**”I understand everything… but you have to understand me too”: The truth that shattered illusions**
That day, Evelyn was in the kitchen preparing lunch—chopping meat for a stew. The scent of onions filled the air, fat sizzled in the pan, and the sudden ring of the phone cut through the quiet. Her husband, William, picked up the receiver. His voice was measured:
“Hello?”
Then—silence. Long and heavy, as if someone was talking without pause while he simply listened. Evie wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out of the kitchen. The hallway was empty. The phone cord stretched toward their son’s bedroom. Her chest tightened. Without knowing why, she tiptoed forward like a thief.
From behind the slightly ajar door, she heard his whisper—a tone he had never used with her.
“Lily, please, calm down… I get it, really. But you have to understand me too. I have a family. I can’t come now… I love you too. So much. But I can’t talk—Evie could walk in any moment. I need to tell her, but not yet… Tomorrow. Don’t call me at this time, I’m begging you. And yes… I love you.”
The words struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her hand, ready to push the door open, froze midair. Her heart pounded so hard she could barely breathe. *I love you.* He had said it to another woman. Not to her.
Evie didn’t make a scene. Her mother’s voice echoed in her head: *”Never act in anger.”* She straightened her back and returned to the kitchen. She picked up the knife, but her hand trembled. The meat chunks slipped messily across the chopping board. Their cat, Misty, rubbed against her legs. Evie tossed her a scrap—the only automatic kindness she could muster.
*”I love you too…”*
The words looped in her mind like a curse. She clung to another phrase: *”I have a family…”* Did that mean they still mattered? That she still did?
But then—who was she? Just the mother of his children? A housekeeper? A habit? The ache in her chest deepened because everything had been fine. He was affectionate, attentive. No distance between them—never a single reason to doubt.
Twenty minutes later, William strolled back into the kitchen, inhaled the scent of dinner, and smiled.
“God, that smells amazing! Almost ready?”
“Another half hour. I chopped the meat small—it’ll cook faster…” Who called?”
“Hm?” He blinked, as if caught off guard. “Oh, the warehouse. They need me to sign for a lumber delivery tomorrow.”
“They always ask you on weekends. I don’t like it.”
“Everyone’s on holiday—summer rush…”
“Mhm.”
“You seem quiet, love.”
“Just tired. Thought we’d spend tomorrow together—maybe go to the cottage.”
“You’re working. We’ll drive up after.”
“Will…”
“What?”
“Do you love me?”
“Christ, of course. You know I do, Evie. You and the boys—you’re my world.”
He stretched, pulled her into a hug, kissed her neck. But for the first time in her life, his touch burned.
Later, she lay on the sofa, watching their sons play nearby. Misty jumped onto her stomach, claws kneading—a silent thanks for the treat. Evie squeezed her paws and buried her face in soft fur.
That woman… she had to go.
Evie refused to share her husband. She couldn’t lie beside him knowing he’d been with another. But losing him? Unthinkable. The answer came sharp and clear: deal with the mistress. Herself. Without him.
The next day, after William dropped the boys at school and left for “work,” Evie called in sick. She borrowed a neighbor’s coat and scarf—*”Painting walls at the factory.”* Then she waited near the school. Minutes later, he emerged. She trailed him through backstreets.
He stopped at the market for apples and fish, then turned into a row of terraced houses. Evie knew—she lived there. He vanished through a garden gate.
She sat on a bench. Waited. Then he reappeared—not alone. A tall blonde beside him. They walked toward the park where she and William once strolled. Evie went home, her mind feverish, her heart in shreds.
Days later, she saw Lily clearly—gorgeous, of course. Early thirties. Then, luck: Lily chatting with a friend who spilled everything.
“Lil? Single mum, sick kid. Ex left ages ago. Now she’s seeing some married bloke. Claims he’ll leave his wife…”
Evie’s blood boiled. But she smiled.
One weekday, dressed in her borrowed disguise, she paid Lily a “visit.”
Lily was in the garden. Evie feigned dizziness, won her sympathy. Water, a cup… then: *”I see your future.”*
Shock. Disbelief. But Evie reeled off her life—failed marriage, child, scars. Lily froze.
“That man? He won’t leave his wife. Ever.”
“He will! I’ll make him!”
*”No.”*
*”YES!”*
Then—fish across the face. Nails, screams, torn fabric. Evie struck, hissed: *”He’s MINE! Stay away!”*
Tears, mud, ruined coat—but Evie walked away, head high.
A week later, William’s “weekend shifts” stopped. He no longer smelled of fish. Victory. Lily was gone. For good.
Years passed. They moved. Lived quietly. Him—distant, wistful. Her—calm. Their sons grew. Life went on.
Then, near the end, a woman slipped into his hospital room. Evie overheard—it was her. Lily. They wept. He whispered her name. Goodbye.
Evie met her rival’s eyes. The woman left without a word. Had they truly forgotten each other? Or pretended?
That night, beside his bed, Evie wondered:
Maybe it *had* been love. Real. Deep. Quiet.
But…
Life demands sacrifice.
And if someone had to suffer, better her than her children. Because family—that’s what mattered.
