**Diary Entry 6th October**
I always thought surprises were meant to bring joy. Turns out, some of them just rip your heart out.
Emma had spent three days at her mothers in Bristolnursing her through a nasty flu, ladling out soup, checking her temperature every few hours. The fever had finally broken the night before.
“You should stay another day,” Mum had said that morning, voice thin but stubborn.
“Davids alone at home, Mum. Probably living on takeaways by now.”
She regretted those words now, swaying in the train carriage. David had called every evening, asking after her mother, complaining about the empty fridge. His voice had been odd. Distant, maybe. Tired.
“Miss you,” hed murmured last night before bed.
Emma had smiled then. Thirty-two years married, and he still said things like that. A good man, shed always thought.
The woman across from her cracked sunflower seeds, nose buried in a crime novel. The cover showed some glossy heroine clinging to a man in a suit. Emma caught her own reflection in the windowfine lines, roots going grey. When had she aged so much?
“Off to see the husband?” the woman asked.
Emma nodded. “Heading home.”
“Me? Off to meet my lover,” the woman laughed. “Husband thinks Im at my sisters.”
Emma flushed and turned away. How could someone say that so brazenly?
Her phone buzzed.
*Hows your mum? When are you back?* David.
She checked the time. Four hours until London. Shed meant to reply honestly, then changed her mind. A surprise. Shed cook dinner, pour wine. Hed be happy.
*Tomorrow morning. Miss you too.*
A heart reaction popped up immediately.
Fields and villages blurred past as she sipped tea from her Thermos. Mum had packed sandwiches, fussing as if she were still a child.
“Youve lost weight. That David of yours not feeding you properly?”
“Mum, Im fifty-seven.”
“And Im eighty-two. Youll always be my girl.”
Emma chewed her ham sandwich, thinking of her mother in that little Bristol flat, alone since Dad passed. Shed offered to have her move in, but Mum refused.
“Youve your own life,” she always said.
Emma had spent her life caring for othersparents, David, the kids. Taught primary school until James was born, then stayed home when Sophie came along. Thirty years of laundry, packed lunches, school runs. Ironing Davids shirts, darning his socks.
Now the kids were grown. James in Manchester with his own family, Sophie married with a toddler. And here she wasa grandmother, wondering what came next.
The train slowed. She gathered her things, nodded goodbye to the woman. The bus home took half an hour.
She imagined Davids face when she walked in. Hed think she was still miles away. She stopped at Tesco, loaded up on groceriessteak, new potatoes, a bottle of red.
The cashier smiled. “Special occasion?”
“Just dinner with my husband.”
The bags were heavy. She fumbled with her keys at the door, finally shoving it open.
“David? Its me! Early surprise!”
Silence. Asleep, probably. The flat lights were on, thoughodd. He never slept with them blazing.
She set the bags down, hung her coat. Thats when she saw themblack heels by the door. Sleek, expensive. Not hers.
“David?” Her voice wavered.
Laughter from the kitchen. A womans laugh.
Emma froze. Not Sophie. A stranger.
“David, youre ridiculous,” the woman giggled.
“Emma wont be back till tomorrow. Plenty of time.”
Her knees buckled. She gripped the wall.
“What if she comes early?”
“She wont. Never has.”
Emma crept forward. The kitchen door was ajar.
David sat at the table, hair mussed, grinning. Opposite hima blonde, mid-thirties, in Emmas dressing gown. Two wine glasses, a half-eaten chocolate cake. His hand covered hers.
“Jen, youre incredible,” he murmured.
*Jen?*
“And your wife? You said you loved her.”
“I do. But this this is different. With you, I feel alive.”
Emmas vision swam. Thirty-two years. Thirty-two years of trust.
“David.”
They spun. He went white. The blondeJenshot up, clutching the gown.
“Emma? You saidyou said tomorrow”
“Who is this?”
“Jen. From flat 52. Neighbour.”
“Neighbour?” Emma stared at the woman wearing her robe. “Neighbours borrow dressing gowns now?”
“I should go,” Jen muttered.
“*Stay.* Explain this.”
Jen flinched. “We were just talking. My sink was blocked. David helped.”
“Sink?” Emma laughed, sharp and broken. “In my *robe*?”
“Emma, calm down,” David cut in. “Nothing happened. Jen asked for help, we had a drink”
“A *four-hour* drink?”
His mouth opened, closed.
“Youre lying,” she whispered. “I know your face. Ive known it longer than shes been alive.”
Jen bolted. Emma didnt stop her.
The flat echoed with silence. David reached for her.
“Dont.”
“Emma, please”
“How long?”
“Six months.”
The word *months* hit like a brick.
She grabbed her coat.
“Where are you going?”
“Anywhere but here.”
He chased her to the door. “Well talk tomorrow”
“Tomorrow? Ill be spending every *tomorrow* without you.”
The lift took too long. She took the stairs, burst into the cold night.
No trains to Bristol. Too late to wake Sophie. She rang her friend Margaret.
“Emma? Whats wrong?”
“Can I come over?”
Margaret took one look at her, put the kettle on.
“Bastard,” she said when Emma finished. “All of them, bastards.”
Emma didnt sleep. Just stared at the ceiling, replaying decades. When had he drifted away? Two years ago? More? Shed blamed work stress. Midlife nonsense.
Turns out, hed just fallen for someone younger.
David called all morning. She ignored him. By evening, he was at Margarets door.
“Its over with Jen,” he blurted.
“Until the next one.”
“There wont *be* a next one!”
Emma studied himrumpled shirt, bloodshot eyes. He meant it. Right now, he meant it.
“David,” she said quietly, “Im fifty-seven. Maybe its time I lived for *me*.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Im not coming home yet. Maybe not ever.”
His face crumpled. “Emma”
“If you realise you actually want *me*not a maid, not a wife-shaped applianceyou know where I am. If not” She shrugged. “Then it wasnt meant to be.”
Rain tapped the window as he left. Margaret squeezed her shoulder.
“Brave girl.”
“Terrified.”
“Good. Means youre doing it right.”
Emma watched the raindrops slide down the glass. A new life at fifty-seven. Strange, terrifying.
But not impossible.
Tomorrow, shed look for work. Visit Mum. Maybe David would change. Maybe shed realise she didnt need him at all.
One thing was certainshe wouldnt spend another thirty years living for someone elses happiness.
And for the first time in days, she smiled.
