I found out my husbands been keeping a second family in the next town over.
What’s that? I asked, my voice low but hard as steel. Oliver, tell me whats going on.
He was standing by the entrance, grinning like a freshly polished kettle, leaning against the hood of a midnightblack, brandnew car. The scent of expensive leather and plastic drifted all the way up to our thirdfloor kitchen window.
Surprise! Oliver spread his arms, as if he were hugging the whole world. A present for us. For our anniversary well, almost I thought Id get it early. Like it?
I walked down the stairs slowly, almost not remembering how I got there, how the heavy frontdoor swung open. My feet moved on their own while a single cold, sharp thought hammered in my head: the money. The money wed been tucking away for almost five years, penny by penny, for the first deposit on a mortgage for Emily, our daughter. So she could have a place of her own when she goes to university.
Oliver, are you out of your mind? I pressed my hand to the icy metal of the hood. The car was sleek, beautiful, and completely foreign to us. We agreed. That cash was our untouchable reserve.
What are you getting at, Megan? his smile faded a little. Well earn more. Im now a department head, my salarys higher. And driving our old battered car feels embarrassing. Look at this beauty!
He swung the passenger door open. The interior, upholstered in light leather, glowed with luxury. For a split second I wanted to sit inside, breathe in that smell of a new life, but I forced myself back.
Embarrassing? You were fine driving the car that served us faithfully for ten years. And Im not ashamed of looking my daughter in the eye when she asks why we cant help her with a flat.
Emilys still two years from university, Oliver waved it off. Well save up. Dont be a killjoy, enjoy it. Lets take it for a spin and wash the purchase.
He tried to hug me, but I stepped away. Irritation flashed in his eyes; he wasnt used to his grand gestures being met with a cold wall.
Im not going anywhere, I snapped. Dinner isnt ready yet.
I turned and headed back to the flat, feeling his puzzled, angry stare on my back. Inside, stirring soup, I stared out the window. Oliver was still by the car, kicked the tyre in frustration, then slammed the door and roared away. Where hed gone to wash the purchase didnt matter to me. The bitterness in my chest was so sharp I wanted to cry, but no tears camejust a chilling emptiness. Twenty years of marriage, twenty years of making decisions together, discussing every big expense, every trip. And now hed just dropped this on me like my opinion didnt exist.
He came home late, after midnight, a little guilty, and placed a bag of my favourite biscuits on the kitchen table.
Megan, Im sorry. I got carried away. But you have to understand, its for you too, so you can travel comfortably.
I cant drive, Oliver. I never planned to learn.
Youll learn! Ill teach you myself, he said, sitting beside me, taking my hand. Dont get worked up. A car is just a thing. Were a family. The important thing is were together.
I sighed. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was overreacting. Moneys just money, and my husband was trying to make amends. I gave a weak smile, and Oliver perked up, launching into an enthusiastic spiel about the engines power, a clever navigation system, heated seatseverything you could possibly imagine. I nodded halfheartedly, telling myself a wise wife should endure, forgive, support.
The next day, Saturday, Oliver insisted on a family trip out of town. Emily, now seventeen, squealed with excitement, poking at buttons and levers in the new cabin. I sat up front, forcing a smile. The car glided smoothly, almost silently, past country cottages, woods, fields. We stopped at a picturesque lake for a picnic. Oliver was cheerful, constantly refilling my tea from a thermos, wrapping a blanket around me. I started to thaw, almost believing everything could be okay again.
When we got back, Oliver parked the car and I decided to tidy the interiorshake out the mats, clear crumbs from biscuits. I opened the glove box to stash some wet wipes and my fingers brushed against something hard tucked behind the user manual. It was a receipt. A plain shop receipt from a toy store. I unfolded it, skimmed the lines, and froze.
Space Station building set £78.
Fairy charm bracelet £35.
The date was a week old. That day Oliver had been on a work trip to the nearby county town, about seventyfive miles away, saying he needed to oversee a new project himself. Who was buying such pricey toys? The set was clearly for a tenyearold boy; the bracelet for a girlor maybe a woman. None of his colleagues had kids that age, as far as I knew. A gift for some bosss son? But why spend so much and keep quiet?
I slipped the receipt into my cardigan pocket. My heart pounded. Something was off, fake, just like the whole car episodean abrupt, unconsulted decision.
That night I lay awake beside Oliver, who was snoring peacefully, staring at the ceiling. I replayed the last few years: his trips became more frequent, he used to call every evening, detail his day. Now he sent short texts: All good, tired, heading to bed. I blamed it on his new role, the stress. But what if it was something else?
In the morning, while he was in the shower, I finally did something Id never done in twenty years. I grabbed his phone. The password was Emilys birthdateeasy enough. I scrolled through contacts. Nothing suspicious: bosses, mates, family. Except one: Simon Plumber. I wondered why Oliver kept a plumbers number from another town. I opened the messages. They were short, businesslike, but a few lines caught me off guard.
Simon, were the pipes delivered? Oliver wrote.
Yes, everything in place. Kirill is thrilled, has been assembling all day.
Who was Kirill? The plumbers son?
Another message:
Hows the weather? You freezing?
Suns out here. I miss you terribly.
Sun. Thats how Oliver used to call me in the early years of our romance, and how hed call Emily when she was little. Then he stopped, switching to Megan or daughter. Seeing that word again, warm and familiar, made my stomach churn.
Scrolling further:
Will you be at the pool on Saturday? Kirills swimming competition.
Ill try to make it.
Pick up a honey cake on the way, my favourite.
That plumber wasnt a plumber at all. He was a woman, and Kirill was her son. Oliver was buying them cakes, attending competitions, buying expensive toys.
I slipped the phone back just as Oliver stepped out of the bathroom, his towel wrapped around him.
Whats wrong? You look pale, he said, wiping his hair.
My head hurts, I lied. Must be the blood pressure.
The whole day I moved in a fog, mechanically making lunch, chatting with Emily, answering Olivers questions. One thought kept looping: who was this Simon Plumber woman, and why was she using such endearing words? How long had this been going on?
I needed answers, not a fight. I called work and said I was sick, then rang my sister, who lived in that county town.
Hey, Len, Im dropping by today for a few hours. Somethings come up.
No problem, come over! Everything okay? she asked, worried.
No, nothing serious, just business.
I got into the new, hatefilled car. My hands on the wheel felt foreign. Oliver had taught me a few basics years ago, though I never liked driving. The GPS, which he bragged about, still held a history of trips: Home, Work, and a few addresses in the nearby town. One appeared most often: Green Street, number 15, a typical council estate.
The drive took about ninety minutes. I stared out, not knowing what Id do when I arrived. Knock? Confront? No, thats not me. I just needed to see.
Green Street was quiet, leafy, a plain ninestorey block. I parked the car around the corner, out of sight from the windows. Building 15, entrance 2. I sat on the bench opposite, slipped on dark sunglasses, and waited.
An hour passed, then another. Mothers with prams, retirees, teenagers hurrying about. I felt foolish. What was I doing, spying? Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe there really was someone important to Oliver there.
Then the entrance opened. Oliver stepped out, in jeans and a plain tee, not his usual suit. He was laughing, talking to a woman beside himblonde, about my age. She held a tenyearold lighthaired boy, grinning at Oliver.
They headed to a playground. Oliver scooped the boy up, spun him around; the kid burst into giggles. The three of them sat on the swings, the woman chatting, brushing her hair, while Oliver looked at her with a tenderness I hadnt seen in me for years. They looked like a normal, happy family on an ordinary weekday.
I could barely breathe. I snapped a photo, my hand shaking, the picture blurry but unmistakableproof of my shattered life.
I dont remember how I got back to the car. The world outside the windshield turned into a smeared blur. I crashed onto the sofa at home and stared at a point on the wall. The house Id built over twenty years felt like cardboard scenery. My love, my loyalty, my whole lifenothing but a lie.
Oliver came home at his usual time, cheerful, handed Emily a chocolate bar, kissed me on the cheek.
How are you, love? Feeling better? he asked, walking into the kitchen.
I handed him the phone, the photo still open.
He looked at it, his smile draining away. He went pale, silent for a few seconds, eyes flicking between the screen and my face.
This isnt what you think, he finally whispered.
What do you think, Oliver? My voice was calm, almost too calm. I think you have a second family. I think you have a son. I think youve been lying to me for years. Am I wrong?
Its complicated, he stammered.
Complicated? I chuckled. Complicated was raising a child in the nineties on one salary. Complicated was caring for a sick mother while juggling home and hospital. This? Its just deceit.
Emily popped her head in.
Mum, dad, whats happening? You look strange.
Go to your room, love, I said, keeping my voice steady. Dad and I are talking.
Oliver sat down, looking older, slumped.
I didnt mean to hurt you.
You didnt? I asked. You bought a car with the money we saved for Emilys future, just to ferry another woman and another child! You didnt just hurt me, Oliver. You killed me. I only need one answer now. How long?
He stayed silent, head bowed.
Oliver!
Twelve years, he whispered.
Twelve years. Emily was five then. He started this other family while our daughter was just a baby. I closed my eyes, a flood of memories rushing throughEmily on the swings, us at the seaside, me learning to swim. And somewhere far away, another boy, another woman, sharing the same moments.
I met Sophie on a project site. Shes an engineer. It just happened I didnt plan it. Then she said she was pregnant. I couldnt abandon her.
And me? My Emily?
I never left you! I love you! I love them too he pleaded, eyes brimming. Megan, I dont know how it happened. I got tangled.
Leave, I said softly.
What? Where am I going?
Anywhere but here, I replied, nodding toward the door. Where it isnt hard. Where theyre waiting, loving you. Pack your things.
Lets talk. Dont act rashly. We can
Weve said everything, Oliver. Leave.
He gathered a small bag of essentials, tried to say something as I turned away. The door closed behind him, and he slipped into the shiny new car, driving offprobably back to Green Street.
Emily walked in, eyes red from crying.
Mum, did Dad go forever?
I pulled her into a tight hug, my arms shaking.
I dont know, love. I dont know.
We sat like that for a long while, the flat empty, night falling outside. The parking space where that black car had once sat was now just an empty space, its absence feeling even larger than the lie it represented. I was left alone, fortyfive, with my daughter about to head to university and a life in pieces. I didnt know what to do next, but for the first time in years I felt a strange, cold calm rather than raw pain. One chapter had closed, and now I had to start writing the nextby myself.
