You’re ancient, Im embarrassed to bring you before my colleagues, so Ive found a lover! James declared.
Lately Emma Whitaker had been buried under a mountain of work. She had opened her own tailoring atelier, stitching madetoorder garments, and spent every spare hour coaxing the business into the sunlight. Remembering that a charity gala was that evening a reminder James had slipped into their conversation she snapped back to reality.
James told her she neednt attend; he understood her schedule perfectly and would go alone, yet he warned that neglecting family was not an option. Emma phoned the event coordinator, explaining that she could not appear because she had to look the part for a latenight fitting.
She drew a bath scented with citrus and pine, let the steam wrap around her like a soft veil. As the aromas swirled, she closed her eyes. The phone perched on the tubs edge rang. She opened her eyes, rinsed the foam from her hands, dabbed them on a hanging towel, and answered.
Mom? chirped a voice from across the Channel. It was her daughter Poppy, studying abroad. Emmas heart ached; she longed to hold the girl close, even though she was no longer a little child, she would forever remain his mothers baby.
Sunbeam, hello! Emma laughed.
Mum, congratulations on the workshop! I read about it, youre brilliant. Does Dad brag about you? Even though you could have ignored all this, you went ahead anyway. I was surprised when you sent me the link. How do you manage it all? And you still help Dad?
I didnt want to spill the beans too early, but the orders have started flowing. I love it; Ive always wanted to try something fresh. Honestly, the family business always felt suffocating. I dreamed of a place where I could unleash my creativity, and now that dream is finally alive.
They swapped a few words about the weather, then Poppy rushed off to her university. She was on an exchange programme and would be home in six months. Emma smiled, grateful for her familys support, a feeling that lingered until she turned the corner of the street that led to the gala venue.
A stern security guard blocked the entrance.
Im sorry, madam, we cant let you in without an invitation, he said.
Then call my husband. His invitation is for two.
And your husbands surname?
Emma rolled her eyes at the dismissive tone. How could a guard treat a guest like that?
Whitaker, James Whitaker. Check the list.
The guard scanned the roster, exchanged a glance with his colleague, and chuckled.
Youre mistaken, madam. James Whitaker has already entered with his wife.
What do you mean with his wife? Emma asked, bewildered.
Our records show he arrived with his spouse. You cant bypass us; this is a private function. If youre a journalist without a pass
A velvety voice rose from behind her.
Oliver? Whats happening? The voice belonged to an old schoolmate Emma hadnt seen in years. He stood there, as if the night had summoned him from a forgotten hallway.
Oliver! I didnt expect to see you. The guards think my husband has already come with his wife, so they wont let me in, Emma complained.
Oliver smiled warmly, nodded at the guard, and said:
Shes with me.
Emma could not fathom how to thank him. She had planned a surprise for James, yet perhaps she should have called him first. Did he, like Oliver, slip through the same invitation loophole? She hadnt spoken to Oliver since school days, when he was forever the underachiever, sent to the headmasters office. Now, here he was, perhaps even a director himself.
Hows life treating you? I hear youve married well, and your husbands in this crowd? Oliver asked, still grinning.
We built everything from the ground up, together. Now I run my own studio. If you ever need a bespoke suit, just let me know. Emma handed him a business card.
Inside the ballroom, she scanned for James. Oliver lingered beside her, his presence oddly soothing.
And you? Surpassed the teachers expectations and landed somewhere decent? he teased.
Who cares about expectations? Grades never defined us, Oliver replied modestly. You havent changed a bit; still as lovely as ever. Its wonderful to run into you like this.
In school, Oliver had once asked Emma out, but she, a careerdriven dreamer, had turned him down. She had thrown herself into her studies, leaving past friends behind.
Spotting James, Emma whispered thanks to Oliver, then hurried toward her husband. James beamed proudly.
My wife is my muse, he proclaimed, and Emmas heart fluttered at the compliment. That feeling lasted until James tugged a strangera young woman with sleek hairinto his arms and planted a kiss on her cheek.
Emma, darling, fancy a drink? he asked, his tone oddly casual.
Emma froze, as if the world had tilted. He was now presenting another woman as his partner?
I dont mind, Emma replied, standing a few feet away from the scene of a graceful figure being caressed by James and his companions.
James turned, his eyes wide with panic. He cleared his throat, apologized to the group, and shuffled toward Emma. The newcomer, a woman a shade older than Poppy, followed, clicking her heels on the marble floor.
What are you doing here? James asked Emma in a halfwhisper.
I came to support my husband, as you said this was an important event, Emma answered calmly, eyeing the woman drifting toward James. No explanation needed?
You shouldnt be here! James snapped, glancing at the other woman. Polly, go eat something and come back. Ill be right back. He gripped Emmas elbow and dragged her toward the garden.
After ensuring they were out of sight, James glared at Emma.
You could have ruined everything. I didnt invite you.
Because you brought someone else?
Emma realised the absurdity of the argument. She stared at James, trying to decipher why, after twenty years, he would seek such a spectacle. His companions, familiar faces from past photographs, watched silently.
Youre old, Emma! Im ashamed to display you to my partners, so I took a lover. Thats how it works in our circle; a wife must sparkle, not look like a tired horse. You fulfil that role perfectly, James sneered.
It seemed as if he had held a casting call for mistresses, even giving them his own surname. Emma felt a deep, hollow disappointment.
She looks lovely, but she doesnt have to worry about annual reports or where to invest money to keep the business afloat. Good choice, Mr. Whitaker, James murmured, shaking his head.
Twenty years of marriage, and you think Im the only one you could ever have? Thats normal, but it wont change our future. Now leave quietly. Ill be home soon and well discuss everything, he said.
There was nothing left to discuss. Emma resolved she would not stay in a portrait of a perfect marriage just because it was common. She would not be a pawn in someone elses drama. A man who betrayed once would likely do so again; clinging to illusion served no purpose. Her business was thriving, she would claim what she deserved, and perhaps James would finally understand.
James departed; Emma settled on a bench beneath a dim streetlamp, trying to digest the nights surreal events. Oliver slipped onto the bench beside her, silent but present. He never invaded her thoughts, yet his proximity brought an unexpected calm. He reminisced about school antics, and Emma laughed, releasing her anxieties. For a fleeting moment she felt herself as a carefree girl again, back in a time where worries were simple and the world felt endless.
I once dreamed of growing up, now I wish I could return to school, Emma sighed.
I get it. If you ever need help, just shout. I can even give you a lift home, Oliver offered.
Though Oliver observed from a distance, he drew his own conclusions. The guests, still masked with polite smiles, continued their charade around James, each playing a role without rehearsal.
Wont your wife mind? someone whispered.
I have no wife. Ive never been able to love anyone properly. Ive had relationships, but nothing lasting, Oliver replied.
He didnt reveal how Emma still haunted his thoughts; it would only thicken the nights tapestry. Emma accepted Olivers quiet support, never pressing about his expensive car or his job; money had never been her obsession. Shed built her career and her home alone, working late nights after Poppys birth to balance the books and inspire James. Now she was burnt out.
After saying goodbye to Oliver at the doorway, Emma entered the place that once felt like home but now seemed foreign. She decided not to tell Poppy about the impending divorce; the girl deserved peace, not the strain of an overseas conflict. She would return later and explain.
James had never supported the idea of separation.
Youre useful to me as a wife. In business I need a pretty picture, and I provide it, he said.
Money doesnt flow from the sky, does it? Emma retorted.
Think of our daughter. Shell need stability. A divorce will hit her hardest. Does that please you? James asked.
You only think of her now, James, Emma answered, her voice detached.
They slept in separate rooms. By morning, Emma arranged to move into a flat next to her atelier, unwilling to share a roof with an unfaithful spouse. James resisted the divorce, making the process arduous, while Emma struggled to find the strength to keep her business afloat.
Negotiations with solicitors were tedious; assets were split, Emma taking the house and James the business. Though James tried to bribe a judge, the court divided everything fairly. Poppy, upon returning home, sided fully with her mother, helping at the studio and refusing to see her father. She could not forgive his betrayal.
Emmas life slowly steadied. Letting go of two decades of marriage was hard, but she moved forward, buoyed by her work and her daughters support. Jamess ventures faltered without her; he repeatedly begged for reconciliation, promising never to stray again, but trust, once shattered, never mended.
The atelier gained renown; orders swelled, prompting thoughts of expansion. One afternoon, the phone rang.
Its Oliver. You gave me your card for a suit he began.
Oh, Dim, were swamped, but well make an exception for you, Emma replied, smiling at the familiar voice.
Honestly, I dont need a suit urgently; I just wanted an excuse to call. How about coffee? Oliver suggested.
Emma laughed, accepting the invitation. Perhaps this was a chance to start anew. She no longer rushed; she learned to cherish herself first. Time flew, but she would not cling to the fear of ending up alone in old age. Her heart told her she was not mistaken, and with Oliver there might be a future of happiness.
