“Emily! We need to have a serious talk…”
Her husband walked through the door still in his coat and shoes, blurting it out before hed even taken a breath: “Emily! We need to have a serious chat…” And then, without missing a beat, his already huge eyes stretched even wider as he rushed on: “Ive fallen in love!”
“Well, well,” Emily thought, “So the midlife crisis has finally come knocking. Hello there…” But she stayed silent, just staring at himreally looking at himfor the first time in years. They say your life flashes before your eyes when youre about to die, and suddenly, all their years together started playing in her head.
Theyd met in the most mundane wayonline. Emily had shaved three years off her age; her future husband had added an inch to his height. A little fib on both sides, but just enough to squeeze into each others search criteria. And somehow, against the odds, theyd found each other.
She couldnt even remember who messaged first, but she knew his words had been sweetly self-deprecating, not a trace of sleazejust gentle humor. At thirty-three, with average looks, she was no fool about her odds on the dating scene. She knew she wasnt exactly first pick, so for their first date, shed bitten her tongue, kept her ears open, slipped on some rose-tinted glasses and lacy lingerie, and tucked homemade biscuits and a dog-eared copy of Austen into her handbag.
Surprisingly, that first meeting had been easy (who knew playing the part would work so well?). Their romance had been a whirlwindlaughing, talking, never a dull moment. Six months in, with both sets of parents nudging (okay, shoving) them toward marriage, he finally proposed. They scrambled through family introductions, agreed on a small wedding, and before anyone could second-guess, they picked the first available date.
Life together had been good. Their home had a warm, steady climateno scorching African passions, but cosy and respectful. It wasnt grand, but wasnt that happiness?
Her husband, ever the straightforward bloke, ditched his “sensitive, romantic, handy-man teetotaller” act weeks after the wedding. What remained was just hima solid, hardworking chap in comfy trackies. Emily, being the more complicated half, had eased out of her own act”demure, domestic, bookish seductress”bit by bit, until pregnancy sped things up. A year later, shed happily swapped it all for a well-worn dressing gown.
The fact that neither of them ran screaming once the masks came off only convinced her theyd made the right choice. Sure, two kids back-to-back had rocked the boat, but it never capsized. After every storm, theyd float on, steady as ever.
Grandparents pitched in, careers inched forward, holidays happened. Twelve years in, and not once had she caught him even glancing at another womannot that shed be the type to make a scene if he had. He couldve gotten away with a cheeky flirt. The thought of him flirting made her smirkbecause honestly, the image was ridiculous. Early on, after a few clumsy attempts at compliments, hed given up on words altogether. Now, he just staredwide-eyed, like some startled woodland creature.
Over the years, shed learned to read his emotions by the roundness of his eyes: pure awe, mild approval, bafflement, utter outrage. And now she imagined him, eyes bugging wider and wider, silently wooing some rat.
Her throat went dry. She forced a wobbly smile. “So… whats her name, this rat of yours?”
His eyes practically popped out of his skull. He fumbled, stammering, “Howhow did you even?! Bloody hell, youre good… I mean, I couldnt just walk past her! Look at her, shes perfectsoft, gorgeous, just like you!”
From inside his coat, he pulled out a tiny grey rat with pink ears, a twitching nose, and beady black eyes.
