Betrayal with a View
Emily couldn’t sit still—she paced the flat like a trapped animal. Her husband’s behaviour had her on edge. Lately, James had been unusually attentive—helping around the house, cooking nice dinners, even bringing her flowers. All those little gestures of affection just made her suspicious. “He’s definitely guilty of something,” Emily thought, stepping toward the window. Her gaze drifted downward, and her heart clenched. She jerked back. “Would he really do that?” she whispered, struggling to believe what she’d just seen.
Just then, a woman’s voice spoke behind her. It was his wife—Charlotte.
James stood by the window, watching Emily, their neighbour, walk her little terrier. Charlotte came up beside him, glanced outside, and immediately stiffened.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked, her voice icy.
“Work,” he sighed, avoiding eye contact. “One of the team messed up, now I’m stuck fixing it all.”
She studied him carefully. There was something off in his tone, in his face. But she just nodded and walked off to the kitchen.
James could feel irritation bubbling up inside him. Lately, Charlotte had been grating on his nerves—sharp, nitpicky. He’d started looking for warmth elsewhere. And he’d found it—in Emily. She was quiet, always smiling, living alone just upstairs.
That evening, the office had a power cut, so he left early. He lazed around at home for a bit, then went out for some air. Emily happened to be outside. He couldn’t help himself—he walked over, struck up a conversation. One thing led to another, and they ended up in a café. After that—her flat.
He woke up the next morning with a weight of guilt. Their wedding photo hung in the living room—him and Charlotte, young and in love. He remembered swearing loyalty to her. *Forever*. Now the word just sounded like a cruel joke.
He made dinner—shepherd’s pie, Charlotte’s favourite. When she got home from work, tired but pleased, she thanked him, even kissed him. He stood there forcing a smile, replaying everything in his head.
A couple of days later, he had a day off. He avoided Emily, feeling filthy. But he couldn’t stay away—like a magnet pulling him in. The moment Charlotte left for work, he found himself at the neighbour’s door again.
Charlotte started noticing the changes. James was suddenly too helpful, yet distant. She knew he was hiding something. Then one day, catching him sneak a glance at Emily from the window, it all clicked.
The row erupted in the kitchen.
“Are you sleeping with her?” she blurted, pointing at the window.
James froze. Then came the clumsy excuses—but it was too late. She threw him out without hesitation.
“Go to her, then! Nice and easy, just upstairs. Move in, why don’t you?”
He tried to explain, but Charlotte wasn’t listening. He left, gathering his things, and soon his voice echoed in the stairwell:
“Em… Can I come in? She’s kicked me out.”
Emily clearly hadn’t expected that, but after a pause, the door opened.
Meanwhile, tears rolled down Charlotte’s cheeks. Not from pain—from disappointment. She’d thought he’d at least try to fight for them. But he’d left. No words. No effort to fix it. No shame.
And she decided: *Better alone than with someone who betrays this easily.* Tomorrow… she’d get a cat. Or a dog. At least they’d be more loyal than most men.
