The glow of her husbands phone illuminated the dark bedroom as she reached for it to check the time. Then she saw the notificationthe one that shattered her world.
*”No, Mrs. Whitmore, its impossible! I cant take leave nowweve got the quarterly reports due, and the HMRC audit is days away!”* Emilys fingers trembled as she shuffled papers, avoiding her bosss steel gaze. *”Surely someone else can go?”*
*”Who else?”* The stout woman in her sharp navy suit leaned forward, her voice cutting. *”Sarahs on maternity leave, Jessicas off with her sick child, and Lucy would mix up the entire filing system! Youre the only one who can handle this.”*
*”But my sons just recovered from pneumonia, my mother cant travel to help, and my husbands always away on business,”* Emilys throat tightened. *”I cant just leave for a weeknot to Manchester!”*
*”Not my concern,”* Mrs. Whitmore snapped. *”Either you go, or hand in your notice. Your choice.”*
Emily left the office hollow with defeat. In the corridor, her colleague Rachel caught up with her.
*”Rough meeting?”* she murmured sympathetically. *”Heard the shouting through the walls.”*
*”Thats putting it mildly.”* Emily exhaled. *”I dont know what to do. James is still weak, and Daniels stuck in Edinburgh overseeing that project. How am I supposed to manage it all?”*
*”What about your mother-in-law? Could she watch James?”*
Emily scoffed bitterly. *”Margaret? She thinks grandchildren are *my* jobhers is just critiquing how I raise him. No, thanks.”*
Back at her desk, Emily stared blankly at spreadsheets, her mind miles away. Thirty-eight years old, and still torn between work, motherhood, and a house that never stayed clean. And Daniel was never home when she needed him most.
That night, after tucking James in, she collapsed onto the sofa, her head throbbing. She dialed Daniels number, but it rang out*another late meeting*. Fifteen years of marriage had accustomed her to his absences, but tonight, the loneliness gnawed at her.
Finally, her phone buzzedDaniel.
*”Hey, love,”* his voice was rough with exhaustion. *”Sorry I missed your call. Its chaos here.”*
*”Daniel, Ive been ordered to Manchester for a week. James isnt well enough for nursery. Can you come home?”*
Silence. Then
*”Em, you *know* I cant. Were two weeks from deadline. Id be there if I could, but”*
*”But you cant,”* she finished flatly. *”As usual.”*
*”Dont start,”* he snapped. *”Im not swanning about on holiday. Im earning the money that pays our bills, in case youve forgotten.”*
*”I earn too,”* she shot back. *”Except Im also the one raising our child, cooking your meals, washing your shirts”*
*”Not now,”* he cut in. *”Im dead on my feet. Ask your mum to come. Or Hannah next doorshe could watch James after school.”*
*”Easy for you to say,”* Emily whispered, tears burning. *”Fine. Ill figure it out. Like always.”*
After hanging up, she sat motionless, the telly flickering soundlessly. When had their life become this? Two exhausted strangers sharing a roof, too drained to even talk.
The next three days blurred into frantic arrangementsdelaying the trip, begging her mother to come from Surrey, praying Daniel would return by Saturday.
But on Friday night, as she packed for Manchester, her phone rang again.
*”Em… Im stuck here another two days. The projects imploding.”*
*”What?”* Her stomach dropped. *”Daniel, I leave *Sunday*. We agreed!”*
*”I *know*,”* he groaned. *”But if I dont stay, we lose the bonus. Thats *thousands*, Em.”*
*”And what about James? Or my *seventy-two-year-old* mother with her bad hip? Or her *doctors appointment* she waited months for?”* Her grip whitened around the phone.
*”Then ask Hannah or hire a sitter for two days!”* His patience frayed. *”I cant be in two places at once!”*
*”But *I* can?”* Her voice cracked. *”When was the last time *you* took care of him? Or this house? Or *me*?”*
*”Im killing myself to provide for this family!”* he exploded. *”So James has everything! What more do you want?”*
*”For you to *be here*,”* she said quietly, tears falling. *”But apparently, thats too much.”*
She hung up and pressed her palms to her eyes. Refuse the trip and risk her job? Leave James with her frail mother? Hire a stranger?
Exhausted, she dozed off at the tableonly to jerk awake at 2:37 a.m., her neck stiff. She stumbled to bed, then realized her phone was still in the living room. Daniels identical one sat charging on the nightstandleft behind in his rush to that *bloody project*.
*Just check the time, set the alarm.* She tapped the screen. The notification flashed instantly:
*”Miss you already. Cant wait for tomorrowour usual spot. Kisses, C. x”*
Emily froze. The words blurred as her fingers turned to ice. *No. Not Daniel. Not after everything.*
Hands shaking, she unlocked itPIN was Jamess birthdayand opened the messages. Dozens of exchanges with a contact labeled *”C.”* Half a years worth of lies. His *”business trips”* were often just nights with *her*. Right now, he wasnt in Edinburgh. He was *here*, in London.
She opened a photoa woman in her thirties, auburn hair, radiant. *Young*. Far younger than Emilys tired reflection, with its streaks of grey and worry lines.
Another message popped up: *”Asleep? Sweet dreams, darling. x”*
Rage surged through her. Her first instinct was to call him, scream, unravel his deceit like hed unraveled her life. But nothis wasnt a phone conversation. She needed to see his face when the truth gutted him.
Instead, she called Hannah at 3 a.m.
*”Can you watch James tomorrow? I have to go somewhere.”*
*”Emily? Whats happened?”*
*”Ill explain later. Its… family stuff.”*
At dawn, she took a taxi to an address from the messagesa sleek penthouse in Kensington, rented under the pretense of *”client meetings.”* The concierge waved her through at *”Mrs. Carters”* name.
The door opened to *her**C.*in a silk robe, flawless. *”Can I help you?”*
*”Emily Carter. Daniels wife.”* She stepped inside before the woman could react. *”You must be Claire.”*
The flat was immaculate: designer furniture, half-drunk wine, Daniels favorite shirt draped over a chair*the one shed bought him*.
*”He told me your marriage was over,”* Claire blurted. *”That you stayed for James. That you were divorcing.”*
Emily laughed bitterly. *”Classic cheaters script. And you believed him?”*
*”I He was *different* with me. So attentive. Hed leave work early just to”*
*”Funny,”* Emily cut in. *”He never had time for *me*.”*
The door clicked open. Daniel stood frozen, flowers in hand.
*”Emily”*
*”Save it,”* she said, her voice eerily calm. *”I saw everything. Your little Edinburgh lie. Your *second life*.”*
*”Its not what you think,”* he pleaded. *”Weve been strangers for years. Youre always working or with James. We dont talk, dont *touch*”*
*”And instead of fixing it, you ran to *her*?”* Her composure cracked. *”You *never* tried!”*
*”I *did*!”* he shouted. *”That weekend in Cornwall I planned? You cancelled for work. Our anniversary dinner? You said youd rather get takeaway. Every time I reached out, you pushed me away!”*
Claire stood abruptly. *”I should go.”*
*”Dont,”* Emily said. *”This is *your* home. *Im* leaving.”*
Daniel grabbed her arm. *”Waitthink of James!”*
*”Oh, *now* you think of him?”* She wrenched free. *”Money isnt parenting, Daniel. He needs a *father*not a stranger who buys presents between business trips.”*
Outside, the autumn air bit her cheeks as tears streamed down. Fifteen years, obliterated by a text.
She dialed Mrs. Whitmore. *”About ManchesterIll go. Today, if needed.”*
Sometimes running forward was easier than looking back. Especially when all that remained behind you was wreckage.
