**Well-Deserved Happiness**
Emily came home from work, changed into something comfy, and made herself a cup of tea. Dinner could wait—Andrew wouldn’t be back for another two hours. She picked up her book, stretched out on the sofa with a contented sigh, and wiggled her toes. A full day in heels had taken its toll.
Emily was a primary school teacher—neatly dressed in smart skirts and sensible blouses, her hair always tidy. The school had a strict dress code, and parents came in all sorts, from well-off to barely scraping by. She’d learned to fit in without standing out too much above or below. Years of teaching had taught her to speak clearly, never raising her voice. The kids respected her, and so did their parents.
A few pages in, her eyelids grew heavy. She let them drift shut and dozed off, only waking when the book slipped from her hands and thudded to the floor. Rubbing her eyes, she bent to pick it up—just as the doorbell rang. Andrew had his own key, and it was too early for him anyway. The bell chimed again, hesitant and short.
She checked her reflection in the hallway mirror, smoothed her ruffled hair, and opened the door.
On the doorstep stood Nicholas, Andrew’s friend and colleague.
“Hello, Emily.”
“Hello, Nick. Andrew’s not back yet,” she said.
“I know. Actually, I came to see you.” He shuffled awkwardly.
“Come in.” She stepped aside, letting him pass.
He hung his coat, stuffed his scarf into the sleeve, and wrestled off his shoes. Emily watched, wondering what had brought him here. Had something happened to Andrew?
Nicholas straightened his jacket, waiting for an invitation further in.
“Kitchen?” Emily suggested. Because where else do you have serious conversations?
He sat at the table while she flicked the kettle on. It hissed immediately.
“Tea or coffee?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Tea’s fine.”
She fetched a mug. The biscuit tin was already on the table. The kettle whistled almost instantly—boiling fast, as if sensing urgency.
She poured his tea, slid the biscuits toward him, and sat opposite.
“Aren’t you having any?” Nicholas asked, clearly uncomfortable.
“You didn’t just drop by for a cuppa. What’s going on? Is Andrew alright?”
“He’s fine.” Nicholas focused very hard on selecting a biscuit.
“Spit it out,” Emily said, patience thinning.
“I’ve been meaning to say…” He unwrapped a digestive with excessive care. “You’re a remarkable woman, intelligent, keeps a lovely home… didn’t want to meddle. But I had to tell you about Andrew. He’s…” He took a bite, chewing slowly.
“Are you going to make me drag it out of you?”
He gulped his tea noisily. “He’s seeing someone else.” The words tumbled out, and he promptly choked on his biscuit.
Emily thumped him on the back, then sat back and laughed.
“Did you hear me? Or did you already know?” Nicholas looked crushed.
“Oh, I thought it was something serious,” she said, wiping her eyes.
Now it was his turn to gape.
“So what? Andrew’s fit, in his prime,” Emily shrugged. “And what’s it to you? Aren’t you supposed to be his friend? Friends don’t betray friends. How many times have *you* strayed?” She gave him an icy look.
“Ruined your own marriage, now here to ruin mine?” she snapped, standing.
“I just thought you should know. You do everything—cooking, cleaning, baking. You’re perfect. And he doesn’t appreciate you.” His face reddened, whether from shame or scalding tea.
“Had your fun? Now scram. Andrew’ll be home soon.”
“Just… think about what I said.”
“Off you pop, Sir Galahad.”
Nicholas scrambled to the hallway, fumbling with his shoes, finally yanking them on. Emily leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching with cold amusement as he struggled with the coat, his scarf trailing behind. He turned, mouth opening—but she shut the door in his face.
Back in the kitchen, she dumped his half-finished tea in the sink and slumped into a chair.
She and Andrew had met at the theatre. During intermission, the bar queue was miles long. Emily and her friend Lucy joined the end.
“God, I’m parched. Do we even have time?” Lucy fretted.
“Stay here,” Emily said, marching to the front.
Two men stood near the counter. She approached them, asking quietly if they’d mind grabbing her a bottle of water.
One nodded, bought it, and handed it over, refusing her money. Emily thanked him and rejoined Lucy. They took turns drinking straight from the bottle, leaning against the wall.
Back in their seats, Andrew kept turning, scanning the crowd for her. Their eyes met—her cheeks warmed, and she looked away.
After the show, he and his friend were waiting outside.
“Enjoy the play?” asked the one who’d bought her water.
“Very much,” she said.
“I’m Andrew. This is James.”
The girls introduced themselves. They walked through quiet streets, the day’s heat fading into cool twilight. At first, they chatted as a group about the play. Then they split into pairs.
Andrew had been working for two years after uni; Emily had just graduated teaching college.
She couldn’t remember what they talked about that first night—only the giddy rush of walking beside him under streetlights.
Lucy and James fizzled out, but she and Andrew didn’t look back. They married in spring, got a small flat in a company housing block where Andrew worked. A son came a year later, a daughter two years after. When the housing lists vanished, they privatised their flat, sold it, and with some parental help, bought a proper house. They were young, weathering storms, making up, happy. It felt like it would last forever.
Their son moved to London after uni, chasing his career. Their daughter married young, renting a flat, no rush for kids.
Now, staring blankly at the wall, Emily thought of how she and Andrew had grown together, seamless. The kids were independent. Now it was just *them*. Not even fifty yet.
And then Nicholas had to come along, poisoning the well. People envied them—friends divorced and remarried, but *they* stayed solid.
Nicholas had split from his wife a decade ago. Back then, they’d been couple-friends. His ex, Zoe, had been lively and fun. But after the divorce, Emily had no interest in meeting his parade of new women. He’d even tried flirting with *her* once. She’d shut that down fast.
*Maybe he’s still bitter. Maybe there’s nothing to his claim. Or maybe there is. Does it matter? A fling isn’t the end. He snores, fusses when he’s ill, expects dinner ready. Would she want that?*
No, she wouldn’t blow things up. Not yet. She’d wait, watch.
Dinner was ready by the time Andrew got home. She pushed her food around her plate, appetite gone.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Just tired.”
He thanked her for the meal, disappeared into the living room with the telly.
She washed up, sat at the table, soaking in the kitchen’s familiar warmth. How many fights, reconciliations, secrets had these walls seen? Could she really toss it all aside?
Days passed. She wrestled with herself, tried to believe nothing had changed. Andrew acted normal—if late, he called.
Then one day, she cracked. Cancelled her last lesson (“Yes, kids, early dismissal!”) and went to his office.
“Emily? What’s wrong?” Andrew looked startled.
“Nothing. Just free period. Had lunch?”
“Yeah, just now.” Still confused.
“I thought we could eat together. I was nearby, shopping for my birthday dress.” A flicker of guilt crossed his face. *He’d forgotten.*
Before he could reply, a petite woman peeked in. Their eyes met. *Her.*
“I’ll come back later,” the woman murmured, vanishing.
Emily deflated. “I’ll go. Don’t want to interrupt.”
“Em—”
She waved him off and left.
“Wait!” The woman caught up in the corridor. “You’re Andrew’s wife.”
Silence.
“Can we talk? There’s a café nearby.”
They sat at a quiet table. Emily didn’t stare, but she noticed the woman’s cherry-red jumper, plunging neckline, perfect makeup.
“Coffee?”
“No. Talk.”
“You’re not what I expected. A schoolteacher—I thought you’d be stern. But you’re lovely.” She took a breath. “I love Andrew. The moment I saw him—”
“Does he love you?” Emily cut in.
The woman blinked.
“You’ve got kids, twenty-five years together. But they’re grown now. Feelings fade. LetShe held the last photo close, smiled through fresh tears, and whispered, “Some things—like love, like us—are worth keeping.”
