For three Saturdays in a row, Emily had left the house “for work.” What I discovered turned everything upside down.
“Running late again?” Mark tried to keep his voice steady, but it betrayed him with a wobble.
Emily paused, hand gripping her bag, turning slowly as if buying time. “Yeah, the projects a disaster. The boss is losing it, and were all scrambling.”
“On a Saturday? Three weeks in a row?”
“Mark, dont be childish. Work is work.”
She kissed him on the cheekquick, perfunctory, like youd peck a neighbour in the lift. She didnt smell like her usual perfume. Something sweet, milky, childish. Mark frowned.
“Em, can we talk?”
“Later. Everything later, alright?”
The door slammed. Mark stood in the hallway, fists clenched. Three Saturdays. Three bloody Saturdays in a row, his wife had left early and returned exhausted, distant, a stranger.
He couldnt take it anymore. Grabbing the car keys, he bolted outside.
Emily stepped out of the building, glancing around. Mark ducked in the drivers seatthankfully parked behind a van. She climbed into a taxi. He started the engine.
The drive was long. Not to her officehed known that immediately. To some suburban estate on the opposite side of London. His heart hammered. Hed see now. Everything would make sense.
Emily got out near a tired-looking block of flats. Mark parked further down, trailing her at a distance. She disappeared into the building. He waited, counting floors by the windows. Third. Left side.
For half an hour, nothing happened. Then, Emily reappearedbut not alone.
With a pram.
Mark nearly collapsed. A baby? They didnt have kidstheyd only just started talking about it before these Saturdays began.
The baby wailed. Emily rocked the pram awkwardly, murmuring something. She looked hopeless, out of her depth. Then, a girl rushed outMark recognised Emilys younger sister, Lily. The irresponsible Lily, whod already been married and divorced twice by twenty-five.
“Em, thanks! Ill be quicktwo hours, max!”
“Lily, you said *one* hour!”
“Please, Em! I *need* this!”
Lily dashed off, leaving Emily with a screaming infant. She pushed the pram helplessly back and forth.
Mark leaned against a wall, exhaling. Not an affair. A nephew. But why the secrecy? Why the lies?
He drove home, needing to beat Emily back. Needing to think.
At home, he paced. He could just ask”Emily, where were you?”but shed lie. He knew she would. Just like hed been lying.
Because he had a secret too.
Chloe. The receptionist from the next department. Nothing seriousjust chats after work, coffee, sometimes a film. She laughed at his jokes, listened to his ramblings about coding, looked at him like Emily used tobefore their lives became “buy bread,” “pay the bills,” “stop leaving socks everywhere.”
With Chloe, it was easy. She reminded him of the Emily hed fallen for seven years agocarefree, bright, hanging on his every word.
The key turned in the lock. Mark grabbed the remote, flicking on the telly.
“Hey,” Emily peeked in. “Youve been here all day?”
“Yep. Couldnt be bothered to go out.”
She headed to the kitchen. He heard water running, dishes clinking. He followed.
Emily stood at the sink, scrubbing a mug. Dark circles under her eyes. A stain on her jeansbaby formula, maybe.
“Em.”
“What?”
“You look exhausted.”
She turned, surprised. “Yeah. I am.”
“Fancy dinner out? That Italian place we went to for our anniversary?”
“Mark, Im *wrecked*. Lets just order pizza?”
He nodded. Watched as she fumbled for her phone, searching for takeaway. Her hands shook.
“Em, whats going on?”
“What dyou mean?”
“Youve been different. For weeks.”
She froze. The phone slipped from her fingers.
“Just work, Mark. A lot of work.”
“On Saturdays?”
“Yes! On Saturdays! Why the interrogation?”
Her voice cracked. She was close to tears. He pulled her into a hug. She stiffened, then melted, burying her face in his shoulder.
“Sorry. Im just tired.”
She smelled of baby powder and something sourspit-up, probably. He rubbed her back, feeling her heart race.
“Em, if somethings wrong, tell me. Im not some stranger.”
She pulled away, wiping her eyes. “Its fine. Honestly. Just a rough patch. Itll pass.”
The pizza arrived. They ate in silence. Emily showered; Mark stared at his cold slice.
He could say it. “Em, I saw you with a pram. Lilys kid?” But then hed have to admit hed followed her. And shed ask, “And *you*? Where *have* you been on Fridays?”
What would he say? That he sat in cafés with another woman? That he told her things he no longer told his wife? That sometimes he wondered *what if*?
His phone buzzed. A text from Chloe: “Still on for Monday? Want to show you that film I mentioned.”
Mark deleted it. No. They werent meeting. Enough.
Emily emerged in a towel, hair damp. 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. Emily made pancakesfirst time in a year. Mark brewed coffee, sliced fruit. They ate on the balcony, shivering but happy.
“Remember breakfast in Paris?” Emily said. “That tiny balcony?”
“Where you nearly dropped a cup on some blokes head?”
“I did *not* nearly drop itI *misplayed* it!”
They laughed. How long since theyd laughed together?
The day felt oddlike playing newlyweds. They binged a show curled on the sofa, cooked together (Mark chopped; Emily sauced). No talk of work, money, plans. Just *now*.
That night, Emily fell asleep on his shoulder. Mark studied her facerelaxed, peaceful. The frown line gone. She looked like the girl whod spilled coffee on him seven years ago. “Oh God, sorry! Let me pay for dry cleaning! Oror buy you another coffee?”
Hed bought *her* a coffee. Then another. Then dinner. Then a ring.
Emily murmured in her sleep. He tucked the blanket around her.
On Monday, he went to Chloe.
“Hey! Thought you forgot about the film”
“Chloe, we need to talk.”
Her face fell. Smart girlshe knew.
“Your wife?”
“Yeah. No. I mean I 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 ached, but felt lighter. Long overdue.
Emily wasnt home. A note on the fridge: *Back by seven. Dinners in the oven.*
He reheated the food, set the table. Emily returned on time, but jittery.
“Mark, I need to tell you something.”
He braced himself. *Here it comes.*
“Lilys got a son. Four months old. The dad bolted when he found out. Shes skint, jobless Ive been helping. Watching him while she job-hunts. Or just breathes. Sorry I didnt say. Thought youd hate it.”
“Why would I?”
“Well we *want* kids. And Im looking after *hers*. And lending her money sometimes. From my wages,” she added quickly.
Mark stood, wrapping her in a hug.
“You daft thing. Course you help her. Shes *family*.”
Emily sobbed into his chest.
“Im so tired of lying. Tired of making up where Im going.”
“Done. No more lies.”
He thought of Chloe. Of his own lies. But nothis was different. It had *meant* nothing. Just chats. Just
“Mark, what about you? Any secrets?”
His heart skipped.
“No. Well Em, sometimes I wasnt at work late. I was at the pub with mates. Just needed space. Home felt bleak.”
Not the full truth. But not a
