Determined to surprise her husband, Emily returned from visiting her mother three hours earlyonly to burst into tears the moment she stepped inside.
She had spent three days caring for her mother, spoon-feeding her homemade chicken soup and doling out medicine. The fever had only broken the night before.
“You should stay another day,” her mother had insisted that morning.
“James is home alone, Mum. Hes probably starving by now.”
Now, swaying in her train seat, Emily wished shed listened. James had called every evening, asking after her mother, complaining about the empty fridge. His voice had sounded odddistant, tired.
“Miss you,” hed murmured last night before bed.
She had smiled then. Thirty-two years of marriage, and he still missed her. A good man.
The train rattled onward. Across from her, a woman cracked sunflower seeds, engrossed in a paperback thriller. On the cover, a glamorous woman clung to a suited man. Emily caught her own reflection in the windowcreases around her eyes, silver roots peeking through. When had she aged so much?
“Off to see your husband?” the woman asked.
“Yes. Heading home.”
“Im off to meet my lover,” the woman laughed. “Husband thinks Im at my sisters.”
Emily flushed and turned away. How could anyone say such things so brazenly?
Her phone buzzed.
*How are you? When will you be back?* James had texted.
Four more hours until home. She meant to reply honestlythen changed her mind. Let it be a surprise. Shed cook his favourite roast, light candles. Hed be thrilled.
*Tomorrow morning. Miss you too.* She hit send.
James heart-reacted instantly.
Fields and villages blurred past. Emily sipped tea from her thermosher mother had packed sandwiches, fussing as if she were still a child.
“Youve lost weight. Bet that husband of yours doesnt notice what you eat.”
“Mum, Im fifty-seven.”
“And? Youll always be my girl.”
Chewing the ham sandwich, Emily thought of her motheralone in the house where shed grown up. Dad had passed five years ago. Mum refused to move in with them.
“Youve your own lives,” she always said. “Dont fuss over me.”
Emily loved fussing. Always had. First her parents, then James, then the kids. Shed taught primary school until Oliver was born. Then Lily came. Somehow, she never returned to work.
“Why bother?” James had said. “I earn enough. Keep the home running.”
So she had. For thirty years. Cooking, cleaning, raising children. Ironing shirts, darning socks.
Now the kids were goneOliver married up north, Lily with a baby of her own. And what was left for her?
The train screeched to a halt. Emily gathered her bags, bid the nosy woman farewell. The bus home crawled through traffic.
She imagined Jamess face when she walked in. He thought shed be back tomorrow. Shed stop at Tescoget fresh rosemary, new potatoes, a good cut of beef. Set the table properly for once.
The cashier grinned as she loaded her bags. “Special occasion?”
“Just surprising my husband.”
The bags weighed her down. By the lift, she gasped for breath. Fumbling for keys, she finally shoved the door open.
“James? Im home early!”
Silence. Asleep, likely. Nearly ten oclock.
She dumped the shopping, hung her coat. The lights were onodd. James never slept with them burning.
Then she froze.
Black heels. Patent, elegant, by the shoe rack. Not hers.
“James?” Her voice wavered.
Giggles from the kitchen. A womans laughtoo high, too bright to be Lilys.
Emily edged closer.
“so funny, James,” the voice purred.
“Emily wont be back till tomorrow. Weve time,” James replied.
Her knees buckled. She gripped the wall.
“What if she comes early?” the woman teased.
“She wont. Shes always punctual.”
They laughed. Emilys breath came in shallow bursts.
The kitchen door stood ajar. Inside, James sat slouched in his rumpled shirt, grinning. Opposite hima blonde, maybe thirty, wrapped in Emilys silk dressing gown.
Coffee cups. A half-eaten Victoria sponge. His fingers laced through hers.
“Jen, youre incredible,” he murmured.
*Jen? Who the hell*
“And your wife? You said you loved her.” She batted her lashes.
“I do. But this is different. You make me feel young.”
The room tilted. Thirty-two years. Thirty-two years of trust, of laundry and packed lunches and
“James.” The word clawed from her throat.
They whipped around. James blanched. The blonde*Jen*sprang up, clutching the robe.
“Em? You saidyou said tomorrow”
“Who is this?” Emilys finger shook.
“Jen. From flat fifty-two. Just a neighbour”
“A neighbour?” Emily stared at the blonde in *her* robe. “In *my* dressing gown?”
“I should go,” Jen stammered, edging toward the door.
“Stay right there!” Emilys voice shattered. “Explain this!”
Jen froze. Sheepish, but not nearly ashamed enough.
“We were just talking. James fixed my leaky tap.”
“At midnight?”
“Earlier! Around nine”
“And it took *four hours*?”
James lurched up. “Em, calm down. Jen needed help, I”
“Help?” She laughed, wild and hollow. “Helping her into *my robe*?”
Jen ditched the gownjeans and a jumper underneathand bolted. The front door slammed.
Emily sank onto a chair, hollowed out. No tears. Just a yawning void where her heart had been.
James hovered. “Let me explain”
“*How long?*”
“Six months.”
Six months. Six months of *Goodnight, love* while he sneaked off to
She lurched up. “Im leaving.”
“Where? Its late”
“Anywhere but here!”
Grabbing her coat, she fled. Not the lifthe might follow.
Outside, icy wind slapped her face. Where could she go? Lilys? Too late, shed wake the baby. Her mothers? No trains until morning.
Sarah. Her oldest friend lived nearby.
Sarah answered groggily. “Em? Whats wrong?”
“Can I come over? Please.”
She spilled everything in Sarahs cluttered kitchen.
“Bastard,” Sarah hissed. “All men are bastards.”
“I dont know what to do.”
“Divorce him.”
“But thirty-two years”
“Exactly. He thinks youll tolerate anything.”
Dawn came. Emily lay rigid on Sarahs sofa, replaying every sacrifice, every unspoken resentment. When had he drifted away? Two years ago? More? Shed blamed midlife crisis.
Turns out, hed just fallen out of love.
At noon, James showed up at Sarahs door, rumpled and pleading.
“Its over with Jen. I swear.”
“Until the next Jen,” Emily said flatly.
“Ill change. Just come home.”
She studied himthe receding hairline, the paunch. The fear in his eyes. Maybe he meant it. Maybe not.
“James,” she said quietly, “Im fifty-seven. Maybe its time I lived for *me*.”
“Em”
“A trial separation. If you realise you want *me*, not just a housekeeper, well talk. If not…” She shrugged. “Then it wasnt meant to be.”
He left. Sarah squeezed her shoulder. “You did right.”
“Its terrifying.”
“But honest.”
Rain pattered against the window. For the first time in twenty-four hours, Emily smiled.
Tomorrow, shed job-hunt. Visit her mum. Relearn what *she* wanted.
James might change. Or she might find she didnt need him at all.
Either way, shed live for herself nownot just for others.
The rain drummed on. Emily exhaled, lighter.
A new beginning at fifty-seven. Strangebut not unwelcome.
