**Diary Entry**
Three Saturdays in a row, Emily left “for work.” What I saw changed everything.
“Late again?” I try to keep my voice steady, but it wavers anyway. She freezes, her hand still clutching her bag, turning slowly as if buying time.
“Yeah, the projects a nightmare. The boss is losing it, and were all scrambling.”
“On a Saturday? For the third week?”
“James, dont be childish. Work is work.”
She kisses my cheekquick, perfunctory, like a neighbour in the lift. She doesnt smell like her usual perfume. Something sweet, milky. It makes me frown.
“Em, can we talk?”
“Later. I promise, later, alright?”
The door slams. I stand in the hallway, fists clenched. Three Saturdays. Three bloody Saturdays where she leaves at dawn and comes back exhausted, silent, a stranger.
I cant take it anymore. I grab the car keys.
Emily steps outside, glances around. I duck downthank God I parked behind a van. She gets into a taxi. I start the engine.
We drive for ages. Not to her officethat much is clear. Some quiet neighbourhood on the other side of London. My heart hammers. Ill see for myself. Ill know the truth.
She gets out by a rundown block of flats. I park further down, follow on foot. She disappears inside. I wait, counting windows. Third floor. Left side.
Half an hour passes. Then she reappearsbut not alone.
With a pram.
I nearly stumble. A baby? We dont have kids. Weve talked about it, but not seriously, not since these Saturdays started
The baby wails. Emily rocks the pram, murmuring something. She looks lost, unsure. Then her younger sister, Lily, dashes outirresponsible Lily, whos already had two divorces by twenty-five.
“Em, thank you! Ill be quick, two hours max!”
“Lily, you said an hour!”
“Please, Em! I really need this!”
Lily bolts, leaving Emily with the screaming infant. She looks helpless, pushing the pram back and forth.
I retreat behind a corner, lean against the wall. So, not an affair. A nephew. But why the secrecy? Why lie?
I hurry back to the car, race home. I need to beat her there. I need to think.
At home, I pace. I could just ask. “Em, where were you?” But shed lieI know she would. Just like Ive been lying.
Because I have a secret too.
Hannah. The receptionist from the next department. Nothing seriousjust chats after work, coffee, sometimes a film. She laughs at my jokes, listens to my rants about coding. The way Emily used to. Before our life became “buy bread,” “pay the bills,” “pick up your socks.”
With Hannah, its easy. She reminds me of the Emily I fell for seven years ago. Bright, carefree, ready to humour my ramblings for hours.
The key turns in the lock. I jump, grab the remote, flick on the telly.
“Hi,” Emily peeks in. “Youve been home all day?”
“Yep. Couldnt be bothered to go out.”
She heads to the kitchen. I hear water running, dishes clinking. I follow.
Shes at the sink, scrubbing a mug. Her shoulders sag, dark circles under her eyes. A stain on her jeanslooks like baby formula.
“Em.”
“What?”
“Youre exhausted.”
She turns, surprised.
“Yeah. I am.”
“Fancy dinner out? That Italian place we went to for our anniversary?”
“James, Im wrecked. Lets just order pizza?”
I nod. Watch as she digs out her phone, searches for the takeaway. Her hands shake.
“Em, whats going on?”
“What dyou mean?”
“Youve been different. For weeks.”
She freezes. The phone slips, clatters onto the table.
“Its just work, James. So much work.”
“On Saturdays?”
“Yes! On Saturdays! Why cant you drop it?”
Her voice cracks. Shes close to tears. I step forward, pull her in. She stiffens, then melts, face buried in my shoulder.
“Sorry. Im just so tired.”
She smells like baby powder and something sourspit-up, probably. I rub her back, feel her heart racing.
“Em, if somethings wrong, tell me. Im not a stranger.”
She pulls away, wipes her eyes.
“Its fine. Really. Just a rough patch. Itll pass.”
The pizza arrives forty minutes later. We eat in silence, avoiding each others eyes. Then she showers, and Im left staring at a cold slice of ham and pineapple.
I could say it. “Em, I saw you with a pram. Is it Lilys?” But then Id have to admit I followed her. And shed ask, “And you? Where have you been on Fridays?”
What would I say? That Ive been sitting in cafés with another woman? Telling her things I havent told my wife? That sometimes I wonder what if?
My phone buzzes. A text from Hannah: “See you Monday? I want to show you that film I mentioned.”
I delete it. No. We wont. Enough.
Emily emerges in her dressing gown, hair damp, face flushed. She sits beside me.
“James, lets stay in tomorrow. Just us.”
“What about work?”
“Sod work.”
I smile. When was the last time she said that?
“Alright. Just us.”
She takes my hand. Her fingers are cold, despite the hot shower.
“We lost something, didnt we?”
“What?”
“Us. We lost us.”
I squeeze her hand.
“Well find it.”
We sleep in. Emily makes pancakesfirst time in a year. I brew coffee, chop fruit. We eat on the balcony, even though its chilly.
“Remember breakfast in Paris?” she says. “On that tiny terrace?”
“Where you nearly dropped a cup on some poor blokes head?”
“I did not nearly drop it, I just set it down badly!”
We laugh. How long since we laughed together?
The day feels strange. Like were playing newlyweds. We binge a series, curled up on the sofa. Cook togetherI chop, she stirs. We dont talk about work, money, plans. Just the here and now.
That night, she falls asleep on my shoulder. I study her facerelaxed, peaceful. The crease between her brows is gone. She looks like the girl who spilled coffee on me seven years ago. “Oh God, sorry! Let me pay for dry cleaning! Oror Ill buy you another coffee?”
I bought her one instead. Then another. Then dinner. Then a ring.
She twitches in her sleep, murmurs. I tuck the blanket around her.
On Monday, I go to Hannah.
“Hi! I thought you forgot about the film”
“Han, we need to talk.”
Her face falls. Smart girl. She gets it.
“Your wife?”
“Yeah. No. I mean I cant do this.”
“James, nothing even happened.”
“Exactly. And it wont. Im sorry.”
She nods, turns to her screen.
“Go. Just go.”
I leave. My chest feels heavy and light at once. I did the right thing. Long overdue.
Emilys not home. A note on the fridge: “Back by seven. Dinner in the oven.”
I heat it up, set the table. She arrives on time but jittery.
“James, I need to tell you something.”
I freeze. Here it comes.
“Lily has a son. Four months old. The dad bailed when he found out. Shes alone, no job, no money. Ive been helping. Watching him while she interviews. Or just so she can breathe. Im sorry I didnt tell you. I thought youd hate it.”
“Why would I?”
“Well weve talked about kids. And here I am with someone elses. And Ive lent her money. From my salary,” she adds quickly.
I stand, pull her into a hug.
“Silly woman. Of course you should help. Shes your sister.”
She sniffles into my chest.
“Im so tired of lying. Of making up excuses.”
“No more. No more lies.”
I think of Hannah. Of my own lies. But this was different. Just chats. Just
“James, what about you? Any secrets?”
My heart skips.
“No. Well I havent always been at work late. Sometimes Ive gone to the pub with colleagues. Just for a pint, a chat. Home felt bleak.”
Not the
