**”Let Him Go, Please”**
The clock ticked past half seven in the evening. Charlotte watched as her husband, Edward, hastily buttoned his shirt, avoiding her gaze.
“Where are you off to so late, Edward?” she asked, her voice steady despite the knot in her stomach.
He snatched his coat from the rack. “Work emergency. Projects on fire. Dont wait up.”
Lately, these “emergencies” had become routine. Charlotte clenched her fists, swallowing the unease.
“Again? Third time this week.” She bit back the accusation in her tone.
“Cant be helped,” Edward muttered, his eyes distant. “Ill try not to be too late.”
The front door clicked shut. Charlotte stared at the empty hallway, then turned slowly.
“Mum, wheres Dad going?” Seven-year-old Emily emerged from her room, clutching a board game. “He promised to play with me tonight.”
Charlotte crouched, smoothing her daughters shoulder. Emilys eyes shimmered with disappointment.
“Dads got an important project, love. Hell make it up to you.” The words tasted hollow.
Emily sighed, trudging back to her room. Charlotte exhaled, heading to the kitchen. Shed bake Emilys favourite raisin biscuitssomething sweet to soften the blow.
The signs had been there for months. Late nights. Avoided touches. Conversations reduced to chores and school runs. Edward hadnt kissed her goodbye in ages.
Over warm biscuits and milk, Emily chattered about school. Charlotte nodded absently, her mind elsewhere. After bedtime stories, she scrubbed dishes, the hot water mirroring the turmoil inside. *Confront him? Demand the truth?* The thought of divorce twisted her gutEmily adored him. But living with a liar? Unbearable.
Two weeks later, Edward grew jumpyflinching at phone calls, hiding his screen. Then, a Saturday at home. Emily did homework while they sat stiffly on the sofa.
Charlottes phone rang. Unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Is this Charlotte?” A womans voice, crisp.
“Yes. Whos this?”
“Amanda Whitmore. We need to talk. About your husband.”
Charlottes stomach dropped. Edward stiffened beside her.
“Youre speaking to his wife, yes?”
She tapped *speakerphone*, setting the phone down. “Go on.”
“My daughter, Sophie, is twenty. Edwards her first love. Shes *devoted* to him.” Amandas tone was ice. “Be civilised. Let him go. Youre in the way.”
Charlottes fingers trembled. Edward paled.
“Sophie cries every night,” Amanda continued. “They deserve happiness. Youre holding them back.”
Charlotte forced calm. “Ill consider what youve said.”
A text dinged. Photos: Edward kissing a blonde in a café, their hands entwined.
“Amanda sent proof.” Charlotte thrust the screen at him.
Edward erupted. “Fine! Yes, Im with Sophie! We met at a conferencewhat did you expect? Youve ignored me for *years*!”
Charlotte stood, stunned. “*I* drove you to her?”
“You stopped trying!” he spat. “No how was your day? No home-cooked meals. Just work, chores, Emily! *You* let us fall apart!”
Charlotte scoffed. “And you? When did you last ask about *my* day? Or hold me? But I didnt cheat!”
“Its *different*!” Edward raged. “Im the breadwinner! *You* keep the spark alive!”
Charlotte gaped. “Says who? I work full-time, raise Emily, cleanand now Im your bloody therapist too?”
Silence.
She nodded slowly. “I suspected this. Now Ill file for divorce. Be happy with Sophie.”
Edward grabbed her wrists. “No! Its just a fling! Forgive me!”
“Forgive?” She wrenched free. “Youre joking.”
“Please,” he begged. “I cant leave!”
“Why not?”
“Where would I *live*?” he blurted.
Charlotte laughed bitterly. “Ah. Not guiltyoure scared of being *homeless*.”
Edward looked at his shoes.
“Pack. Now.”
She found Emily in the hallway, wide-eyed. “Come, darling. Lets finish your maths.”
An hour later, Edward stood in the foyer, suitcases in hand. “Charlotte, give me another chance. Ill end itwell start fresh.”
She opened the door. “Run to Sophie. She can comfort you *now*.”
The lock clicked. Charlotte leaned against the door, eyes shut. The hollow ache gave way to relief. Shed never tolerate a liar under her roof again. *Never.*
