Youre going to her again?
Emma stared at her husband, James, as he struggled with his shoelaces.
To the children, love. To the children, not to her, James muttered, pulling the laces tight. How long must we keep arguing about this?
Emma stayed silent, her lips a thin line. She had a thousand things to say, but the words lodged in her throat like a painful lump.
Before we were married, you told me this was acceptable, James continued, rising and slipping his coat off the rack. You knew I had kids. I told you everything straight away. You said you understood. And now? Temper tantrums? Interrogations?
Emma clenched her teeth even harder. James threw the coat over his shoulders and, without waiting for an answer, headed for the door. The lock clicked, leaving her alone.
A few seconds passed before Emma could even stir. Her legs felt as heavy as lead. She collapsed onto the settee in the sittingroom, turned on a mindless soap opera, letting the background chatter drown out her thoughts.
They had been together three years, two of them married. She had known from the start that there would be a divorce, two childrena boy and a girl. James had mentioned them on their third date. Emma had smiled then, saying it wasnt a problem, that she understood, that children were no obstacle.
Now those words seemed naïve, foolish.
She covered her eyes with her palm, drew a deep breath. Holding back tears grew harder; her chest tightened as if an invisible slab pressed down on it.
It became unbearable. Twice a weekTuesday and SaturdayJames would go to his exwifes house. He said it was to see the children, but he stayed for dinner, lingered with Margaret, his former spouse.
Emma knew it was absurd. She trusted James, or at least tried to convince herself she did. Yet a vague foreboding gnawed at her, making her feel sick.
When James left, Emma was left alone in the flat, spiralling into selfreproach. She berated herself for not standing her ground, for yielding to his promises, for staying silent when she ought to have shouted.
She snatched her phone and hurriedly typed a message to her friend.
Hes with her again.
The phone buzzeda call from Lucy.
Hello? Emma answered, trying to keep her voice steady.
Emma, what are you doing? Lucy cut straight to the chase. How long can you put up with this? Hes cheating you, isnt he?
No, Lucy, you dont understand Emma began, but Lucy interrupted.
I get it perfectly. He goes to Margaret twice a week, stays there till nightfall, and youre supposed to tell me theyre just playing Lego with the kids?
Emma ran a hand over her face. She knew Lucy was right, but admitting it would mean admitting her marriage was a farce.
He says theres nothing between us, that hes only there for the children, Emma whispered.
Oh, youre so gullible, Lucy sighed. Open your eyes, Emma. A decent bloke would spend half an hour at an exs house, not the whole evening. Hed take the kids to the park and bring them back. Instead, hes in Margarets kitchen, eating her borscht, probably holding her hand when the kids arent looking.
Lucy, enough, Emma snapped, gripping the handset tighter.
Enough? Fine. Just remember my words. Youll still have a chance with him. When that comes, dont say I didnt warn you.
The call ended. Emma stared at the ceiling while someone on the television laughed loudly, but she felt detached.
James returned close to midnight. Emma heard him strip in the hallway, hear the shower run, felt his body slide onto the bed beside her, and the sweet, cloying scent of another womans perfume filled the room.
She didnt ask why he was late; she had no strength left. James, settling himself, spoke first.
Sorry for being late. Lily needed a craft for nursery, so I helped her, he mumbled, already halfclosed his eyes. She made a little cow out of pine cones. Funny little thing.
Emma nodded in the darkness, though James didnt see it.
The pattern persisted for monthsTuesday, Saturday, departure, return, foreign perfume, excuses.
Then James grew sullen, withdrawn. He could sit for hours staring at his phone, brow knit. Emma tried to ask what was wrong, but he brushed her off with muttered nonsense and retreated to another room.
A couple of weeks later he announced:
Listen, were going on a double date this Friday.
Emma raised an eyebrow.
With whom?
With Margaret and her new man.
Emma felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Margaret had a new partner? James wasnt with his ex? He hadnt been cheating? All her fears were groundless? A smile slipped onto Emmas face. She turned to James, slipped her arms around his neck.
Of course, lets go.
Friday arrived swiftly. Emma bought a new dressa lightblue, figurehugging numberwanting to look her best, to show Margaret she was worthy of James, that she was the right choice.
They met at a cosy café on the other side of the city, wooden tables and soft lighting. Margaret was already there with a man in his forties, tall, athletic, with a pleasant grin.
Hello, Margaret stood to greet them. This is Max.
She looked polished, slim, wellkept. Max shook Jamess hand, and they all settled. Emma felt a hopeful flutter; the evening should have been smooth, a simple chat before everyone went home.
Instead, the double date turned nightmarish.
All night James behaved as if he were trying to win Margaret back from Max. He constantly interrupted Max, flaunting how well he knew Margaret.
Max suggested ordering a pepperspiced pizza. James interjected:
Margaret doesnt like anything hot.
I know, Max replied calmly. We already discussed it. You cut me off before I could say it was for us. Lets get something else for Margaret.
But James would not be silenced.
Remember, Margaret, when we took the kids to the seaside? he blurted, ignoring Max. Mikey brought a jellyfish onto the shore, thinking it was a toy.
Margaret nodded, irritation plain on her face.
James, that was ages ago, she said, trying to change the subject.
James kept ramblingstories of the children, of picking out a pram, of sleepless nights when their son had colic. Emma sat stonecold, a glass of water clutched in her hands. Every word he uttered cut deeper; she saw how uncomfortable Margaret was, how she tried to steer the conversation away, but James seemed oblivious.
Emma realised then that James had never truly let go of his ex. He clung to their shared past, to the children, to memories. SheEmmawas merely a spare part, a temporary replacement.
Her phone rang. A banks automated voice, but Emma pretended to be speaking to her mother about an urgent matter.
Sorry, I have to go, this is important.
No one stopped her. James didnt even glance up. Emma fled the café, hailed a cab and sped home.
In the flat she pulled out a large suitcase and began packing. She could no longer endure Jamess behaviour.
James came back an hour later, angry, displeased. He saw the suitcase at her feet.
Whats happening?
Emma lifted her gaze. Her eyes were dry; the tears had dried somewhere between sweaters and jeans.
Im leaving, she said simply.
Where? James frowned.
Anywhere but here, Emma slipped on her coat. Tonights date opened my eyes. You still love Margaret, or at least you cant let her go. I dont know which is worse.
What are you talking about? James began, but Emma raised a hand, silencing him.
Stop lying. I saw how you acted. You tried to claim her as yours in front of Max. All evening you made it clear theres still a bond between you two, and I was just there for the sake of the show.
James was silent.
I wont be a backup, James, Emma continued, gripping the suitcase handle. I wont stay. Im leaving.
Emma, wait, he pleaded.
No, she shook her head. I love you, but that love will burn out, will be consumed. At least Ill keep what little dignity I have left.
She stepped over the threshold. James watched her go, offering no protest, no request, no explanation.
Emma called a cab and headed for her parents house. In the back seat she watched the nightlit city pass by, thinking of one thing: at last she was free.
