with mates. Having a pint. Talking. Home felt… bleak.”
Not the full truth. But not a lie. Sarah had been there sometimes.
“Bleak,” Emily echoed. “Yeah. I get that.”
We stood hugging in the kitchen. Then ate. Talked about the baby*Oliver*, apparently. How Lily had finally got a job at a shop. How we
