For three Saturdays in a row, my wife left “for work.” What I saw turned everything upside down.
“Late again?” I try to keep my voice steady, but it wavers.
Emily freezes with her bag in hand. She turns slowly, as if buying time.
“Yeah, the projects a nightmare. The boss is losing it, everyones scrambling.”
“On a Saturday? The third week running?”
“Oh, come on, dont be childish. Work is work.”
She kisses me on the cheekquick, perfunctory, like a neighbour in the lift. She smells different. Not her usual perfume. Something sweet, milky. I frown.
“Em, can we talk?”
“Later. Everything later, alright?”
The door slams. I stand in the hallway, fists clenched. The third Saturday. The third damn Saturday shes left early and come home exhausted, silent, a stranger.
I cant take it anymore. I grab the car keys.
Emily steps out of the building, glances around. I duck down in the drivers seatthankfully, I parked behind a van. She hails a cab. I start the engine.
We drive for ages. Not to the officethat much is obvious. Somewhere on the other side of town, a quiet residential street. My heart thumps wildly. Ill see it now. Everything will make sense.
She gets out near a shabby block of flats. I park farther down, follow on foot. She disappears inside. I wait, counting floors by the windows. Third. Left side.
Half an hour passes. Then Emily reappearsbut not alone.
With a pram.
I nearly stumble. A baby? We dont have kids. Weve been tryingor rather, we *were* trying, before these Saturdays started.
The baby wails. Emily rocks the pram, murmuring something. She looks lost, unsure. Then a young woman bursts out of the buildingEmilys younger sister, Lucy. The same irresponsible Lucy whos been married and divorced twice by twenty-five.
“Em, thank you! Ill be quick, two hours tops!”
“Lucy, you said *one*!”
“Please, Em! I really need this!”
Lucy dashes off, leaving Emily with the screaming infant. She pushes the pram helplessly back and forth.
I retreat around the corner, lean against the wall. So, not an affair. A nephew. But why the secrecy? Why lie?
I hurry back to the car, drive home. I need to beat her there. Need to think.
At home, I pace. I could just ask. “Emily, where were you?” But shed lieI know it. Just like Ive been lying.
Because Ive got a secret too.
Sophie. The receptionist from the next department. Nothing seriousjust chats after work, coffee, the odd film. She laughs at my jokes, listens to my ramblings about coding, looks at me the way Emily used to. Before our lives became “buy bread,” “pay the bills,” “why are your socks everywhere?”
With Sophie, its easy. She reminds me of the Emily I fell for seven years ago. Bright, carefree, happy to listen to me drone on about algorithms for hours.
The key turns in the lock. I jump, grab the remote, flick the telly on.
“Hey,” Emily peeks in. “Youve been here all day?”
“Yep. Couldnt be bothered to go out.”
She heads to the kitchen. I hear water running, dishes clinking. I follow.
Shes at the sink, scrubbing a mug. Shoulders slumped, shadows under her eyes. A stain on her jeansbaby formula, maybe.
“Em.”
“What?”
“Youre exhausted.”
She turns, surprised.
“Yeah. I am.”
“Fancy dinner out? That Italian place we went to for our anniversary?”
“Honestly, Im wrecked. Lets just order pizza?”
I nod. Watch as she digs out her phone, searches for the takeaway number. Her hands shake.
“Em, whats going on?”
“What dyou mean?”
“Youve been different. For weeks.”
She freezes. The phone slips, clatters onto the table.
“Just work, Tom. Works mad.”
“On Saturdays?”
“Yes! On Saturdays! Why the interrogation?”
Her voice cracks. Shes close to tears. I step closer, hug her. She stiffens, then sags, face buried in my shoulder.
“Sorry. Im just… so tired.”
She smells of baby powder and something sourspit-up, probably. I rub her back, feel her heart racing.
“Em, if somethings wrong, tell me. Im not some stranger.”
She pulls back, wipes her eyes.
“Its fine. Really. Just a rough patch. Itll pass.”
The pizza arrives in forty minutes. We eat in silence, avoiding each others eyes. Emily showers after; I stay at the table, poking at cold ham and pineapple.
I could say it. “Em, I saw you with a pram. Lucys kid?” But then Id have to admit I followed her. And shed ask, “Where have *you* been on Fridays?”
What would I say? That Ive been sitting in cafés with another woman? Telling her things I havent told my wife in years? That sometimes I wonder… *what if?*
My phone buzzes. A text from Sophie: “See you Monday? Ive got that film I mentioned.”
I delete it. No. We wont. Enough.
Emily comes out in a towel robe, hair damp, face flushed. Sits beside me.
“Tom, lets stay in tomorrow. Just us.”
“What about work?”
“Work can wait.”
I smile. When did she last say that?
“Alright. Just us.”
She takes my hand. Her fingers are cold, despite the hot shower.
“Weve lost something, havent we?”
“What?”
“Us. Weve lost *us*.”
I squeeze her hand.
“Well find it.”
We sleep in the next morning. Emily makes pancakesfirst time in a year. I brew coffee, chop fruit. We eat on the balcony, even though its chilly.
“Remember breakfast in Prague?” she says. “That tiny terrace?”
“Where you nearly dropped a cup on some blokes head?”
“I did *not* nearly drop it, I just… placed it badly!”
We laugh. How long since we laughed together?
The day feels odd. Like were playacting newlyweds. We binge a series curled up on the sofa. Cook togetherI chop, she stirs. No talk of work, money, plans. Just the here and now.
That night, she falls asleep on my shoulder. I study her facerelaxed, peaceful. The frown lines gone. She looks like the girl who spilled coffee on my shirt seven years ago. “Oh God, sorry! Let me pay for dry cleaning! Oror Ill buy you another coffee? To make up for it?”
I bought her one instead. Then another. Then dinner. Then a ring.
Emily twitches in her sleep, mumbles something. I pull the blanket over her.
On Monday, I go to Sophie.
“Hi! Thought youd forgotten about the film”
“Soph, we need to talk.”
Her face falls. Clever girlshe knows.
“Your wife?”
“Yes. No. I mean… I cant do this.”
“Tom, nothing even happened.”
“Exactly. And it wont. Im sorry.”
She nods, turns to her screen.
“Go. Just go.”
I leave. My chest feels heavy and light at once. Did the right thing. Shouldve done it sooner.
Emilys not home. A note on the fridge: “Back by seven. Dinner in the oven.”
I heat it up, set the table. She arrives on time but fidgety.
“Tom, Ive got to tell you something.”
I freeze. Here it comes.
“Lucys got a son. Four months old. The dad bolted when he found out. Shes skint, no job. Ive… been helping. Watching him while she interviews. Or just so she can breathe. Sorry I didnt say. Thought youd hate it.”
“Why would I?”
“Well… were trying for ours. And Im looking after someone elses. And Ive been giving her money. My wages,” she adds quickly.
I stand, pull her into a hug.
“You daft thing. Of course you help her. Shes your sister.”
Emily sniffles into my shoulder.
“Im so tired of lying. Making up where Ive been.”
“No more lies.”
I think of Sophie. Of my own lies. But its different. It was nothing. Just talking. Just
“Tom, what about you? Any secrets?”
My heart skips.
