“‘I get it… but you need to understand me too’: The truth that shattered illusions
That day, Emily was in the kitchen making lunch—chopping meat for a stew. The smell of onions filled the air, the pan sizzling with fat, when suddenly the phone rang in the living room. Her husband, William, picked up. His voice was steady:
“Hello?”
A long pause followed. Someone must’ve been talking nonstop while he just listened. Emily wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out of the kitchen. The hallway was empty. The phone cord stretched toward the nursery. Her heart twisted. Without knowing why, she tiptoed closer, like she was sneaking up on something.
From behind the slightly ajar bedroom door came his whisper—a tone he’d never used with her.
“Sophie, please, calm down… I understand, really. But you need to understand me too. I’ve got a family. I can’t come now. I love you too. So much. But I can’t talk right now—Emily might walk in any second. I need to tell her, but not yet… Let’s talk tomorrow. Don’t call me here at this time, please. And yes… I love you.”
It hit her like an electric shock. Her hand, ready to push the door open, froze midair. Her heart pounded so hard she could barely breathe. *I love you.* He’d said it to another woman. Not her.
Emily didn’t make a scene. Her mother’s voice echoed in her head: *”Never act rashly when you’re upset.”* She straightened up, walked back to the kitchen, and picked up the knife—but her hands shook. The meat chunks scattered messily across the cutting board. The cat rubbed against her legs, and she tossed it a piece—an automatic, thoughtless kindness.
*”I love you too…”*
The words looped in her mind like a curse. She clung to his other words: *”I’ve got a family…”* Did that mean she still mattered? That she still meant something?
But then—who was she? Just the mother of his kids? The housekeeper? A habit? Pain tightened her chest. Because everything had been fine. He’d been kind, attentive. No distance between them. Never given her a reason to doubt.
Twenty minutes later, William walked back into the kitchen, inhaled the smell of dinner, and smiled.
“God, that smells amazing! Dinner soon?”
“Half an hour. I chopped the meat small—it’ll cook faster. Who called?”
“Hm?” He acted confused. “Oh, work. They need me in tomorrow to check a timber delivery.”
“They ask you in on weekends too often. I don’t like it.”
“Everyone’s on holiday, it’s summer…”
“Mhm.”
“You seem off, Emmy.”
“Just tired. Thought we’d spend tomorrow together, maybe go to the cottage.”
“You’ve got work. We’ll go in the evening.”
“Will…”
“Yeah?”
“Do you love me?”
“Of course, what kinda question is that? I love you, Emmy. And I love our boys. You know family means everything to me.”
He reached over, hugged her, kissed her neck. But for the first time in her life, his touch made her skin crawl.
Later, she lay on the sofa watching their sons play nearby. The cat jumped onto her stomach, kneading its claws—thanking her for the treat. Emily squeezed its paws, buried her face in its fur.
That woman… she had to go.
Emily couldn’t share her husband. Couldn’t lie beside him knowing he’d been with someone else. But losing him was unbearable. The answer came on its own: deal with the mistress. Personally. Without him knowing.
The next day, after he dropped the kids at nursery and left for “work,” Emily called in sick and stayed home. As cover, she borrowed an apron and scarf from her neighbour—“painting a wall at work.” Then, straight to the nursery. A few minutes later, William left. Emily followed, weaving through side streets.
He stopped at the market, bought smoked salmon and fruit, then turned into a quiet neighbourhood. Emily understood: that’s where she lived. He disappeared behind a garden gate.
She sat on a bench. Waited. Then he reappeared—with a tall blonde. They walked toward the woods, the same spot where they’d once strolled together. Emily went home. Her head burned. Her heart ached.
Days later, she got a proper look at Sophie—gorgeous, damn her. Thirtyish. Then, luck: she overheard Sophie chatting with a friend. The friend, oblivious, spilled everything.
“Soph? Single mum with a sick kid, her husband left. Now she’s seeing a married bloke. Says he’ll leave his wife for her…”
Emily’s blood boiled. But she smiled.
Then, on a half-day at work, Emily—apron and scarf—paid a “visit.”
Sophie was in the garden. Emily faked dizziness, gained her trust. A glass of water… then suddenly, *“I see your future.”*
Sophie was shocked, then sceptical. But Emily spun tales of her life—husband, divorce, child, scars—all of it. Sophie believed. Eyes wide.
“That man you’re seeing… it’ll never last. He’s tied to his wife. He’ll never leave.”
“He will! I’ll make sure of it! I’ll have his baby!”
“He won’t be yours!”
“He WILL!”
Then—smoked salmon to the face. A fight broke out. Emily hit her, screaming:
“That’s MY husband! MINE! Get out of our lives! GO!”
Tears, mud, a ripped apron… But Emily walked away, head high.
A week later, William stopped getting weekend calls. No more salmon smell. Emily felt victorious. Sophie was gone. For good.
Years passed. They moved. Lived quietly. He—distant, a little sad. She—calm. Their kids grew up. Life went on.
Then, near the end of his life, a woman walked into his hospital room. Emily eavesdropped—it was her. Sophie. They cried. He whispered her name. Said goodbye.
Emily met her old rival’s eyes. Sophie left without a word. They didn’t recognise each other. Or pretended not to.
That evening, sitting by his bed, Emily wondered:
*Maybe it was love. Real. Deep. Quiet.*
But…
Life makes demands.
If someone had to hurt… better it be her than their children. Because in the end, family comes first.
