“The Business Trip” with a Hint of Betrayal: A Note That Changed Everything
Jonathan returned home exhausted after a grueling day at work. Tossing his briefcase by the door, he shuffled into the kitchen where his wife, Emily, was frying sausages.
“They’re sending me on a business trip tomorrow,” he said flatly. “Pack my bag.”
Emily turned, her brow furrowing with suspicion.
“On a weekend? That’s odd. No one else can go?”
Jonathan didn’t answer. He just shrugged and went to change.
The next day, he left. Two days later, he returned to an empty house. No Emily, no son. Evening had fallen—they should’ve been home by now.
“Strange,” Jonathan thought, hanging his coat.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Emily’s number. No answer. As he hesitated to call again, his eyes caught a slip of paper on the kitchen table. A note. The handwriting was neat, almost serene, but with each word, dread coiled tighter in his chest.
*Jon. Don’t look for us. I’m tired of the half-truths, the distance, the lies. Tom has come with me to Mum’s. We need time. Don’t call. If you love us—give us space.*
He read it again and again. His chest tightened. He sank into a chair, staring blankly as the last few weeks flickered through his mind.
The new director had appeared without warning. Replacing old Mr. Thompson—a man respected by all—was a sharp, unshakable woman named Rebecca Carter. Whispers claimed she’d gotten the job through connections, but no one dared say it aloud.
At the first meeting, Rebecca made it clear: no nonsense. Discipline. Accountability. No slip-ups. Jonathan once walked in five minutes late—her gaze cut through him like ice.
“Note what I say,” she said, voice like a razor’s edge. “A second tardiness will not be tolerated.”
Three weeks passed. Everyone strained to keep up. Jonathan tried his best. And somehow, she noticed. One day, he was summoned to her office.
“You’re meticulous. Why haven’t you moved up?” she asked, twirling a pen between her fingers.
“Don’t know,” he admitted.
“There’s an exhibition in London this Friday. You’ll attend. Evaluate the equipment. And perhaps…” She paused. “…we’ll discuss your future.”
His insides twisted. He’d promised Tom a day at the park. His son had been counting on it. And Emily—she’d read too much into this.
But he went.
And, of course, Rebecca was in the same train carriage. Casual yet polished, she looked almost approachable.
“Relax. I don’t bite,” she said, smiling. “This trip will do you good.”
They talked the whole way. At the hotel, their rooms were adjacent. He wondered if it was coincidence.
Then came the knock at his door. Rebecca stood there—champagne in one hand, chocolate in the other.
“Room for one more?” she murmured.
It happened fast. Bubbles, light chatter, lingering looks… a hand on his shoulder… a kiss he didn’t resist.
Returning home, Jonathan sensed the shift. Emily was icy. Silent. Then—she found the lipstick on his collar.
“What’s this?” Her voice was quiet, terrifyingly calm. “I knew it wasn’t just business.”
The storm broke. Shouting. Tears. Jonathan stayed silent. That night, he slept on the sofa.
The next day—the note.
He stood, trembling, the paper clutched in his hands. Tears welled up before he noticed. He hadn’t meant for this. Hadn’t planned it. But it had happened.
Back at work, routine swallowed him. Rebecca was as brisk and neutral as ever. When she offered another trip, he answered firmly:
“Sorry. I can’t go. Promised my son. I won’t let him down again. Someone else can manage.”
Her eyebrow arched. “You realise this could cost you?”
“Understood. But I’ve already paid too much.”
He walked out without looking back.
That weekend, he took Tom to the park. Bought him ice cream. Rode the carousel. Watched him laugh. Silence settled in his heart. And, for the first time in ages—peace.
The promotion went to another. And though Emily didn’t return right away, after a month, they began speaking again. Slowly. Like adults.
Jonathan never again mistook ambition for what truly mattered—family.
