**”Irreconcilable Differences”**
“Are you going to be late? What time are you leaving, Jim? Jim—” Emma tugged at her husband’s shoulder, but he brushed her off, his entire posture signalling he had no intention of waking up yet and certainly wouldn’t be late.
Emma glanced at her phone—only seven in the morning.
*Why did I even get up this early on a Saturday? There’s nothing to do—I packed his bag yesterday…* She considered crawling back under the warm duvet, but then—
Then it hit her again. That creeping, inexplicable sense of dread that had been visiting her more and more lately. On paper, there was nothing to worry about: her husband was beside her, their flat in central London was immaculate, fitted with designer furniture and top-of-the-range appliances. Jim had his own car. So did she. They’d even bought a country house in Kent—a weekend retreat. They had everything.
Most people could only dream of this. Try living in a rented flat, commuting by bus, juggling work, kids’ homework, dinner for the whole family, mortgage payments, school fees… The moment you collapse into bed, the alarm rings, and it all starts again. You’d kill for my problems! What’s there to dread?
But this was different. Emma had learned to recognise it—this hollow, gnawing dread, the premonition of loss, the unshakable feeling that something vital was slipping away. It came without warning, lingered, then faded—only to return later.
That morning, it settled heavily back into her chest. She got up, studied Jim’s sleeping form one last time, then went to the kitchen. Jim was off on yet another business trip. Lately, they’d become unbearable. A new boss had taken over eighteen months ago—better pay, sure, but the demands had skyrocketed. Jim was a key player now, a department head. But the job stole all his time, and lately, weekend trips had become the norm.
She made breakfast, then returned to rouse him.
“Jim, are you waking up or not? Come on, or you’ll miss your trip—weren’t you leaving after lunch?”
“Yeah. After…” Jim’s voice was thick with sleep, but he finally stirred, pushing himself upright.
“Come on, breakfast’s ready.”
“Mmm.” Still groggy, he followed her to the kitchen.
Over breakfast, he buried himself in his phone. Lately, they hardly spoke. They weren’t distant in an angry way—they didn’t fight. Everything was fine. He still brought flowers home occasionally. Sometimes she convinced him to go out for dinner, and he’d agree. They’d stroll through Hyde Park, visit friends, catch a film. But it wasn’t the same.
“Jim… take me with you?” Emma asked suddenly.
“Mmm.” Eyes still glued to his screen.
“Seriously, why not? You’ll be at a hotel anyway—you’ll be with your team during the day, then with me in the evening.”
“What? No! What would you even do there?”
“Why not? I’ve never been to Liverpool. I could explore, shop, maybe visit a museum—”
“Oh, come on! It’s a dump—nothing there! You’ve got every shop in London at your doorstep!”
“Jim, I’m bored here! I won’t get in your way—”
“Emma, if you want a holiday, book one! Go alone!”
“Alone? I want to be with you—we’re married, remember?”
“Here we go again! I’ve told you—work’s insane right now! The boss is breathing down everyone’s neck—what am I supposed to do, say no?”
“It always seems to be you he asks. Last weekend, I saw Roberts with his wife and kids at Westfield. Where were you? ‘Working’.” She hadn’t meant to pick a fight, especially before a trip, but the words tumbled out.
“Oh, great, now we’re keeping tabs? Thanks for breakfast!” He stood abruptly and headed for the shower.
Emma cleaned up, packed sandwiches and a flask of tea for the road.
“Emma, where’s my bag?” Jim called from the hallway.
“On the dresser,” she replied flatly.
“Right. I’m off. Don’t sulk—there’s nothing to do there anyway.”
“No, of course not. Bye.”
He left.
Saturday stretched ahead. She could call one of her friends—meet up, grab dinner somewhere cosy, chat.
But who? Jules was swamped with two kids and a husband. Maz had bought a cottage in the Cotswolds—no chance she’d come back for the day. Lexi had moved to Edinburgh months ago—radio silence since. Everyone had their own lives, responsibilities, families.
Emma was nearly thirty-eight, and they’d never had children. A mistake from their early days—a termination. Back then, they’d just moved in together, scraping by in a rented flat on graduate salaries.
She’d told Jim she was pregnant. He’d suggested waiting. She’d been against it but hadn’t argued—their situation was dire. What kind of life could they offer a child? Now? Different story. A baby would’ve given her purpose, filled the loneliness, maybe even saved her marriage.
That child would’ve been fourteen by now.
“I wonder what they’d have been like,” she murmured aloud, then choked back a sob.
She splashed water on her face, studying her reflection.
“No. This ends now. I’m calling Vicky.”
She dialled.
“Vicks, hi!” Emma forced brightness into her voice.
“Oh, Em, hi…” Vicky sounded off, sluggish.
“Fancy grabbing coffee or hitting the shops? You free?”
“Oh… I’m, uh, under the weather. Can’t today.”
“Ah. Flu?”
“Yeah, something like that…”
Emma went shopping alone. It was joyless. Then an idea struck—she’d visit Vicky. The woman was alone, no partner, parents far away.
She bought pastries, groceries, medicine, hailed a taxi, and headed over.
*She’ll be thrilled. A surprise visit—just what she needs. Maybe I’ll even stay the night.*
She knocked.
The door swung open.
Jim stood there.
For a heartbeat, Emma froze.
“Jim… what are you doing here?” Her voice cracked.
Silence.
“Jim? Courier or what?” Vicky’s voice floated from inside. Then she appeared.
Three of them, motionless.
“Yes. Courier. Here’s everything. Get well soon.” Emma thrust the bags into Jim’s hands and turned away.
She called another taxi.
Jim followed her outside minutes later.
“Let’s go home. We need to talk.”
“Why? What’s left to say? Go back upstairs—she’s waiting. That strict boss of yours… How long has this ‘business trip’ been going on?” Tears spilled freely now.
The taxi arrived.
“Don’t bother coming back to the flat.”
She left.
“Pull over by the Thames, please.”
She walked along the embankment, the cold air sharp in her lungs.
*This is it. The thing I felt coming.* She’d known—something was wrong. But she’d ignored it, dismissed her own instincts.
A man bumped into her.
“Sorry—oh! Emma?”
“Leo?”
They hadn’t seen each other in years. Childhood friends—same nursery, same school. Then he’d joined the army. They’d written letters. She’d met Jim. Leo had stayed where he was posted. Last she’d heard, he’d married. Then—nothing.
“How long’s it been?”
“Ages! Is this your daughter?” A girl, about nine, hovered beside him.
“Yep—this is Katie. What do we say, sweetheart?”
“Hello!”
“Hi. I’m Auntie Emma.”
“I’m Katie.”
“Nice to meet you, Katie.”
“Em, we were just heading to that café—fancy joining us?”
“Love to.”
Over tea, Leo explained.
“After my wife passed, I realised there was nothing keeping me up north. Katie and I moved back. My parents are still around—helps with childcare… What about you? Married? Kids?”
“No. Neither.” She forced a smile.
“But you did get married?”
“Yeah. Didn’t work out.” She wouldn’t elaborate.
That evening, Jim came for his things.
“I should’ve told you about me and Vicky.”
“Yes. Why didn’t you?”
“Dunno.” He left.
The divorce was quick—no children, no messy custody. They split assets cleanly: he took the country house; she kept the flat.
Six months passed. Emma slowly pieced herself back together.
“Em, hate to ask again—Mum’s poorly. Can you pick Katie up from school?” Leo’s voice crackled down the line.
“Leo, of course!”
She collected Katie, brought her home. OverA year later, as Emma stood beside Leo in the registry office, Katie grinning between them with a bouquet of daisies, she finally understood that sometimes life’s sharpest turns lead you exactly where you belong.
