For three Saturdays in a row, Sophie left for “work.” What I saw overturned everything.
“Late again?” Oliver tried to keep his voice steady, but it betrayed him with a tremble.
Sophie froze with her bag in hand, turning slowly, as if buying time.
“Yeah, the projects a disaster. The boss is losing iteveryones running around.”
“On a Saturday? For the third week running?”
“Oli, dont be childish. Work is work.”
She kissed his cheekquick, perfunctory, like a neighbour in the lift. She smelled wrong. Something sweet, milky. Not her usual perfume. Oliver flinched.
“Soph, can we talk?”
“Later. Everything later, all right?”
The door slammed. Oliver stood in the hallway, fists clenched. Three Saturdays. Three bloody Saturdays where she left at dawn and returned exhausted, hollow, a stranger.
He couldnt take it anymore. He grabbed the car keys.
Sophie stepped out of the building, glancing around. Oliver ducked in the drivers seatthankfully parked behind a van. She hailed a cab. He started the engine.
They drove for ages. Not to the officehe knew that much. Somewhere on the outskirts, a tired part of town he barely recognised. His heart hammered. He was about to see. About to understand.
She got out near a shabby block of flats. Oliver parked further down, following on foot. She disappeared inside. He waited, counting floors by the windows. Third. Left side.
For half an hour, nothing. Then Sophie reappeared.
With a pram.
Oliver nearly stumbled. A baby? They didnt have children, not yettheyd talked about it, before these Saturdays started
The baby wailed. Sophie rocked the pram, murmuring something, looking helpless, out of her depth. Then a younger woman dashed outOliver recognised Sophies sister, Jess. Irresponsible Jess, whod already been married and divorced twice by twenty-five.
“Soph, thanks! Ill be quicktwo hours tops!”
“Jess, you said one!”
“Please, Soph? I really need this!”
Jess sprinted off, leaving Sophie with the screaming infant. She pushed the pram uselessly back and forth.
Oliver stepped back, leaning against the wall. Not an affair. A nephew. But why the secrecy? Why the lies?
He hurried back to the car, speeding home. He had to beat Sophie there. Had to think.
At home, Oliver paced. He could just ask. “Soph, where were you?” But shed liehe knew it. Just like hed been lying.
Because he had a secret too.
Emma. The assistant from the next department. Nothing seriousjust chats after work, coffees, the odd film. She laughed at his jokes, listened to his rants about coding, looked at him the way Sophie used to. Before their life became grocery lists and utility bills and “pick up your socks.”
With Emma, it was easy. She reminded him of the Sophie hed fallen for seven years ago. Bright, carefree, eager to hear his ramblings about algorithms.
The key turned in the lock. Oliver jerked, grabbing the remote, flicking on the telly.
“Hey,” Sophie peeked in. “Youve been here all day?”
“Yeah. Couldnt be bothered going out.”
She moved to the kitchen. Oliver followed.
Sophie stood at the sink, scrubbing a mug. Shoulders slumped, shadows under her eyes. A stain on her jeanslooked like baby formula.
“Soph.”
“What?”
“Youre knackered.”
She turned, blinking.
“Yeah. I am.”
“Fancy dinner out? That Italian place we went to for our anniversary?”
“Oli, Im wrecked. Lets just order pizza?”
He nodded, watching as she pulled out her phone, scrolling for the takeaway number. Her hands shook.
“Soph, whats going on?”
“What dyou mean?”
“Youve been different. For weeks.”
She stilled. The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the table.
“Its just work, Oliver. A lot of work.”
“On Saturdays?”
“Yes! On Saturdays! Why wont you drop it?”
Her voice cracked. Oliver saw itshe was close to tears. He stepped forward, pulling her into a hug. She stiffened, then sagged, burying her face in his shoulder.
“Sorry. Im just so tired.”
She smelled of baby powder and something sourspit-up, probably. Oliver stroked her back, feeling her heart race.
“Soph, if somethings wrong, tell me. Im not a stranger.”
She pulled back, wiping her eyes.
“Its fine. Really. Just a rough patch. Itll pass.”
The pizza arrived forty minutes later. They ate in silence, avoiding each others eyes. Then Sophie vanished into the shower, and Oliver stayed, staring at his congealing ham slice.
He could say it. “Soph, I saw you with a pram. Jesss kid?” But then hed have to admit hed followed her. And shed ask, “And you? Where were you on those Fridays?”
What would he say? That he sat in cafés with another woman? That he told her things he hadnt told his wife in years? That sometimes he wonderedwhat if?
His phone buzzed. A text from Emma: “See you Monday? Want to show you that film I mentioned.”
Oliver deleted it. No. They wouldnt meet. Enough.
Sophie emerged in a towel robe, hair damp, cheeks flushed. She sat beside him.
“Oli, we should stay in tomorrow. Just us.”
“What about work?”
“Work can sod off.”
He smiled. When had she last said that?
“Alright. Just us.”
She took his hand. Her fingers were cold, despite the shower.
“We lost something, didnt we?”
“What?”
“Us. We lost us.”
Oliver squeezed her hand.
“Well find it.”
They woke late the next morning. Sophie made pancakesfirst time in a year. Oliver brewed coffee, sliced fruit. They breakfasted on the balcony, despite the chill.
“Remember breakfast in Paris?” Sophie said. “On that tiny terrace?”
“Where you nearly dropped a cup on some poor blokes head?”
“I did not nearly drop it, I just placed it badly!”
They laughed. How long since theyd laughed together?
The day passed oddly, like playing newlyweds. They binged a series curled up on the sofa, cooked lunchOliver chopped, Sophie stirred. No talk of work, money, plans. Just the here and now.
That night, Sophie fell asleep on his shoulder. Oliver studied her facerelaxed, soft. The crease between her brows was gone. She looked like the girl whod spilled coffee on his shirt seven years ago. “God, sorry! Let me pay for dry cleaning! Oror buy you another coffee?”
Hed bought her one instead. Then another. Then dinner. Then a ring.
Sophie twitched in her sleep, murmuring. Oliver tucked a blanket around her.
On Monday, he went to Emma.
“Hey! Thought you forgot about the film”
“Em, we need to talk.”
Her face changed. Sharp girl. Understood.
“Wife?”
“Yeah. That isno. I cant keep doing this.”
“Oliver, nothing even happened between us.”
“Exactly. And it wont. Im sorry.”
She nodded, turning to her screen.
“Go. Just go.”
He left. His chest felt heavy and light all at once. Right thing. Overdue.
Sophie wasnt home. A note on the fridge: “Back by seven. Dinner in the oven.”
Oliver reheated the meal, laid the table. Sophie arrived on time but jittery.
“Oli, I need to tell you something.”
He stilled. Here it comes.
“Jess has a son. Four months old. The dad bolted when he found out. Shes alone, no money, no job. IIve been helping. Looking after him while she goes to interviews. Or just so she can breathe. Im sorry I didnt say. Thought youd be angry.”
“Why would I be angry?”
“Well we want kids of our own. And here I am minding someone elses. I even gave her some money. From my pay,” she added quickly.
Oliver stood, rounded the table, pulled her close.
“Dont be daft. Of course you help. Shes your sister.”
Sophie sobbed into his chest.
“Im so tired of lying. Of making up where Im going.”
“No more lies.”
He thought of Emma. Of his own deceit. But nothat was nothing. Just talk. Just
“Oliver. What about you? Any secrets?”
His heart skipped.
“No. WellSoph, sometimes I wasnt at work late. I was at the
