— Right, I’m off… Emily.
— Off you go.
— I’m leaving, Emily, you hear?
— Go on then, James, go.
Only once the door had slammed shut behind James did Emily let the tears flow. She curled up in the old armchair, the one she’d inherited from her grandmother, and cried like she had as a child—quietly, afraid someone might hear. She sobbed until the hiccups came, just like a little girl.
How was she supposed to carry on? Without James? Without the man she’d shared all these years with?
Emily stood up to make dinner but froze. What was the point? James wasn’t here. She slumped back into the chair, and the floodgates opened again.
Then she remembered the kids. Lily, their university-student daughter, would be home soon, starving after lectures. Then came Oliver, their son—he’d be late from football practice. They’d be hungry; they needed feeding. Emily forced herself up, wiped her face, and shuffled into the kitchen.
As she thought back on her years with James, the tears returned. How? How would she manage without him?
That evening, the kids burst in as usual, shoving and teasing each other. But they quickly noticed their father’s absence.
— Mum, where’s Dad? Away on business? — Lily asked.
— Yeah, come to think of it, where is he? — Oliver chimed in.
Emily couldn’t hold back. She sank onto a chair and wept uncontrollably.
— Mum, what’s wrong? Is he in hospital? — Lily panicked.
— No… He’s left… — Emily choked out. — For good… for another woman.
— What?! — the kids exclaimed in unison. — Mum, is this a joke?
It wasn’t a joke.
Oliver’s lip trembled. He might have been a tough little footballer, but at thirteen, he was still a child. He looked helplessly between his mother and sister, fighting tears.
— Right, — Lily rubbed her forehead decisively. — Oliver, go wash up and do your homework. Mum, enough waterworks. We need to figure this out.
Lily was sharp, quick, and level-headed. Oliver, for once, didn’t argue.
Later, Lily peeked into his room.
— Crying?
Oliver shook his head without looking her way.
Lily ruffled his hair and hugged him.
— We’ll get through this, Ol. Hear me? We’re still a family—he’s the one on his own. He’s worse off.
— Am I supposed to feel sorry for him?! — Oliver burst out.
— Sorry for him? Now there’s a thought. We’ll be happy. The happiest. And one day, he’ll realise what an idiot he’s been.
After calming Oliver and their mum, Lily slipped into the bathroom and finally let her own tears fall. How? How could their dad—the best dad in the world—do this? Not exactly Mr. Handsome, just a regular bloke with a little extra padding from all those pies Mum fed him. His jokes were mediocre at best—only Mum ever laughed. Drove an old car he was always tinkering with. Worked as a middle manager at a factory, nothing fancy.
But their family had always been happy. Lily had bragged to friends that her dad was the only one who hadn’t strayed. Turns out, she’d spoken too soon.
She splashed cold water on her face, washing away the tears.
Life plodded on, steady but hollow, now without him. The word *Dad* vanished from their vocabulary. They said *he* or *father*, and even that, less and less.
Until one day, Lily heard behind her:
— Lil, Lily! Wait up!
She turned. There was her father—sweating in a too-tight three-piece suit, tie strangling him—jogging awkwardly after her.
She sped up.
— Sweetheart, please! — he begged.
— What do you want? — she snapped.
— Here, some money… take it, — James pushed a wad of notes at her. — Plenty there. Come visit us, Lily. Linda—she’s lovely, runs a fur boutique. We’ll get you a coat. Even a mink for your mum’s birthday! Linda’s fine with it. We’re off to Greece soon, buying more stock…
— Oh, just… go jump in a lake, — Lily cut in.
— A lake? Why a lake, love?
— Fur trade. Wanted to say something stronger, but my upbringing won’t allow it… *Dad*.
James froze like he’d been doused in ice water. He knew money was tight. They’d lived modestly, and now he’d gone and… tangled up with Linda.
It had started with his mate Dave, who’d dragged him to meet a friend—that’s where he’d met Linda. At first, he hadn’t liked her—too flashy, loud, built like a wardrobe. Stared at him like she wanted to eat him alive. He’d made an excuse and left early.
That night, he’d lied to Emily for the first time, claiming overtime. His heart had hammered; shame burned his throat. Emily had fretted he was ill—really, he was just so guilty he’d given himself a fever.
Then Dave had wheedled him again: *Just half an hour!* And there was Linda.
— Come on, Jim. She imports furs from Greece, two shops at the market! She’ll get Emily a coat—whatever you want!
— What for? I’ve got Emily.
— Oh, loosen up. She’s lonely. What’s it cost you? Mink coat for Emily—yes or no?
— Fine…
So he’d gone. And gone again. All for that stupid fur coat. Before he knew it, he’d ended up in bed with Linda. He’d cried all the way home, disgusted with himself, ashamed in front of Emily. Then she’d found out… and thrown him out.
Linda had been thrilled.
That evening, Lily was stormy.
— Lil, did he talk to you? — Oliver mumbled.
— You too?
Her brother nodded.
— Told him to sod off. Hate him. Traitor.
Lily just nodded.
James was miserable.
— What’s wrong, sweetie? — Linda asked.
— The kids won’t speak to me. Emily neither… I offered them money, but they… they’re proud. I know they’re struggling…
— Well, *she* kicked you out, — Linda shrugged.
— She did… but how’d she know? We were so careful…
Linda rolled off the lavish bed—one far posher than anything James had ever seen—and set down her champagne flute. She loved champagne and strawberries, though James hated the stuff and was allergic to the fruit.
— Oh, I told her, — she said airily.
— *You* did?!
— Well, yeah. Didn’t believe me at first, so I described that mole of yours… and how you cry after… well, you know.
— Why?! She *threw me out*!
— So? How else were you gonna end up with me? Jim, where are you—?
— Home. To my wife. My kids.
— She *kicked* you out!
— Doesn’t matter. She’ll forgive me. I’ll beg. Emily’s kind. And if she won’t—I’ll sleep in the hallway.
— Jim, we got her that fur—
— Keep it, *Linda*. And don’t call me.
— Emily, love…
— I’ve said all I’m saying, James.
— Just listen! I never meant to… I just wanted to get you a fur coat, a mink one. Dave set it up—said just chat with her, she does furs, you’d get a coat… Then she told you. I just wanted the coat… for your birthday. And you threw me out.
— Go away, James.
— Still out there? — Emily asked Lily later.
— Still there, Mum. Started raining. He’ll catch his death.
— Serves him right… Fur coat, he says. Mink, for my birthday.
— Should we let him in? — Lily whispered.
— Dunno… Ol, what d’you reckon? Let your father in? He’ll get pneumonia.
Oliver sniffed, silent.
— Let him in, — Emily decided. — He’s human, after all.
So they did. They sat him at the kitchen table, plying him with tea, avoiding each other’s eyes.
— I’m sorry… Emily, forgive me… Kids, my boy, my girl, please…
— What’ve *we* done? — the kids muttered. — You hurt Mum.
Then they all cried, clinging to each other.
— Jim, what’s Greece like? — Emily asked later.
— Oh, Em, — James perked up, spinning tales of places he’dHe never spoke to Dave again, but years later, when Emily turned fifty, he finally bought her that fur coat—proper sable, with a note that read *”No refunds this time.”*
