September greeted me with a cool yet gentle sun. Yellow leaves swirled at my feet, and the air smelled of damp earth and the promise of autumn. I was hurriedly throwing the last of my belongings into suitcases. Ahead lay a long journey to Yorkshire, where my mother, suddenly taken ill, waited for me.
At first it seemed like a simple cold, but a deep unease settled in my chest and grew each day. The doctors delivered a shocking diagnosis that hit me like an icecold shower. My husband, James, stayed behind; he simply could not accompany me. I had to make the only sensible choice: grab our son, Tom, and fly straight to my mothers side. Thus began the exhausting, relentless battle for every precious minute.
The first three months were a blur of endless doctor appointments, endless tests, and frantic searches for a competent specialist. Whenever a rare free slot appeared, I would rush home, only to feel that something inside me had shifted. The house looked the sameclean, cosy, James still trying to keep the routine alivebut my thoughts were stuck in the Yorkshire moors. The home wasnt abandoned; James did his best to preserve the familiar warmth, yet my focus was elsewhere.
Just as my mother began to stabilise, I was forced to pack again. Tom, weary from flights and hospital corridors but obedient, rode with me. More planes, more doctors, more flickering hope that suddenly ignited and then sputtered out. By March there was a brief lull: my mother improved slightly, and I allowed myself a short respite, returning to London for a couple of weeks.
It was during that quiet spell that a stubborn truth, like a weed, pushed its way into the light. Tom complained that his phone had slipped into the bath. I recalled a tip Id once read in a womens magazineplace the wet device in a bowl of rice.
I retrieved the smartphone, switched it on, and the screen lit up with a new message. James was dozing peacefully on the sofa.
Tom, look, your phones working, I said, handing him the device.
He lazily scrolled through the notifications and stopped dead.
Whats this? I leaned closer, noticing the sudden tension in his posture. The message read: Im falling for you more and more each day. What on earth does that mean?
James snapped upright, coughing as if to mask his unease, his hands trembling just a fraction.
Sweetheart, youve got it all wrong, he blurted, its just a joke, a colleague of mine was pulling a prank. We sometimes mess around at work
A joke? I crossed my arms, feeling a cold creep inside despite the warm room. Messing around?
Im being honest, its nonsense. We just work together, nothing more.
Youre sure? Because thats not something a just colleague would normally write, I pressed, studying his face for any hint of deceit.
Im certain. Youre overthinking because of Moms illness. Lets leave it, go for a walk. The suns out, we could use some fresh air.
His insistence felt like a desperate attempt to change the subject. After three months of nonstop stress, I let myself believe him, attributing everything to nerves and fatigue. We walked, but the false calm didnt last long.
No sooner had we returned than another message arrived from the same colleague, this one even more explicit. Jealousy stabbed me, yet I chose first to confront James rather than stage a scene.
James, look at what she just sent. This isnt a joke any more.
He took the phone, his face paling.
This this is a mistake. Ill tell her to stop.
Youll write to her? Or should I do it myself? My voice shook.
Eleanor, I told you, I love only you. Theres no point making a scene over some nonsense.
Soon we were back on a plane, back in Yorkshire, back to hospitals, tests, and the endless hum of medical equipment. Tom remained the only constant in the chaos. My mothers condition eased a little, granting me another brief breathing space.
March came again, and with it a fleeting chance to return home and try to regain some balance. But the balance never returned. A handful of SMSes I skimmed that day kept looping in my mind; I couldnt simply erase those words.
I decided not to wait for another excuse and asked James directly.
James, I need the truth. I cant live with vague explanations.
Ive already explained everything! It was a clumsy joke. I dont understand why youre bringing it up again.
Because it unnerves me, I replied firmly.
James tensed.
Eleanor, why are you making this a bigger deal? Everythings already complicated
I spoke to your colleague, I said, my voice turning icy, and she reached out herself.
He froze.
She wrote, I continued, looking straight into his eyes, Yes, I love you. Yes, we had something. What will you say to that, James?
He stayed silent, his face turning ashen.
Leave, I whispered, the tremor in my voice barely held back, pack your things and go.
No, he muttered, youre making a huge mistake! I never did anything with her. She imagined things, and you fell for some lunatic story!
I dont believe you! I snapped, pulling out my phone and showing him the screenshot of the conversation where the other woman had confessed everything. Look! This is your joke!
He lowered his head. The silence stretched on forever. When he finally lifted his gaze, guilt and despair swirled within it.
Fine. I slipped. I love only you and have always loved you, Eleanor. Thats the truth.
Slipped? I laughed bitterly, three years of lies! How do you disrespect someone so badly?
Its not a lie, I truly love you! Its just that you werent often around and I.
Not around? Only cowards behave like that! I shouted, stepping back, Youre a coward!
But I didnt leave you, Eleanor, I didnt abandon you! he tried to grasp my hand, Were still together
I pulled my hand away. Whether he left or not mattered little now; the pain he caused eclipsed everything else.
You didnt abandon me? I asked, voice sour, You were torn, you suffered, but you didnt leave
I couldnt! I love you!
Love? I shook my head, No, you stayed because it was convenient, not because you cared. I have no energy to dissect your motives. I must go. Mothers condition worsened.
Another flight. Another return to Yorkshire, doctors, wards. The fight continued, now bearing the weight of my mothers illness and the crushing betrayal of my husband.
My mother passed away in August. By New Year I moved through life like a ghost, mechanically performing the necessary tasks. The house I once saw as a fortress now felt foreign. Tom was my anchor, the sole reason I didnt dissolve completely into the endless gray.
When the first months of despair faded, I began to wake up, though I never fully recovered. Every glance at James burned. I could no longer look at him, hear his voice, see his face. Yet I clung to the need to care for Tom, who seemed to sense my turmoil.
James, realizing the depth of his wrongdoing, tried to mend things. He stayed close, offered help, begged for forgiveness, pleaded for a fresh start.
Eleanor, please, lets try again. I made a terrible mistake. I know. But I never left when you went to your mothers. Isnt that proof of my love?
My mind replayed the texts Id accidentally discovered while cleaning my phone. The words Id missed in the heat of desperation now resurfaced with terrifying clarity.
Youre my everything, he had written to the other woman.
And her reply, which I memorised:
Did I tell your wife everything correctly? Someone should have pushed her. Any other woman would have left, but yours a rag!
I watched Tom building a tower of blocks in the corner, his concentration reminding me of my own childhoodbright, focused, innocent. He didnt deserve a home where his mother is shattered by a fathers lies.
James entered with two mugs of tea.
Here, herbal tea. Please, have a sip.
I took the mug, but didnt drink.
I cant, James
We agreedtime heals. Give us time. Ill do anything for you to forgive me.
Time? I managed a bitter smile, Time showed youre a master liar. You stayed because leaving became inconvenient, not because you loved me. Her messages prove it. She told you to tell me everything, didnt she?
It was stupid of her! I told her it was over!
You didnt forbid her, James. You just chose the easier story to keep me from collapsing.
I inhaled deeply.
I cant forgive you. Not now. Maybe never. But I must live, and Tom must live. Well live apart for a while. Ill send him to his aunt for a couple of weeks, and Ill stay with a friend. I need to figure out what I want next.
Jamess face turned pale. He understood this wasnt a temporary break; it was a genuine chance to lose everything.
Eleanor, dont do this. Please. Ill go to a therapist, any specialist. Ill quit my job if I have to. Just dont leave.
Im not leaving you, James. Im leaving the lies. I cant love you now, and I wont live amidst deceit any longer. Well talk when I returnif I ever do
March passed, then April, then May. I never returned. Two months later we lived apart, and I finally decided the family could not survive, not even for Toms sake. James changed jobs, cut off contact with his lover. Yet I know that young woman will remain a shadow in both our memories, and Im not ready to accept that. Never.
