The glow of her husbands phone screen cut through the darkness as she reached for it, only wanting to check the time. But the notification that flashed across the lock screen shattered her world.
“No, Mrs. Thompson, I cant take leave right now!” Emily’s voice trembled as she shuffled papers on her desk, avoiding her bosss piercing stare. “Weve got the quarterly reports due, and theres a tax audit looming!”
“And who else am I supposed to send?” Margaret Thompson, a formidable woman in a sharp suit, leaned over the desk, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Lucys on maternity leave, Sophies off with a sick child, and JessicaGod help hercant file a document without mixing it up. Youre the only one who can handle the branch inspections!”
“But my sons just gotten over pneumonia, my mother cant travel to help, and my husbands always away on business,” Emilys throat tightened. “I physically cant go to Manchester for a week!”
“Your personal issues arent my concern,” Margaret snapped. “Either you go on this trip, or hand in your resignation. Your choice.”
Emily left the office feeling hollow. In the corridor, Sarah, a colleague from the next department, caught up with her.
“Rough one, eh?” Sarah murmured sympathetically. “Heard the shouting.”
“You have no idea,” Emily sighed. “I dont know what to do. Olivers barely recovered, and James is up in Edinburgh on site. How am I supposed to manage everything?”
“What about your mother-in-law? Could she step in?”
Emily let out a bitter laugh.
“Right. Because Deborahs idea of helping is criticising how I raise my son. No, thanks.”
Back at her desk, Emily mechanically sorted through files, her mind elsewhere. Thirty-eight years old, and still torn between work, motherhood, and a house that never ran itself. And Jamesnever there when she needed him most.
That evening, after tucking Oliver in, Emily collapsed onto the sofa, her head pounding. She dialled Jamess number, but it went to voicemailanother late meeting, no doubt. Fifteen years of marriage had taught her to expect his absences, but the loneliness still gnawed at her.
When the phone finally rang, his voice was weary.
“Hey, love. Sorry I missed youcrazy day.”
“James, Ive been ordered to Manchester for a week,” she said bluntly. “Olivers not fully better yet. Can you come home?”
A pause.
“Em, you know I cant. Were two weeks from deadline here. Id love to, but”
“But you cant,” she finished flatly. “As usual.”
“Dont start,” he sighed, irritation creeping in. “Im not swanning about on holiday. Im earning a living, remember?”
“So am I,” she shot back. “Except Im also raising our child, running the house, washing your shirts, cooking dinners”
“Look, not now,” he cut in. “Im dead on my feet. What about your mum? Or ask Anna next doorshe could watch Oliver after school.”
“Easy for you to say,” she whispered, tears pricking her eyes. “Fine. Ill figure it out. Like always.”
After the call, she stared 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 sharing a home?
The next three days blurred into one. Emily negotiated a delay on the trip, convinced her mother to come up from Surrey, and waited for Jamess promised return on Saturday.
Friday night, she worked late, prepping documents. Her mother was asleep in the guest room, Oliver in his. When the phone rang, she startled.
“Em, its me,” James sounded guilty. “Bad newsIm stuck here another two days. Projects gone sideways.”
“What?” Her stomach dropped. “James, I leave Sunday! We agreed!”
“I know, I know! But if I dont fix this, we all lose our bonuses. Thats a lot of money, Em.”
“And me dragging Oliver to Manchester isnt a problem for you?” she hissed, keeping her voice low.
“Your mums already there, isnt she? Just extend her stay. Ill be back Tuesday.”
“Mums seventy-one, James! Shes got arthritis and a doctors appointment Monday she waited months for!”
“Then ask Anna or hire a sitter for two days,” he snapped. “Figure it out, Em! I cant be in two places at once!”
“But I can?” Her voice cracked. “Always me scrambling, juggling, fixing everything! When was the last time you took care of Oliver? Or the house? Or me?”
“Im killing myself to provide for this family!” he exploded. “So Oliver has everything! What more do you want?”
“For you to be here,” she said quietly, tears streaming. “Just… here, when we need you. But I guess thats too much.”
She hung up, pressing her palms to her eyes. What now? Call Margaret and refuse the trip? Leave Oliver with her frail mother? Hire a stranger?
Exhausted, she dozed off at the table, waking with a stiff neck at half two. Her phone was in the lounge, but Jamess lay charging on the nightstandhed rushed off without it.
She picked it up just to check the time.
2:37.
Then a notification lit up the screen.
*”Sweetheart, last night was perfect. Cant wait to see you tomorrow. Kisses, M.”*
Emily froze, rereading the words until they burned. Her fingers turned to ice. This couldnt be real. Not James. Not after all these years, their son, their life together.
Hands shaking, she unlocked the phonethe PIN was Olivers birthday. Scrolling through messages, she found the thread with *”M.”*
Half a years worth of lies.
James wasnt in Edinburgh. He was here, in London, with *her.*
Emily sank onto the bed, numb. Fifteen years of marriage, reduced to betrayal. She remembered their first meetingthe young architect with bright prospects. Their modest wedding. The honeymoon in Cornwall. Olivers birth. All the hurdles theyd supposedly faced together.
Photos in the chat confirmed ita woman in her thirties, red-haired, striking. Younger. Prettier. Unlike Emily, with her tired eyes and greying roots she dyed every month.
She caught her reflection in the mirror. When had she become this weary ghost of herself?
Another message buzzed in. *”Not answering? Sleeping, I hope. Sweet dreams, darling.”*
Rage surged. How *dare* he? Her first instinct was to call him, scream, destroy his perfect little lie.
No. This needed to be face-to-face.
She dialled her best friend instead.
“Anna? I need you to watch Oliver tomorrow. Its urgent.”
“Em? Its three in the morning! Whats wrong?”
“Family stuff. Ill explain later.”
Hanging up, she packed a bag. The address was in the messagesa flat in Kensington, rented for *”client meetings.”* Now she knew the real purpose.
At dawn, leaving Oliver with her mother, she took a taxi. The driver eyed her pale face but stayed silent.
The building was sleek, modern, with a concierge who waved her through when she said she was Mrs. Carter. The elevator ride to the twelfth floor made her knees weak. What would she say? What came after?
The door opened to *her*the woman from the photos. Silk robe, tousled hair, flawless.
“Can I help you?”
“Emily Carter. Jamess wife.” She stepped inside, her voice eerily calm. “We need to talk.”
The flat was spacious, stylish. Two wine glasses on the table. A shirt on the sofaone *shed* bought James.
“You must be Megan,” Emily said, spotting monogrammed towels in the bathroom.
“Yes.” The woman folded her arms. “Look, I didnt mean”
“To wreck a marriage?” Emily laughed bitterly. “Funny how that happens.”
“James said you were already over. That you stayed together for your son.”
“Classic cheaters line,” Emily said. “And you bought it?”
Megan hesitated. “I fell for him. Hes attentive, caring. Always makes time for me.”
The words stung. Time he *never* gave his own wife.
“Do you even know the real James?” Emily asked softly. “The one who forgets birthdays, misses school plays, cant recall my favourite meal? Who promises to be there, then finds excuses?”
The door clicked open.
James stood frozen, flowers in hand.
“Em? What?”
“Surprise,” she said, tears brimming but not falling. “Met your new family.”
His face drained of colour.
“I can explain.”
“Dont bother.” She turned to leave.
He grabbed her arm. “Wait. Think about Oliver.”
“*Now* you think of him?” She wrenched free. “You lied for months, built a second life, and *now* you play the father?”
“I never stopped providing for you both!”
“Money isnt love, James,” she whispered. “Oliver needs his dad. Not a stranger who shows up with gifts and vanishes.”
She walked out, tears falling in the elevator. Fifteen years, gone in an instant.
Outside, the crisp morning air hit her lungs. What next? Pack up? Fight for the marriage? Or walk away?
She didnt know. Only that life would never be the same.
Pulling out her phone, she dialled Margaret.
“Ill take that trip to Manchester. Today.”
Sometimes running forward was easier than looking backespecially when all that remained behind you was wreckage.
