“Could You Please Let Your Husband Go?”
“Where are you off to at this hour, Oliver?” asked Emily, watching her husband hastily button up his shirt.
The clock struck half-past seven in the evening. Oliver didnt even glance at her, still gathering his things.
“The projects on fire at work. Urgent call,” he tossed over his shoulder, grabbing his coat from the rack. “Dont wait up.”
Lately, these “urgent” calls had been happening more often. A nagging worry simmered inside Emily, one she tried to ignore.
“Again? Thats the third time this week,” she said, fighting to keep the accusation out of her voice.
“Cant be helpedits the job,” Oliver finally looked at her, but his gaze was blank, distant. “Ill try not to be too late.”
The front door clicked shut. Emily stared at the empty hallway for a moment before turning away.
“Mum, wheres Dad going?” Their seven-year-old daughter, Lily, wandered out from her room, clutching a board game. “He promised to play with me tonight.”
Emily crouched to Lilys level, smoothing her shoulder. The little girls eyes shimmered with disappointment.
“Dads swamped at work, love. Big project deadline,” Emily said, though she barely believed her own words anymore.
Lily sighed, shoulders slumping, and trudged back to her room. Emily watched her go, then headed to the kitchen.
To cheer Lily up, she decided to bake her favourite oatmeal cookies. Kneading the dough, her hands moved on autopilot, her thoughts elsewhere.
All the signs were therelate nights, secrecy, the growing distance between them. Oliver hadnt hugged her in weeks, hadnt kissed her goodbye. Their conversations had narrowed to chores and Lilys school updates.
At dinner, Lily perked up, munching warm cookies and chattering about her day. Emily nodded along, but her mind was miles away. After tucking Lily in and reading her a bedtime story, she returned to the kitchen, scrubbing dishes under warm water.
The same question gnawed at hershould she confront him? Force a confession? The truth coiled in her stomach: Oliver was likely seeing someone else. But what would happen to Lily if they divorced? She adored her father. Then again, living with a liar was becoming unbearable.
Two more weeks passed. Oliver grew twitchier, flinching at phone calls, hiding his screen when Emily entered the room.
Then, one Saturday, he stayed home. They lounged on the sofa while Lily did homework. The silence shattered when Emilys phone rangan unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Emily?” A womans voice, unfamiliar.
“Yes, whos this?”
“Its Sarah Thompson. We need to talk about something important.”
“I think youve got the wrong”
The woman cut in sharply. “Im not mistaken. Im speaking to Olivers wife, arent I?”
Emily froze. In her periphery, Oliver tensed.
“Yes.”
Sarahs tone turned breezy. “Lovely. Im the mother of Jessica, the girl your husbands been seeing for a year. Shes only twenty, and Olivers her first proper boyfriend. Shes head over heels! Im asking yoube reasonable. Let him go. Were all modern people, after all.”
Emily lifted her gaze to Oliver. His face had drained of colour.
“Jessica cries every night,” Sarah continued. “She cant even see the man she loves openly. Theyre *in love*. You *must* step aside. You cant force affection, can you?”
Emily cleared her throat, forcing calm. “Thanks for the update, Sarah. Ill… see what I can do.”
She hung up, turning to Oliver. He sat frozen, gripping the armrest.
“Well, Oliver? Anything to say?” Her own voice surprised herflat, detached.
“Itsits lies! I dont even know a Jessica!”
Her phone pinged. A messagephotos of Oliver with a young blonde, kissing, holding hands in a café.
“Sarah sent proof. Fancy a look?” She turned the screen toward him.
His face twisted with rage. “Fine! Yes, its true! Jessica and Iwe met at a conference, and everything just… happened! What did you expect?”
Emily stood slowly. “How is this *my* fault? Did I shove you into her arms?”
“You! *You* stopped caring! When was the last time you asked about my day? Cooked my favourite meal? Smiled at me?”
Emily blinked. “Hold ondoes that logic not apply both ways? Youve been ice-cold for *years*. Yet I didnt run off with some bloke!”
“Thats different!” Oliver exploded. “Im working! Providing! Slaving away like a dog! Keeping the spark alive is *your* job! Youre supposed to be my safe haven!”
Emily actually stepped back. “Says *who*? Show me the rulebook! And newsflashI work full-time too! Then I come home to laundry, cooking, *parenting*and now Im meant to baby you?”
Oliver gaped like a fish. Silence stretched.
Emily nodded slowly. “Right. Ive suspected this for ages. Now that the cards are on the table… Ill file for divorce. Be happy with Jessica.”
“No!” Oliver lunged, grabbing for her hands, but she stepped away. “Its not serious with her! A mistake! Forgive me!”
“*Forgive you*?” She laughed. “Youre joking.”
“Emily, pleasewell talk it through. I cant leave this family!”
“Why not?”
“Where would I *live*? Under a bridge?” The second the words left his mouth, he paled.
Emilys laugh was harsh. “Ah. So *thats* the real fear. Not hurting meending up homeless.”
Oliver stared at the floor. His silence said everything.
“Pack your things. Now.”
She walked to Lilys room, where her daughter stood wide-eyed. Emily hugged her tight.
“Come on, love. Lets tackle those maths problems,” she murmured, steering Lily away.
For the next hour, Emily focused on homework, ignoring the muffled thumps of Oliver packing. When she finally stepped out, he stood in the hallway with two bulging bagsrumpled, defeated.
“Emily, give me another chance,” he begged. “Ill fix everything! Cut ties with Jessicawell start fresh!”
She opened the front door. “Run along to Jessica, Oliver. Since shes worth betraying us for.”
He stepped out. The door clicked shut. Emily leaned against it, eyes closed. Emptiness. And beneath itrelief.
No more lies. No more excuses. Never again.
