Three Saturdays in a row, Emily had left the house “for work.” What Mark discovered changed everything.
“Running late again?” Mark tried to keep his voice steady, but it betrayed him, trembling at the edges.
Emily froze, her hand clutching her bag. She turned slowly, as if buying time.
“Yeah, the projects a nightmare. The boss is losing it, everyones scrambling.”
“On a Saturday? For the third week?”
“Mark, dont be childish. Work is work.”
She kissed his cheekquick, perfunctory, like a neighbor in a lift. She didnt smell like her usual perfume. Something sweet, milky. He wrinkled his nose.
“Em, can we talk?”
“Later. Tonight, okay?”
The door slammed. Mark stood in the hallway, fists clenched. The third Saturday. The third bloody Saturday shed come home exhausted, silent, distant.
He couldnt take it anymore. He grabbed the car keys.
Emily stepped out of the building, glancing around. Mark ducked behind the wheelthankfully parked behind a van. She hailed a cab. He started the engine.
They drove for ages. Not to the officehe knew that instantly. To some quiet estate on the other side of London. His heart hammered wildly. He was about to see. About to know.
She got out at a rundown block of flats. Mark parked further down, following on foot. She disappeared inside. He waited, counting floors by the windows. Third. Left window.
For half an hour, nothing. Then Emily reappeared.
With a pram.
Mark nearly stumbled. A baby? They didnt have childrentheyd only just started talking about it before these Saturdays began.
The baby wailed. Emily rocked the pram awkwardly, murmuring something. She looked lost, out of her depth. Then a young woman darted outSophie, Emilys younger sister. The same Sophie whod already been married and divorced twice by twenty-five.
“Em, thanks! Ill be quicktwo hours, tops!”
“Soph, you said one!”
“Please, Em! I really need this!”
Sophie dashed off, leaving Emily with the screaming infant. She pushed the pram back and forth helplessly.
Mark stepped back behind the corner, leaning against the wall. So, not an affair. A nephew. But why the secrecy? Why the lies?
He rushed back to the car, speeding home. He had to beat her there. Had to think.
At home, he paced. He could just ask. “Emily, where were you?” But shed liehe knew it. Just like hed been lying.
Because he had a secret too.
Charlotte. A receptionist from another department. Nothing seriousjust coffees after work, sometimes a film. She listened to his rants about coding, laughed at his jokes, looked at him the way Emily used to. Before their life became shopping lists and utility bills.
With Charlotte, it was easy. She reminded him of the Emily hed fallen for seven years agobright, carefree, hanging on his every word.
The key turned in the lock. Mark startled, snatching up the remote, flicking on the telly.
“Hey,” Emily peeked in. “Youve been home all day?”
“Yep. Couldnt be bothered to go out.”
She moved to the kitchen. He heard water running, dishes clinking. He followed.
Emily stood at the sink, scrubbing a mug. Shoulders slumped, dark circles under her eyes. A stain on her jeansbaby formula, maybe.
“Em.”
“What?”
“Youre exhausted.”
She turned, surprised.
“Yeah. I am.”
“Lets go out. That Italian place from our anniversary?”
“Mark, Im shattered. Lets just order pizza?”
He nodded, watching as she pulled up the takeaway app. Her hands shook.
“Em, whats going on?”
“What dyou mean?”
“Youve been different. For weeks.”
She froze. The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the table.
“Just work, Mark. Lots of work.”
“On Saturdays?”
“Yes! On Saturdays! Why wont you drop it?”
Her voice cracked. She was close to tears. He moved closer, wrapping his arms around her. She stiffened, then melted, face buried in his chest.
“Sorry. Im just so tired.”
She smelled of talcum powder and something sourspit-up, probably. He stroked her back, feeling her heart race.
“Em, if somethings wrong, tell me. Im not a stranger.”
She pulled away, wiping her eyes.
“Its fine. Really. Just a rough patch. Itll pass.”
The pizza arrived forty minutes later. They ate in silence, avoiding each others eyes. Then Emily showered, leaving Mark at the table, staring at a cold slice of pepperoni.
He could say it. “Em, I saw you with a pram. Sophies kid?” But then hed have to admit he followed her. And shed ask, “Where were you on Friday nights?”
What would he say? That he sat in cafés with another woman? That he told her things he hadnt told his wife in years? That sometimes he wonderedwhat if?
His phone buzzed. A text from Charlotte: “See you Monday? Ive got that film I mentioned.”
Mark deleted it. No. He wouldnt. Enough.
Emily came out in a towel, hair damp, face flushed. She sat beside him.
“Mark, lets stay in tomorrow. Just us.”
“What about work?”
“Sod work.”
He smiled. When had she last said that?
“Alright. Just us.”
She took his hand. Her fingers were cold, despite the hot shower.
“We lost something, didnt we?”
“What?”
“Us. We lost us.”
He squeezed her hand.
“Well find it.”
They woke late the next morning. Emily made pancakesfirst time in a year. Mark brewed coffee, sliced fruit. They ate on the balcony, even though it was chilly.
“Remember breakfast in Paris?” Emily said. “On that tiny terrace?”
“Where you nearly dropped your cup on some poor bloke?”
“I did not nearly drop it, I justplaced it badly!”
They laughed. How long had it been since they laughed together?
The day passed strangely, like playing newlyweds. They binged a series tangled up on the sofa. Cooked togetherMark chopped, Emily stirred. No talk of work or bills. Just about now.
That night, Emily fell asleep against his shoulder. Mark studied her facesmooth, relaxed. The crease between her brows gone. She looked like the girl whod spilled coffee on him seven years ago. “Sorry! Let me pay for the dry cleaning! Oror buy you another coffee?”
Hed bought her one instead. Then another. Then dinner. Then a ring.
Emily murmured in her sleep. He tucked the blanket around her.
On Monday, he went to Charlotte.
“Hi! Thought you forgot about the film”
“Char, we need to talk.”
Her face fell. She was sharpshe knew.
“Your wife?”
“Yes. No. I meanI cant do this.”
“Mark, nothing even happened.”
“Exactly. And it wont. Im sorry.”
She nodded, turning to her screen.
“Go. Just go.”
He left. His chest heavy and light at once. Hed done the right thing. Long overdue.
Emily wasnt home. A note on the fridge: “Back by seven. Dinner in the oven.”
He reheated the food, set the table. Emily arrived, but she was jittery.
“Mark, I need to tell you something.”
He stilled. This was it.
“Sophies got a son. Four months old. The dad bolted when he found out. Shes broke, no job. IveIve been helping. Looking after him while she interviews. Or justso she can breathe. Im sorry I lied. I thought youd be angry.”
“Why would I be?”
“We want kids, and Im playing auntie to hers. And Ive been giving her moneymy wages,” she added hastily.
Mark stood, pulling her into a hug.
“You daft thing. Of course you help her. Shes your sister.”
Emily sobbed into his chest.
“Im so tired of lying.”
“No more lies.”
He thought of Charlotte. Of his own deceit. But noit wasnt the same. It was nothing. Just chats. Just…
“Mark, what about you? Any secrets?”
His heart skipped.
“No. WellEm, sometimes I wasnt at work late. I was at the pub with colleagues. Just for a pint. Home felt… bleak.”
Not the full truth. But not a lie. Charlotte had been there sometimes.
“Bleak,” Emily echoed. “Yeah. I get that.”
They stood holding each other in the kitchen
