Emma hadnt quite ended the call with her husband when she unexpectedly heard a womans voice on the other end.
She stood by the window, watching the thick London snow blanket the city. The phone call with James had been winding downjust another routine chat in their fifteen years of marriage. As usual, he was updating her about his “business trip” in Manchester: everything was fine, meetings were going to plan, hed be back in three days.
“Alright, love, talk later,” Emma said, pulling the phone away to tap the red end-call button. But something stopped her. A voicesoft, young, unmistakably femininedrifted through before the line cut.
“Jimmy, are you coming? Ive already run the bath”
Emmas hand froze mid-air. Her heart skipped a beat, then hammered so hard she thought it might crack a rib. She fumbled the phone back to her ear, but all she got was the dull beep of a disconnected call.
She sank into the armchair, legs suddenly weak. Thoughts spun wildly: *Jimmy? A bath? Since when do business trips involve baths?* Her memory tossed up odd details from the past few monthsthe frequent trips, the late-night calls he always took outside, the unfamiliar perfume lingering in his car.
With trembling fingers, she opened her laptop. Logging into his email was easyshed known the password since the days of trust and honesty. Tickets, hotel bookings *A honeymoon suite in a five-star Manchester hotel. For two.*
Then came the emails. *Chloe. Twenty-six. Personal trainer.* *”Darling, I cant do this anymore. You promised youd leave her three months ago. How much longer?”*
Emma felt sick. A memory flickeredtheir first date, when James was just a junior sales rep and she was a trainee accountant. Theyd scrimped for their wedding, renting a tiny flat, celebrating every small win. Now he was Commercial Director, she was Head of Finance, and between them yawned a chasmfifteen years deep, twenty-six years wide, and filled with a woman named Chloe.
In the hotel room, James paced like a caged animal.
“What were you thinking?” His voice shook with anger.
Chloe lounged on the bed, wrapped in a silk robe, her blonde hair fanned over the pillow. “Whats the big deal?” She stretched like a contented cat. “You said you were leaving her anyway.”
“That wasnt your call to make! Emma isnt stupidshell have figured it out!”
“Good!” Chloe sat up sharply. “Im sick of being your dirty secret. I want dinners, parties, to be your *wife*!”
“Youre being childish,” he hissed.
“And youre a coward!” She marched up to him. “Look at me. Im young, Im beautiful, I could give you children. What does *she* do? Just count your money?”
James grabbed her shoulders. “Dont you dare talk about Emma like that. You know nothing about us!”
“I know enough.” She wrenched free. “I know youre miserable. That shes buried in work and chores. When was the last time you even *touched* her? Took a holiday together?”
James turned to the window. Somewhere in snow-covered London, his marriage was crumbling. Fifteen years, collapsing like a house of cards because of one careless sentence.
Emma sat in the dark kitchen, cradling a cold cup of tea. Her phone buzzeddozens of missed calls from James. She ignored them. What was there to say? *”Darling, I heard your girlfriend calling you to her bath”?*
Memories flickered: James kneeling in a crowded pub with a ring. Moving into their first flata cramped two-bed in the suburbs. Him holding her when she lost her mum. Celebrating his promotion
Then came the endless overtime, the mortgages, the renovations.
When had they last talked properly? Watched a film curled up on the sofa? Made plans?
Her phone buzzed againa text. *”Em, we need to talk. I can explain.”*
Explain what? That shed aged? That life had dulled her? That a twenty-six-year-old understood him better?
She caught her reflection. Forty-two. Laughter lines, grey roots she religiously dyed. When had the tiredness set in? The rigid routines, the endless chase for stability?
“Jimmy, whered you go?” Chloe scowled as he returned from another failed call to Emma.
“Not now.” He slumped into a chair, loosening his tie.
“No, *now*!” She planted her hands on her hips. “Whats the plan? You know this cant wait!”
James studied herconfident, glowing, *alive*. Emma had been like that once. God, how had he done this to her?
“Chloe,” he rubbed his face, “youre right. Its time to end this.”
She beamed, flinging her arms around him. “I *knew* youd”
“us,” he finished gently, peeling her off. “This was a mistake. I love my wife. Yes, weve drifted. But I wont throw away fifteen years.”
“You *coward*!” Tears streaked her face.
“No. The coward was the man who started this. Who lied to the woman who stood by him through everything. Youre rightIm unhappy. But happiness isnt something you *find* on the side. Its something you *build*.”
The knock came just past midnight. Emma knew it was himhed caught the first flight back.
“Em, please,” his voice was muffled through the door.
She opened it. James stood thereunshaven, crumpled suit, eyes raw with guilt.
“Can I come in?”
Silently, she stepped aside. They sat at the kitchen tablethe same spot where theyd once dreamed together.
“Em”
“Dont,” she cut in. “I know. Chloe, twenty-six, personal trainer. I read your emails.”
He nodded, wordless.
“Why, James?”
He stared out at the city lights. “Because I was weak. Because I got scared wed become strangers. Because she reminded me of youthe old you. Full of fire.”
“And now?”
“Now” He turned to her. “Now I want to fix this. If youll let me.”
“What about her?”
“Its over. I cant lose you, Em. I know I dont deserve forgiveness. But lets try? Counselling, more time together, *us* again”
Emma studied himolder, greyer, achingly familiar. Fifteen years wasnt just a number. It was shared jokes, silent understandings, the choice to forgive.
“I dont know, James,” she whispered, crying at last.
He hugged her, and she didnt pull away. Outside, snow kept falling, covering London in white.
And somewhere in Manchester, a young woman wept, learning the hard way: love isnt passion or grand gestures. Its a daily choice.
Here, in this kitchen, two people began piecing their life back together. Ahead lay anger, therapy, painful conversationsbut they both knew: sometimes, you have to lose something to understand its worth.
