Earned Happiness
Emma returned from work, changed her clothes, and sipped her tea. It was too early to start dinner—she had time. James wouldn’t be home for another two hours. She picked up her book, stretched out on the sofa, and sighed in relief, finally freeing her feet from the confinement of her heels.
As a primary school teacher, Emma was always neatly dressed, her hair in a sensible bob, her wardrobe full of tailored blazers and modest dresses—part of the school’s professional dress code. Every day, she met with parents from all walks of life, some struggling, others comfortably well-off. She had learned to never stand out too much among the less fortunate, nor appear out of place among the successful. Over the years, she’d perfected speaking clearly and softly, never raising her voice. Children and parents alike respected her.
A few pages in, her eyelids grew heavy. She closed them and drifted off, waking only when her book slipped from her hands and hit the floor. Rubbing her eyes, she leaned down to pick it up—just as the doorbell rang. James had his own key, and he wouldn’t be home yet. The bell chimed again, hesitant and brief.
Emma checked her reflection in the hallway mirror, smoothed her slightly tousled hair, and opened the door.
On the threshold stood Thomas, James’s friend and colleague.
“Hello, Emma.”
“Hello, Tom. James isn’t home yet,” she said.
“I know. Actually, I came to see you.” Thomas shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.
“Come in.” She stepped aside to let him pass.
He shrugged off his coat, hung it on the hook, and tucked his scarf into the sleeve. Then he kicked off his shoes. Emma watched, wondering what could have brought him here. Had something happened to James?
Thomas adjusted his jacket and waited for an invitation to go further into the house.
“Let’s go to the kitchen,” Emma suggested.
Best conversations always happened in the kitchen.
Thomas sat at the table while Emma turned on the kettle. It hissed immediately.
“Tea or coffee?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“Tea would be lovely,” he replied.
She took a cup from the cupboard. The biscuit tin was already on the table. The kettle whistled sharply, steam rising.
She poured the tea and pushed the biscuits toward Thomas before sitting across from him.
“Aren’t you having any?” he asked, clearly uncomfortable.
“You didn’t come here for a chat. What’s happened? Is it James?”
“He’s fine,” Thomas muttered, suddenly very interested in picking a biscuit.
“Spit it out,” Emma demanded.
“I’ve wanted to tell you for a while…” Thomas unwrapped a biscuit, studying it as if it held answers. “You’re a remarkable woman, Emma. Smart, capable… I never wanted to interfere, but I can’t let you stay in the dark any longer.” He popped the biscuit into his mouth.
“Out with it,” she snapped, patience fraying.
“Look, I don’t like being the one to say this…” He took a noisy sip of tea.
“Say it.”
“James is having an affair,” Thomas blurted, coughing as crumbs caught in his throat.
Emma half-rose, reaching across to thump his back. Then she sat back down and laughed.
“Did you hear what I said? Or did you already know?” Thomas frowned.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake! I thought something terrible had happened,” she said, still chuckling.
Now it was his turn to look stunned.
“So what? James is handsome, still in his prime,” Emma said coolly. “What’s it to you? I thought you were friends. Friends don’t betray each other. How many times have *you* strayed?” Her gaze was icy.
“Ruined your own marriage, so now you want to wreck mine?” she snapped, standing abruptly.
“I just wanted you to know the truth. You do everything for him—cook, clean, bake. And he doesn’t appreciate you!” His face burned, from shame or the hot tea.
“Had your little fun? Now leave. James will be home soon.”
“I’ll go. But think about what I’ve said. Think hard. Forewarned is—”
“Just go.”
Thomas scrambled to the hallway, craning his neck for the shoehorn. When he couldn’t find it, he groaned and bent down to tug on his shoes. Emma leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching impatiently.
Finally, he managed, snatched his coat, and fumbled with the lock before stepping onto the landing. His scarf trailed behind him. He turned, mouth open, but Emma slammed the door.
Back in the kitchen, she dumped his half-finished tea in the sink and sank into a chair.
She and James had met at the theatre. During intermission, the bar queue was endless.
“I’m *dying* of thirst. Think we’ll make it?” her friend groaned.
“Wait here,” Emma said, marching to the front.
Two young men stood near the counter. She quietly asked if they could buy her a bottle of water.
One of them nodded, got it for her, and refused payment. She thanked him and returned to her friend. They drank straight from the bottle.
Back in their seats, James kept glancing around, searching for her. Their eyes met, and Emma looked away, cheeks warm.
After the show, the two men waited outside.
“Did you enjoy it?” the one who’d bought her water—James—asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“I’m James. This is Michael, my mate.”
The girls introduced themselves. They walked through the cooling evening streets, chatting about the play. Eventually, they paired off.
James had been working for two years; Emma had just graduated from teacher training college.
She couldn’t recall their conversation that first night—only the giddy, breathless happiness she felt beside him.
Michael and her friend drifted apart, but she and James stayed together. They married the following spring, moving into a tiny flat from James’s workplace. A year later, their son was born, then a daughter two years after. The company gave them a slightly bigger place. It was happiness.
The years passed. Their son moved to London for work, focused on his career. Their daughter married young but wasn’t in a hurry for children.
Emma stared blankly at the wall. She and James had grown into each other, two halves of one whole. Now, their lives stretched ahead, peaceful.
But Thomas had shattered that peace. Jealousy, perhaps. Many were. Friends divorced, remarried—but she and James had been happy.
Thomas’s own marriage had ended a decade ago. Back then, they’d been close with his wife, but after the split, Emma refused to entertain his string of girlfriends. He’d even flirted with her once. She shut him down.
*Is this revenge? Or is there truth in it?*
She wouldn’t throw away twenty-five years over rumors. Not yet.
She cooked dinner just as James arrived. Everything normal—except her churning thoughts. She barely touched her food.
“Are you alright?” James asked.
“Just tired.”
He thanked her for the meal, retreated to the living room. The TV hummed.
She washed up, then sat at the table, taking in the familiar kitchen. How many tears, laughter, arguments had these walls witnessed?
Days passed. She tried to convince herself nothing had changed. James acted as usual.
Then, one afternoon, she couldn’t take it anymore. She cancelled her last lesson and went to his office.
“Emma? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Lessons were cancelled. Had lunch?”
“Yes, just now.”
“I thought we could eat together. I was nearby, looking for a birthday dress.” A flicker of guilt crossed his face. *He’d forgotten.*
A young woman peeked in. Their eyes met. *Her.*
“I’ll go,” Emma said, already moving.
“Emma!”
She didn’t stop.
“Wait!”
The woman caught up. “You’re his wife.”
A nearby café was nearly empty.
“You’re not what I expected,” the woman said, stirring sugar into her coffee.
“Oh?”
“I thought teachers were stern. But you’re lovely.” She hesitated. “I love James.”
“And does he love you?”
She faltered. “Your children are grown. Feelings fade. Let him go.”
Emma laughed coldly. “I’m not holding him. But if you think you can just take him like some prize—”
She pulled photos from her bag. “This is us. Does he look unhappy? You really think he’d throw this away?”
Without waiting for an answer, she left.
At home, she smeared on lipstick, drew jagged eyeliner. Hated the sight.
James found her like that, still in her coat.
“What’s wrong?” He wiped her face gently.
She fought, but then collapsed against him, sobbing. “I can’t lose you.”
Days later, their children visited. A bouquet of red roses sat on the table.
Their son raised his glass. “Mum, when I marry,Their daughter smiled and added, “And when you two come back from the Canaries, we expect you to be as in love as ever—if not more so.”
