Jealousy and resentment boiled inside her, twisting her thoughts into knots. Had she not loved her husband? Had she failed as a wife, as a mother to their son?
But what happened next defied all reason.
Emma had always believed she and James were destined for each other. Their ten happy years of marriage only confirmed it.
Today, she was returning early from a business trip—one she hadn’t wanted to take. Just days ago, her boss had called her into his office and declared, *”Emma, the branch in Manchester is in shambles. You’re the only one who can fix it. Three days, max. Pack your things and go—no excuses.”*
She had plans, but arguing was pointless. So she’d left, swallowing her frustration, though she’d long since earned the right to stay put.
*”James, I’m leaving for work. Three days, maybe. Make sure Oliver does his tutoring—he’s been skipping lately, and I’m paying good money for those lessons. And feed him properly. Not crisps and takeaway—there’s soup and proper food in the fridge.”*
*”Got it,”* James muttered, eyes glued to his phone.
*”That’s it?”* Emma frowned. *”Not even a ‘I’ll miss you’? For God’s sake, look at me!”*
*”You’ll be back in three days. We’ll manage.”* He finally glanced up with a faint smile. *”Why’d they send you, anyway? Thought you were done with travel.”*
*”They needed someone with experience. Someone strict. Apparently, that’s me.”* She couldn’t hide her pride.
But in Manchester, she’d worked furiously, wrapping things up early. She’d return to an empty flat—James at work, Oliver at school—and indulge in a rare moment of peace. A long bath, a face mask, maybe even a nap. Then she’d cook, help Oliver with homework—properly, without distraction. Lately, she’d realised how little time she’d spent with him.
Lost in memories of how she and James had met, she stopped at a shop, buying a bottle of wine and his favourite chocolate cake. Maybe tonight could fix whatever had grown between them lately—her buried in work, him locked in his screen.
When she opened the door, the unfamiliar perfume hit her first. Then the boots—women’s—by the shoe rack. And a coat she didn’t recognise, reeking of sickly-sweet fragrance.
Her stomach lurched.
Or maybe it wasn’t the perfume. Maybe it was the realisation that instead of a quiet evening, she’d walked into a nightmare.
Laughter floated from the bedroom. She clenched her fists, scanning the room for—what? A weapon? Something to smash over their heads?
*”God, how did I not see this coming?”* she whispered, forcing her breathing steady.
She couldn’t lose control. She wouldn’t give him—or *her*—the satisfaction.
But when she stormed toward the bedroom, her foot caught on the lamp cord. It crashed to the floor.
Silence. Then the door flew open.
A woman—wrapped in a bedsheet—stared back at her.
*”Charlotte?”* Emma’s laugh was brittle. *”Of course. That’s why the perfume was familiar.”*
*”Emma! I—I thought you were away!”*
*”Clearly.”* Emma’s voice dripped venom. *”James! Get out here!”*
*”Emma, please, it’s not what you—”*
*”Shut up. James! Face me like a man!”*
*”It’s not James,”* Charlotte blurted.
Emma froze. *”What?”*
*”It’s not him.”*
For one mad second, hope flared. Maybe her marriage wasn’t ruined. Maybe—
*”Then who?”*
*”It’s… Robert.”*
Emma shoved past her.
There, sitting guiltily on the bed—James’s brother.
*”Robert? Are you *insane*? Oliver could’ve walked in!”*
The kitchen air was thick with shame as Robert stumbled through excuses. *”We met at James’s birthday last year. Then, after a row with Martha… I just—”*
*”And you?”* Emma turned on Charlotte. *”Divorced, no standards—fine. But you, Robert? I *admired* your marriage!”*
*”Clearly shouldn’t have,”* he muttered.
*”Why *here*? There are hotels!”*
*”I work at the council. Too many eyes.”*
Emma scoffed. *”God, the *disrespect*. You’re never setting foot here again.”*
Once they’d slunk out, she scrubbed the flat raw, her mind racing. Maybe she’d neglected James lately. Maybe they needed to talk—really talk.
But first—payback.
She called him. *”Darling, I’m home early—and we’ve had *burglars*! Don’t worry, I’ve locked them in. Police are on their way.”*
*”Wait—*don’t*! I’ll handle it!”*
*”Oh no, they’ll face *justice*.”*
When James burst in, frantic, she simply smiled. *”Your brother says hello. But if you *ever* give our keys out again, you’ll be joining him—permanently.”*
He exhaled. *”Understood.”*
*”Good. Now—romantic dinner. And you’re telling me what you *really* want. No phones. Just us.”*
*”You’re amazing.”* He kissed her.
*”Oliver’s here,”* she laughed, relieved—for once—that James hadn’t been the one caught.
