The Gift That Cost Me My Marriage
Emily felt the small velvet box in her dressing gown pocket and clenched it tightly in her palm. Her heart pounded so violently she feared Andrew might hear it through the walls. The muffled sound of the evening news drifted from the living room—the same routine they had shared for twenty-seven years of marriage.
“Em, want some tea?” Andrew called from the sofa.
“Be right there,” she replied, her fingers still curled around the box. “Just finishing up.”
She stood by the kitchen window, watching the neighbour’s children kick a football between parked cars. An ordinary evening scene, yet today it felt eerily final, as if she were seeing it for the last time.
The box warmed in her grip. Inside lay a pair of gold cufflinks with tiny diamonds—a gift she’d spent three months saving for, skimping on creams and medicines to afford them. She’d wanted to surprise Andrew, to show how much she still cherished him.
But yesterday changed everything.
“You coming or what?” Andrew called impatiently. “The show’s already started.”
Emily took a deep breath and walked into the living room. Her husband slouched in his favourite armchair, wearing a stretched-out jumper and old joggers. Two steaming mugs and an unfolded newspaper sat on the coffee table.
“Hey, remember Sarah Cooper from school?” Andrew asked, eyes fixed on the screen.
Emily froze, the teacup trembling in her hands. Sarah Cooper—the very woman who’d consumed her thoughts all night.
“I remember,” she answered carefully. “Why?”
“Saw her near the shops today. Said she just got divorced. Thirty years, and her husband left her for some younger woman. Can you imagine?”
Emily set the cup down. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
“What’s she doing now?”
“Living in a flat, cleaning houses to get by. Poor thing. She was a nice girl back then.”
Andrew shook his head and changed the channel. Advertisements flickered across the screen.
Emily said nothing. She couldn’t tell him she’d witnessed that meeting—how she’d stood frozen between supermarket aisles, watching him embrace Sarah, hearing them whisper about meeting again tomorrow.
“Em, you’re quiet tonight,” Andrew finally glanced at her. “Feeling all right?”
“Just tired,” she forced a smile. “Long day at work.”
“Right. Get some rest, then.”
He turned back to the telly. Emily rose, pretending to tidy the kitchen, the cufflinks now leaden in her pocket.
She remembered spotting them in the jeweller’s window three months ago—how she’d lingered, picturing Andrew’s face when he unwrapped them. He’d always admired fine things but rarely indulged himself, saying family came first.
Family. The irony burned.
She opened the box. The cufflinks glinted under the kitchen light—elegant, expensive. The sort of thing he’d never buy for himself.
“Love, I’m popping to the shop,” Andrew called from the hall. “We’re out of bread.”
“Alright,” she answered.
The door clicked shut. Through the window, she watched him walk toward the bus stop—the opposite direction from the shop. The same stop where he’d arranged to meet Sarah yesterday.
She snapped the box shut and retreated to the bedroom. Framed photos covered the dresser—their wedding day, their son Jamie’s birth, their first holiday in Cornwall. Smiling faces, entwined hands. Had it all been a lie?
She picked up their wedding photo. Andrew in his morning suit, her in lace and silk. Twenty-four and full of dreams.
“Mum, you home?” Jamie’s voice rang through the flat, followed by a knock. “Open up!”
Emily shoved the box into a drawer and hurried to the door. Her son stood on the threshold, grocery bags in hand.
“Jamie, sweetheart, I’m so glad you’re here,” she hugged him tightly.
“Just thought I’d drop by,” he said, unpacking food in the kitchen. “Where’s Dad?”
“At the shops,” she lied. “Be back soon.”
Jamie filled the kettle. “You okay? You look pale.”
“Just work stress.”
“Hmm. Oh, have I told you about Tom? My new mate from work. Great bloke, single. Maybe you and Dad could visit this weekend? Show you my new place.”
Emily nodded absently, her mind circling the same questions. How long had Andrew been seeing Sarah? Did he love her? Was he leaving?
“Mum, you listening?” Jamie waved a hand in front of her face.
“Of course. The flat.”
“No, I asked if you’d thought about getting a dog. We always wanted one when I was little.”
“A dog?”
“Yeah, keep you company. You and Dad rattling around here alone…”
Alone. He didn’t know how right he was.
“Jamie,” she sat across from him, “are you happy with Sophie?”
He blinked. “What kind of question is that? Course I am.”
“And if she cheated on you?”
“Mum!” Jamie nearly choked on his tea. “Sophie? Never! Why d’you even ask?”
Emily backtracked. “Just something I saw on telly.”
Jamie shrugged. “Dunno. Probably leave her. Couldn’t stay with someone who betrayed me like that.”
Betrayed. The word settled heavily between them.
Andrew returned an hour later, bread in hand, grinning.
“Jamie! Good to see you, son.”
They chatted until Jamie left. Once the door closed, the flat fell into silence—Andrew glued to the telly, Emily pretending to read, the words swimming on the page.
The next morning, Andrew kissed her cheek before work, same as always. She barely managed a response.
At lunch, she returned the cufflinks to the jeweller.
“Something wrong with them?” the clerk asked.
“Not with them,” Emily said. “With the marriage.”
That evening, Andrew announced he was helping a mate fix his car.
“And where’s that?” Emily asked coolly.
“Steve’s place, over in Croydon.”
Two hours away.
“Andy,” she stopped him at the door.
“Yeah?”
“Remember what tomorrow is?”
He frowned. “What?”
“Our anniversary. Twenty-seven years.”
He slapped his forehead. “Christ, sorry, love. We’ll celebrate proper tomorrow, promise.”
“Where are you really going tonight?”
“Told you—Steve’s.”
He pecked her cheek and left.
She sat at the computer and listed their flat for sale, hovering over the “Submit” button. Twenty-seven years. Was she really ready to erase it all?
But what future was there with a man who lied to her face?
The ad went live.
The next morning, Andrew woke chipper.
“Happy anniversary, love!”
“Thank you,” she said flatly.
“Fancy dinner tonight? Or the theatre?”
“We need to talk.”
His smile faded. “What about?”
“Sit down.”
When she told him she knew about Sarah, his face drained of colour.
“Emily, it’s not—”
“Don’t.” She slid the photos across the table—him and Sarah in a café, holding hands.
Andrew exhaled. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“Do you love her?”
A pause. Then, softly: “Yes.”
“Then go.”
He flinched. “What about Jamie? Our family?”
“Jamie’s grown. And we haven’t been a family for a while.”
When he left with his bag, Emily sat at the kitchen table, staring at the anniversary roses he’d brought. They’d wither by morning.
And in her drawer, an empty velvet box—the gift she never gave.
Not because she bought it.
Because she never got the chance.
