The phone buzzed sharply in the dim glow of the living room.
“Hello, Emily?” The voice on the line was achingly familiar. Her breath hitched, pulse hammering in her throat so loudly she feared it might wake her husband. If not for the muffered drone of the telly, he’d have heard it.
“I’ve missed you. Couldn’t wait any longer. I think about you all the time. Let’s meet.” The warmth in his tone sent a jolt through her.
Emily slipped into the hall, pressing her back against the wallpaper, legs suddenly unsteady.
“Emily, are you there?” His voice was a lure, a whisper, a dangerous reminder of reality. She shouldn’t have answered. Shouldn’t have picked up without checking the screen.
She’d tried so hard to forget—that reckless night, the way he made her feel. She had a stable marriage, a good husband. They’d been together for years. She didn’t need anyone else…
She’d known Robert since school. He’d been the quiet, bookish type—top marks in maths and science, thick glasses that earned him the nickname “Booker.” And it fit. Reliable, soft-spoken, with round cheeks and a steady nature.
Back then, Emily, like the other girls, hadn’t seen him as anything more than the boy they copied homework from. She’d liked the lads who were bold, quick-witted, the ones who played football and made everyone laugh.
Years later, they’d bumped into each other outside a café. He wore contacts now. “He’s actually rather sweet,” she’d caught herself thinking.
Robert had graduated from Cambridge while she was finishing med school. They’d exchanged numbers—just in case. A reunion was coming up. He promised to ring her with details, though she had no intention of going.
But he called anyway. Asked her to the cinema. She’d had flings before, but nothing stuck. The ones she fancied never fancied her back. And the ones who did? She wasn’t interested.
“Go. Or you’ll end up a lonely old spinster,” her mother had warned.
So she went. And somehow, they kept going. Robert confessed his love, proposed. It was safe. Stable. He worked for a reputable firm, had prospects.
“Don’t overthink it. You can shape him into whatever you want,” her mother had said. So Emily agreed.
Their marriage was steady. Any fights were her fault, never his.
Then came their daughter. Robert’s mother never interfered but adored babysitting. Her own parents were just as eager to help.
A second child never happened. There’d never been passion between them. Even in bed, Robert was methodical. She’d wondered, sometimes, if it was normal for intimacy to feel so…routine. But at least she could trust him. He’d never stray. Unlike the husbands her colleagues wept over—cheaters, absent fathers, messy divorces.
Their girl grew up, left for art school in London, lived lavishly on the doting generosity of both grandmothers, who spoiled her rotten.
Life moved on. Then, six months ago, Emily was promoted to head of the clinic. The new role swallowed her time—meetings, conferences, responsibilities.
That’s where she’d met Daniel.
There’d been few men at the conference, but he stood out—tall, charming, effortlessly magnetic. The older women cooed over him like a son. The younger ones flirted shamelessly.
The closing gala was loud, boozy. She’d meant to leave. But her hotel roommate persuaded her: “You never know who you’ll meet. Networking matters.”
So she stayed.
Speeches dragged. Wine flowed. Soon, respectable GPs and consultants were swapping bawdy medical jokes, laughing too loudly.
Emily didn’t drink, just sipped for politeness’ sake. She hovered near the edge, waiting for a chance to slip away unnoticed.
“Bored?” Daniel appeared beside her. “Let’s escape.”
Her pulse leapt. She followed.
They wandered the hotel corridors, carpet muffling their steps. He talked about his work, his clinic. Music from the gala faded behind them.
“Come to my room. I’ve got a bottle of Bordeaux, no one to share it with. And I haven’t told you the best part yet.”
She went.
She didn’t know why. Maybe loneliness. Maybe because she liked the way he looked at her.
His kiss undid her. One moment they were talking. The next, his hands were in her hair, his mouth hot against hers.
She woke in his bed, dazed. Every touch had been fire. Every whisper, a revelation. She’d never felt anything like it with Robert. Never.
Morning came too soon. The gala was over. Empty wine glasses. Clothes scattered. A hollowness in her chest.
“Stay another day,” Daniel begged. “I’ll sort the hotel. Forget the train.”
She hesitated. “I’m married.”
“You’re unhappy. I can tell.”
“No.” She dressed quickly, voice sharp. “You have a train to catch.”
She didn’t ask if he was married too.
Back in her own room, she scrubbed away the night’s traces, packing in silence. Her roommate eyed her but asked no questions.
On the train, she willed herself to forget. Robert picked her up at the station, chatting about work. She barely listened.
That night, when he reached for her, she turned away. “I’m tired.”
Weeks passed. Life resumed. Memories dulled. Until the phone rang.
*Now.*
His voice shattered her carefully rebuilt composure.
“I can’t live without you,” he said. “I’m at the Berwick Hotel. Come whenever you can.”
She hung up, pressed her forehead to the wall, struggling to breathe.
“Who was that?” Robert stirred on the sofa.
“No one.” She folded laundry with deliberate calm. “Just the telly.”
At lunch, he eyed her. “You’re not eating.”
She stood abruptly. “I’m popping round to Lucy’s. Her boy’s ill—she asked me to check on him.”
Robert’s fork stilled. “You said no one called.”
She grabbed her coat, lies crumbling.
*What am I doing? This isn’t fair.*
But her feet carried her to the hotel anyway.
Daniel saw her through the lobby window. One touch, and her resolve burned away.
“Come with me,” he murmured.
She whispered, “Go. Forget me.” But her body betrayed her.
Dawn came.
“I’ll wait,” he said. “My train’s at five.”
At home, Robert sat rigid on the sofa. Waiting. “Do you love him?” he asked finally.
She didn’t answer. Shame didn’t come. Only grief.
*What if it doesn’t work with Daniel?* But staying meant a lifetime of numbness.
Robert’s voice cracked. “Don’t leave me.”
She said nothing.
Morning. She turned off her phone. Robert hovered, clumsy with fear.
“Stop it,” she snapped. “I’m not leaving.”
But as the hours bled away, she bolted.
“Emily!” he called after her.
“I’m sorry!”
The station was chaos. The train was already moving. She ran, scanning the windows—then there he was.
The brakes shrieked. The door flew open. He jumped down, ignoring the conductor’s shouts.
“I knew you’d come,” he murmured, kissing her tears, pulling her close.
“What now?” she whispered.
He held her tighter. “We’ll figure it out.”
The train vanished into the distance. And still, neither let go.