Emma always thought of herself as a clever woman. She held a good job at a prestigious firm in the City of London, lived in a cosy flat in central London, and even owned a cata fluffy, willful ginger one she called Whiskers, who matched her independent spirit.
At thirtytwo, Emma was convinced her life had turned out well: her career was progressing, friends valued her for her blunt honesty and dry humour, and men took notice. Everything changed when David entered her world.
He arrived at the company as chief financial officera tall man with a touch of silver at his temples, always impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. His voice was soft, yet each word carried weight, and colleagues fell silent whenever he spoke.
Emma, as head of marketing, often crossed paths with him in meetings. At first she merely noted his sharp mind and business acumen, but soon she found herself looking forward to those encounters.
Then came the office party.
Over a glass of wine they laughed at the bosss lame jokes, and at one point his fingers brushed her wrist. Emma felt a sudden chill run down her spine.
Youre not like the rest of them, he said, fixing her with a piercing stare that stole her breath.
She knew he was married, that he had two children and a large house out in the countryside. Yet when he began texting her, inviting her for lunch walks and later dinner at restaurants, she allowed herself to forget all that.
I cant walk away right now, he explained one evening, running a hand over hers. The children, the mortgage, the family business But you understand that whats real is only between us, dont you?
Emma nodded, eyes closed. His fingers were warm, his voice so convincing that she wanted to believe every word. She imagined him finally telling his wife the truth, finding a new flat for her, and the two of them disappearing from the shadows.
Everything will change soon, he whispered, kissing her temple. Just give me a little more time.
And she gave it.
At first it was months. Then years.
She learned to live in that strange limbo between soon and never. She learned not to be the first to call, not to write unnecessary messages, not to ask how his weekends with the family had gone. She learned to smile when he boasted about his daughters school achievements and to stay silent when he complained that his wife has stopped understanding him.
Youre the only one who really knows me, he would say, and Emma took it as a compliment, not a sentence.
She bought beautiful lingerie for their rare meetings, learned to cook his favourite dishes, and patiently listened to his ramblings about work. Lying beside him she sometimes realised she didnt know his favourite colour or whether he liked opera, but she could tell how he sighed when exhausted and how his brow furrowed when angry.
When will it be? she would ask, and each time he offered a different excuse.
A crisis at work, his fatherinlaws health problems, a son who was too young for such upheavalsEmma clenched her teeth and nodded. She no longer believed his promises, yet she was too scared even to admit that to herself.
Then tragedy struck.
Davids wife was involved in a car accident. It wasnt fatal, but it left her with broken bones and a long rehabilitation. Emma thought this would finally make him see how miserable his marriage had become. Instead, he began disappearing to the hospital, cancelling their meetings, and stopping his messages.
Unable to bear the silence, Emma invited him to a hotel room to get some answers.
He started, breathless:
Im needed by her right now. She needs me more than ever. Just wait a little, shell be on her feet and then
Then hung in the air like a final straw Emma clutched in desperation. She wanted to scream, What about me? Am I not needed? but her lips trembled and her voice failed.
David stood by the window, his silhouette framed against the twilight cityscape. He talked about fractures, physiotherapy, how his wife could barely get up.
She cant even hold a spoon herself, he whispered, and for the first time Emma heard something cold in his tonepain, duty, a twisted love.
Youre worried about her, she noted, not as a question but as an observation.
He turned, eyes filled with such anguish that Emma realised she had never truly seen him like thisnot when he lamented a boring marriage, not when he moaned that his wife doesnt understand him.
Shes the mother of my children, he said, as if that explained everything.
Everything fell into place.
Just wait a little, Emma repeated, a bitter smile on her lips. You told me yourself that it was over with her, that there was nothing left between you two.
David lowered his gaze, stumbling over his words.
It is but
Emma walked slowly to the door.
You know, David, I once thought I mattered to you, she said without turning. But the truth is you needed neither your wife nor meyou just found it convenient.
The silence grew thick, like tar. David froze, as if her words had pierced him with sharp shards.
You only wanted to have it all, Emma continued, finally facing him. Her voice shook, but she held back tears. A wife who creates a home, raises children, keeps your peace. And meto feel wanted, youthful, someone to complain to about that same wife.
He tried to interject, but Emma raised her hand sharply.
No, listen! You never loved her, nor me. You loved only what we gave you. You returned to her because she was your comfort zone. You ran to me when you craved excitement.
Davids face went pale. His fingers clenched the edge of the table.
Youre unfair he began, but Emma only laughed, a bitter sound.
Justice? You speak of justice? Then answer honestly: if this accident hadnt happened, how long would this farce have lasted? A year? Five? Ten? Would you have spent your old age hopping between two women, convincing each she was the only one?
He was silent, and that silence spoke louder than any accusation.
Emma inhaled deeply, smoothing a strand of hair as if gathering her thoughts.
The most painful part? her voice softened, weary. Im not angry at your wife. Im angry at myselffor believing the fairytale of the unhappy married man, for turning a blind eye to the truth, for letting you use me.
She gathered her bag and opened the door. On the threshold she paused:
I wish you one thing, David: to truly love someone, even once. To finally understand the hurt we both endured.
The door closed with a soft clickthis time, for good.
Epilogue
A year later Emma spotted David in a park. He walked with his wife, who leaned on a cane, moving slowly beside him. David supportive, whispering into her ear. On his face there was an expression Emma had never seen in their years togethera tender, uneasy concern.
In that moment she finally let go.
She realised she had never been needed by him. She had simply been a temporary distraction, a fleeting comfort for a man who loved himself above all else.
Now that chapter was over.
Emma straightened her shoulders and walked toward her new lifeone where she was valued not for what she could give, but simply for who she was. The lesson she carried forward was clear: true worth does not come from fitting into someone elses story, but from writing your own.
