Youre heading back to her again?
Emily stared at Andrew, her gaze drilling into him while he knotted his boots.
To the kids, Em. To the kids, not to her, Andrew muttered, pulling the laces tight. How long are we going to argue about this?
Emily stayed silent, her lips a thin line. So many words piled up in her throat, forming a painful knot.
It suited you before the wedding, Andrew went on, standing and slipping his jacket from the coat rack. You knew I had children. I told you everything from the start. You said you understood. And now? Tantrums? Interrogations?
Emily clenched her teeth harder. Andrew draped the jacket over his shoulders and, without waiting for an answer, walked out. The lock clicked, leaving her alone.
A few seconds stretched before Emily could lift herself. Her legs felt like they were filled with lead. She collapsed onto the sofa in the sittingroom, turned on a mindless TV series, the background noise a flimsy shield against her thoughts.
She and Andrew had been together three years, two of them married. Shed known from the beginning: divorce, two kidsa boy and a girl. Hed mentioned them on their third date. Emily had smiled then, said it wasnt a problem, that she understood, that children werent an obstacle.
Now those words seemed naïve, foolish.
She covered her eyes with her palm, inhaled deeply. Holding back tears grew harder; her chest tightened as if an invisible slab pressed down.
Soon the routine became unbearable. Twice a weekTuesday and SaturdayAndrew slipped into his exwifes flat under the pretext of seeing the children, yet lingered for dinner, for time with Claire. Emily knew it was absurd. She trusted him, or at least tried to convince herself she did. A vague foreboding curled in her stomach, making her feel sick.
When Andrew left, Emily was left alone in the flat. She sank into selfreproach, berating herself for not standing firm, for folding to his promises, for staying silent when she should have shouted.
She grabbed her phone and typed a quick message to Lily.
He’s with her again.
The phone buzzedan incoming call. Lily.
Hello? Emily answered, trying to keep her voice steady.
Em, what are you doing? Lily cut straight to the chase. How long can you put up with this? Hes cheating, its obvious.
No, Lily, you dont understand Emily began, but Lily interrupted.
I get it. He spends two nights a week at Claires, stays till late. And you expect them to be building Lego castles with the kids?
Emily ran her hand over her face, knowing Lily was right. Saying it aloud would admit that her marriage was a farce.
He says theres nothing between us, that hes only there for the children, Emily whispered.
Bless your heart, Em, Lily sighed. Open your eyes. Normal men dont spend half an evening at an exs house. Normal men pick the kids up, take them for a walk, and bring them back. Your man sits in her kitchen, eats her borscht, probably holds her hand when the kids arent looking.
Lily, enough, Emily clenched the phone tighter.
Enough? Fine. But remember my warning. Youll still stay with him, and when that happens, dont say I didnt tell you.
The call ended. Emily stared at the ceiling while someone on TV laughed loudly, but she felt detached.
Andrew slipped back in near midnight, the sound of his shirt rustling in the hallway, his footsteps leading to the bathroom. He lay down beside her, and Emily instantly smelled foreign perfumesweet, cloying.
She didnt ask why he was late; she had no strength left. Andrew mumbled, settling himself.
Sorry Im late. The little one needed a craft for nursery, so I helped, he said, eyes already closing. She made a pinecone cow. Its hilarious.
Emily nodded in the darkness, though he couldnt see her.
Weeks passed in the same pattern: Tuesday, Saturday, departure, return, that foreign scent, excuses.
Then Andrew grew sullen, withdrawn. He could sit for hours staring at his phone, brow furrowed. Emily tried to pry, but he brushed her off, muttering incomprehensible grumbles before disappearing into another room.
A couple of weeks later he announced:
Guess what? Were going on a double date this Friday.
Emily lifted an eyebrow, surprised.
With whom?
With Claire and her new boyfriend.
A weight seemed to lift off Emilys shoulders. Claire had a man? Andrew hadnt been with his ex? Had she been fearing nothing? A smile brushed her lips. She turned to him, wrapped an arm around his neck.
Of course, lets go.
Friday arrived quickly. Emily bought a new dresslight blue, formfitting, eager to look her best, to show Claire she was worthy of Andrew.
They met at a cosy café on the other side of town, wooden tables bathed in soft light. Claire was already seated with a man in his early forties, tall, athletic, smiling pleasantly.
Hi, Claire stood, introducing, this is Max.
Max nodded, shaking Andrews hand. Emily felt a good omen; the evening should have been calm, a chance to chat and then part ways.
Instead, the double date turned nightmarish.
All night Andrew acted as if he were battling for Claires attention, constantly interrupting Max, flaunting how well he knew her.
When Max suggested a pepper pizza, Andrew leapt in:
Claire doesnt like spice.
I know, Max replied evenly. We already talked about that. You cut me off before I could say it was for us. Lets pick something else for Claire.
But Andrew persisted.
Remember that sea holiday, Claire? When Mikey dragged a jellyfish onto the shore, thought it was a toy? he blurted, ignoring Max.
Claire gave a tight smile, irritation flashing across her face.
Andrew, that was ages ago, she tried to steer the conversation away.
He kept rattling off story after storyabout the kids, about choosing a pram, about sleepless nights when the boy had colic. Emily sat, clutching a glass of water, each of his words striking a raw nerve. She saw Claires patience wear thin, watched her exwifes eyes flicker, trying to halt his monologue.
Emily realised then that Andrew had never let go of Claire. He clung to their shared past, to the children, to memories. She was simply the spare, the temporary standin.
Her phone buzzedan automated bank call. She pretended to be speaking to her mother, claiming something urgent.
Sorry, I have to go. Its important.
No one stopped her. Andrew didnt even turn. Emily fled the café, hailed a cab, and sped home.
In the flat she hauled a large suitcase, beginning to pack. She could no longer endure his behaviour.
Andrew returned an hour later, irritated, angry. He saw the suitcase at her feet.
Whats happening?
Emily lifted her gaze, eyes dry, tears having dried between sweaters and jeans.
Im leaving, she said flatly.
Where? Andrew asked, frowning.
Anywhere but here, she slipped on her jacket. Tonights outing opened my eyes. You still love Claire, or you simply cant release her. I dont know which is worse.
What are you talking about? Andrew began, but Emily raised a hand, stopping him.
Stop. Dont lie. I saw how you acted. You tried to claim her from Max, spent the whole evening proving shes yours. I was the unnecessary third wheel.
Andrew was silent.
I wont be a backup plan, Andrew, Emily continued, gripping the suitcase handle. Im done. Im leaving.
Emily, wait, he pleaded at last.
No, she shook her head. I love you, but that love will burn out, collapse. At least Ill keep a fragment of my dignity.
She crossed the threshold. Andrew stood there, watching her go, offering no protest, no explanation.
Emily flagged another cab and rode to her parents house. Through the nightlit windows of the moving car she thought of nothing but one thing: at last she was free.
