The man stumbled through the front door, still in his coat, and blurted out before his shoes were even off: “We need to talk, Emily.” His breath was ragged, eyes wide as saucers. “I’ve I’ve fallen in love!”
Emily blinked. *Midlife crisis*, she thought dryly. *Lovely.* But she said nothing, just studied his facereally studied itfor the first time in years.
They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die. For Emily, it was *their* life that spun past. Theyd met the modern wayonline. Shed shaved three years off her age; hed added an inch to his height. Close enough. His first message hadnt been cringeworthy, just self-deprecating in that dry English way she liked. At thirty-three, decent-looking but no runway model, she knew her place in the marriage market: near the back. So shed worn her best knickers, stuffed biscuits and a novel into her handbag, and hoped for the best.
Surprisingly, it *had* been the best. Their romance burned fast. Six months in, under pressure from parents despairing of grandchildren, he proposed. A quick wedding followedno fuss, just family. No time for second thoughts.
Life was fine. No grand passion, just comfortable. He shed the “sensitive, romantic bloke” act within weeks, revealing himself as what he was: a steady, practical man in joggers. Emily, in turn, loosened her grip on the “mysterious, seductive intellectual” routine, especially after pregnancy turned her priorities upside-down. Soon, she was happily swanning about in a fluffy dressing gown.
Somehow, it worked. No illusions, no disappointments. Just two people content with what they had. Kids cametwo, back-to-backand life chugged along. Grandparents helped. Careers inched forward. They travelled, had hobbies, kept up appearances. Twelve years married, and not a whisper of an affair. Not even a flirt.
The thought of him *flirting* made her smirk. Hed long given up on verbal compliments, resorting instead to wide-eyed stares, like some baffled stork. Shed learned to read every flicker in those round eyesawe, approval, panic, outrage. Now she imagined him gawping at some woman, pupils dilating like a startled owl
Her throat tightened. “So,” she said lightly, “whats her name, then?”
His eyes practically climbed his forehead. He fumbled, trembled, then rasped: “Howhow did you *know* it was a rat?!” From under his shirt, he produced a small grey creature with pinkish ears and beady black eyes. “Look at her! So soft, so perfect just like you.”
Emily stopped hearing. She gazed at her husband, at his new love, at their shared joy, and felt only bliss. Of course hed fallen for a rat. A rat that looked *exactly* like her.
