One evening, I reached for my husbands phone to check the time and saw a notification that shattered my world.
“No, Mrs. Whitmore, I cant possibly take leave now! Weve got the quarterly reports due, and the tax inspection is practically on our doorstep!” Emily fidgeted with the papers on her desk, avoiding her managers stern gaze. “Cant you send someone else, please?”
“Who else?” The stout woman in her severe suit leaned across the desk. “Margarets on maternity leave, Sarahs off with a sick child, and Lucys hopelessshed mix up the entire filing system! Youre the only one who can handle the branch audits!”
“But my sons ill, my mother cant come to help, and my husbands always away on business,” Emily fought back the lump rising in her throat. “I cant just disappear to Manchester for a week!”
“Your personal issues dont concern me,” Mrs. Whitmore snapped. “Either you go on this trip, or you hand in your resignation. Choose.”
Emily left the office feeling utterly defeated. In the corridor, her colleague Charlotte caught up with her.
“Rough meeting?” she asked sympathetically. “I could hear the shouting from my desk.”
“Thats putting it mildly.” Emily sighed. “I dont know what to do. Olivers only just recovered from pneumonia, and James is in Birmingham overseeing a project. How Im supposed to manage everything, Ive no idea.”
“What about your mother-in-law? Could she step in to help with Oliver?”
Emily gave a bitter laugh.
“Oh, sure. Beatrice thinks grandchildren are a mothers responsibilityhers is just to critique how I raise him. No thanks.”
Back at her desk, Emily mechanically sorted through documents, her mind elsewhere. Thirty-eight years old and still pulled in every directionwork, child, home. And James was never around when she needed him most.
That night, after putting Oliver to bed, she collapsed onto the sofa, her head throbbing. She dialed Jamess number, but he didnt answeranother late meeting, no doubt. Fifteen years of marriage had accustomed her to his constant absences, but sometimes the weight of doing everything alone was unbearable.
When the phone finally rang, it was James.
“Hello, love,” he sounded exhausted. “Sorry I missed your callits been chaos here.”
“James, Ive been told to go on a business trip,” Emily said bluntly. “A week in Manchester. Olivers still not fully recovered, and nursery isnt an option. Can you come home?”
A pause. Then:
“Emily, you know I cant. Were up against a deadlinethe projects due in two weeks. Id love to help, but”
“But you cant,” she finished for him. “As usual.”
“Dont start, please,” irritation crept into his voice. “Im not out here on holiday. Im working, earning money for this family.”
“So am I,” she shot back. “Except Im also raising our child, keeping the house running, making sure your shirts are ironed, your meals are cooked”
“Look, not now,” James cut in. “Im dead on my feet. Maybe your mum could come? Or ask Helen next door to watch Oliver after school for a bit.”
“Easy for you to say,” Emilys voice trembled. “Fine. Ill figure something out. Like always.”
After hanging up, she sat staring blankly at the TV, the emptiness inside swelling. When had their life become this? When had they stopped being partners and turned into two exhausted strangers barely exchanging words?
The next three days blurred past. Emily negotiated a delay for the trip, convinced her mother to come down from Surrey to watch Oliver. James was due back Saturday evening, just before she left for Manchester.
On Friday, Emily worked late preparing documents. Her mother had already gone to bed in the guest room, Oliver asleep in his. When the phone rang, she jumped.
“Emily, its me,” Jamess voice was sheepish. “Theres been a hiccupIll need to stay another two days. Unexpected issues with the project.”
“What?” Her stomach dropped. “James, I leave on Sunday! We agreed!”
“I know, I know,” he sounded genuinely remorseful. “But I cant walk away now. If we dont deliver, we lose the bonus. Thats a lot of money, Em.”
“And the fact I cant take our child on a business trip doesnt matter?” she hissed, mindful of the sleeping household.
“Your mums already there, isnt she? She can stay a bit longer. Ill be back Tuesday, promise.”
“Mums seventy-one, James! She can barely walk with her bad knees!” Emily gripped the phone until her knuckles whitened. “Shes had a hospital appointment booked for monthsits on Monday!”
“Then ask Helen or hire a babysitter for a couple of days,” Jamess patience was thinning. “I dont know, Emily, sort it out! I cant be in two places at once!”
“But I can, is that it?” Her voice broke. “Im the one who always has to juggle, fix everything! When was the last time you took responsibility for Oliver? For the house? For me?”
“Im killing myself at work to put food on the table!” he exploded. “To give Oliver the best of everything! What more do you want?”
“For you to be here,” she whispered, tears spilling. “Just here, when we need you. But I suppose thats too much to ask.”
She hung up, pressing her face into her hands. What now? Call Mrs. Whitmore and refuse the trip, risking her job? Leave her sick child with her frail mother? Hire a stranger at short notice?
Exhausted and sleep-deprived, Emily dozed fitfully at the table. She woke with a stiff neckthe clock read 2:30 AM. Stumbling to bed, she realised her phone was still in the living room. Then she spotted Jamess on the nightstandhed left it behind in his rush to the “project.” They used the same charger, so it was fully charged.
“Just need to check the time,” she thought, picking it up. The screen lit up: 2:37. Then a notification appeared.
“My love, thank you for a perfect evening. Tomorrow at mine, as usual. Kisses, yours, A.”
Emily froze, rereading the message. Her fingers went cold, her chest hollow. This couldnt be real. Not James. Not her James, the man shed built a life with, raised a child with.
Hands trembling, she unlocked the phonethe PIN was Olivers birthday. Scrolling through messages, she found exchanges with colleagues, mundane chats with her and a thread with “A.” Opening it felt like stepping into a nightmare.
The messages left no doubt. James had been seeing this woman for six months. Regularly. His “business trips” were often just cover. He wasnt in Birmingham nowhe was here, in London, with her.
Emily sank onto the bed, numb. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of lies. She remembered meeting Jamesa young architect with a bright future. Their modest wedding, their honeymoon in Cornwall, Olivers birth. Every hardship she thought theyd faced together.
There were photos. Emily forced herself to open one. A woman in her thirties, long auburn hair, flawless makeup. Beautiful. Far more beautiful than Emilytired, greying, her once-bright eyes dulled by years of exhaustion.
Putting the phone down, she studied her reflection. When had she become this worn-out woman? When had she stopped being anything more than a mother and a maid?
The phone buzzed again. Another message from “A.”:
“Not replying? Asleep already? Sweet dreams, darling.”
Rage surged. How could he? After everything? Her first instinct was to call him, scream, shatter his deceitful little world as hed shattered hers.
But she stopped herself. No. This wasnt a phone conversation. She needed to see his face when he answered for his lies.
Instead, she called her best friend. Three AM be damned.
“Helen? Sorry its so late. Can you watch Oliver tomorrow? I need to go somewhere.”
“Emily? Whats happened?” Helens voice was groggy but alert.
“Ill explain later. Its family stuff.”
Hanging up, she packed a bag. Her mind was eerily clear. She had the addressfound in the messages. A flat in the city centre, rented for “client meetings.” Now she knew what kind.
In the morning, leaving Oliver with her mother and telling her Helen would come, Emily took a taxi. The driver eyed her pale face but said nothing.
The flat was in a modern high-rise. The concierge let her in when she said she was Mrs. Carter. The lift ride to the twelfth floor made her knees weak. What would she say? What would she do?
The door opened to reveal “A.”Alicia, from the photo. Silk robe, tousled hair. Stunning.
“Can I help you?”
“Im Emily. Jamess wife.”
Shock, then defiance flickered across Alicias face. “James isnt here.”
“I know,” Emily stepped inside. “Hell be back later. As usual, right?”
The flat was immaculatedesigner furniture, wine glasses on the table. A shirt shed bought James draped over a chair.
“You must be Alicia,” Emily noted the monogrammed towel in the bathroom.
“Yes,” Alicia crossed her arms. “Look, I dont know what to say. I never meant”
“To wreck a marriage?” Emily laughed bitterly. “Funny how that happens.”
“James said you were over. That you stayed together for your son. That you were divorcing.”
“How original,” Emily shook her head. “The oldest lie in the book. And you believed him?”
“I” Alicia faltered. “I fell for him. Hes so attentive. Makes time for me, even leaves work early.”
Each word stung. For her, James never had time. For Alicia, hed drop everything.
“Do you even know the real James?” Emily asked softly. “The one who forgets birthdays, misses school plays, cant name my favourite food. The one who promises to be there but always finds an excuse not to.”
Alicia looked away. Emily studied the flattheir photo on the dresser, his clothes in the wardrobe, his slippers by the sofa.
“How long?”
“Seven months.”
“Seven months of him coming home to me, hugging our son, pretending everything was fine,” Emily murmured. “And I thought his distance was work stress. I even saw a therapist, wondering how to fix us.”
Alicia met her eyes, almost pitying. “Im sorry. I didnt know”
