Margaret stood by the window, gazing out at the courtyard where her husband, Thomas, was deep in conversation with their neighbour, Evelyn. Again. The same scene had repeated itself for days. They lingered near Evelyn’s car, her hands animated as she spoke, Thomas listening intently, nodding, even laughing at times.
Margaret stepped back so they wouldn’t see her. A familiar weight settled in her chest—not jealousy, no. Something heavier. A quiet understanding.
“Mum, where’s Dad?” asked her daughter, Emily, peeking into the kitchen. “He promised to help me with maths.”
“Outside,” Margaret answered, keeping her voice steady. “He’ll be in soon.”
Emily nodded and dashed back to her room. Margaret filled the kettle and reached for the biscuit tin. Her hands moved without thought, her mind elsewhere.
When Thomas finally came in, he wore that smile—satisfied, distant. The one that only appeared after talking to Evelyn.
“Tea’s just boiled,” Margaret said, setting a cup before him.
“Long chat with Evelyn?”
“Not terribly. She was telling me about her new job. Imagine—landing a position at an ad agency at her age!”
Pride coloured his voice, as if Evelyn’s success were his own. Margaret stirred sugar into her tea in silence.
“And what exactly will she do there?”
“Client manager. She’s got the qualifications, the experience. Evelyn’s remarkable—rebounding so quickly after the divorce.”
Always Evelyn. Their neighbour, who’d moved in six months ago. A striking woman of forty-two, recently divorced, no children. Successful, independent, fascinating.
Everything Margaret had once been before becoming a wife and mother. Not that she regretted her choices, but sometimes…
“Emily’s waiting for your help with maths,” she reminded him.
“Oh, right. I’ll go now.”
Thomas drained his tea and left. Alone in the kitchen, Margaret picked up his empty cup. Tea leaves clung to the bottom. Her grandmother had taught her to read them, but she didn’t need divination to see what was coming. The present was clear enough.
Thomas was in love. Not with her, his wife of seventeen years, but with Evelyn. He might not realise it yet—or refused to admit it—but Margaret saw the signs. The new shirts, the extra care with his appearance, the way he found excuses to linger outside when Evelyn returned from work. The light in his eyes when he spoke of her—the same light that used to shine for Margaret.
“Mum, Dad said you have a degree too,” Emily said later, textbook in hand. “Why don’t you work?”
The question caught Margaret off guard. Her daughter’s eyes held the blunt curiosity of a fourteen-year-old.
“I did, when you were little. Then I chose to focus on home and family.”
“Isn’t that boring?”
Boring? She’d never thought to ask herself that. After Emily’s birth, she’d left her job, and with Thomas earning well, there’d been no need to return. She’d believed it was right—being there for her family.
“Not at all,” she told Emily. “There’s always plenty to do.”
“Right. Auntie Evelyn says women should be independent. That you shouldn’t disappear into family life.”
Margaret stiffened. When had Emily spoken to Evelyn about such things?
“Yesterday, near the lift. She asked about school, and we got talking. She’s so interesting, isn’t she? Knows loads, been everywhere.”
“Yes,” Margaret agreed. “Interesting.”
That evening, as Emily did her homework, Margaret and Thomas sat in the parlour—him scrolling through his tablet, her flipping a magazine. A picture of domestic peace, if not for the silence between them.
“Thomas,” she finally said. “We need to talk.”
He looked up. “About what?”
“Us. Our family.”
“And what’s wrong with us?”
Margaret hesitated. How to tell her husband she saw him falling for another woman? How to explain she felt invisible in her own home?
“It feels like we’re drifting apart,” she said carefully.
“Where’s this coming from? Everything’s fine.”
“When was the last time we really talked? Not about bills or chores—properly?”
“Dunno. Does it matter?”
The indifference in his voice told her the conversation was over. He didn’t see a problem because he didn’t want to.
“Suppose not,” she murmured, returning to her magazine.
The next day, Margaret visited the gym—something she’d put off for years. With Emily older and the house running smoothly, there was time now.
In the changing rooms, she ran into Evelyn.
“Margaret!” Evelyn beamed. “Fancy seeing you here!”
“Thought it was time,” Margaret said with a tight smile.
Evelyn looked radiant in her workout gear—toned, ageless. Margaret couldn’t help comparing herself and felt the sting.
“Let’s train together!” Evelyn suggested. “More fun with company.”
Margaret agreed, though everything in her resisted.
Afterwards, they went to a nearby café.
“I’m so glad to finally have a friend here,” Evelyn admitted, stirring her coffee. “After the divorce, it’s been lonely.”
“Why did you split?” Margaret asked, though she knew it was intrusive.
“He cheated,” Evelyn said simply. “Didn’t even hide it well. Thought I’d tolerate it for the family’s sake.”
“And you didn’t.”
“No. Why stay with someone who doesn’t respect you? Better alone than in a hollow marriage.”
Margaret absorbed the words. Did Thomas respect her? Or had she become just part of the furniture—a convenient homemaker?
“You and Thomas—you’re happy?” Evelyn asked.
“Yes. Fine.” The lie stuck in her throat.
“He’s a wonderful man,” Evelyn continued. “Kind, clever, thoughtful. You’re lucky.”
The warmth in her voice betrayed more than neighbourly fondness.
At home, Margaret studied herself in the bedroom mirror. Forty. Not old, but no longer young. Extra weight from childbirth that never left. Tired eyes, long faded of their spark.
Beside her, their wedding photo—young, blissful. Thomas had looked at her as if she were his entire world.
Now that look belonged to Evelyn.
Over dinner, Thomas recounted his day at work. Margaret half-listened, picking at her salad until he suddenly turned to her:
“How was your day?”
“Went to the gym. Got to know Evelyn better.”
“Really?” His face lit up. “How is she?”
“Fine. Told me about her divorce.”
“Hard time for her,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “She’s strong, though. She’ll manage.”
Again, that admiration. Even Emily noticed, glancing between them.
“Why d’you care so much about Auntie Evelyn?” she asked bluntly.
Thomas flushed. “Just being neighbourly.”
Emily frowned but dropped it.
Later, washing dishes, Margaret heard Thomas call her:
“Look at these flats in the new development,” he said, showing his tablet. “Might be worth moving.”
“Why? This place suits us.”
“Just an idea.”
Margaret glanced at the screen. The area was near Evelyn’s.
“I don’t think we need to move,” she said firmly.
That weekend, shopping with Emily, her daughter paused in a clothing aisle.
“Mum, why don’t you buy pretty things?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your clothes are all drab. Auntie Evelyn always looks nice.”
Margaret blinked. When had she last dressed up?
“Maybe you’re right,” she conceded, selecting a blue dress.
At home, she modelled it for Emily, who clapped. “You’re gorgeous! Show Dad!”
Thomas barely glanced up at dinner. “Nice. Special occasion?”
“Just felt like it.”
No spark. No compliment. Polite indifference. Something in Margaret shattered.
Days later, Evelyn stopped her outside.
“Could you ask Thomas to come over tonight?” Evelyn said. “I need advice about work.”
The request struck like a blade. Asking for *her* husband—through *her*.
That evening, Thomas stayed at Evelyn’s for hours, returning with a satisfied air.
“She’s sorted now,” he said.
The visits became routine—work problems, a leaky tap, anything.
“Dad, why d’you go there so much?” Emily asked one morning.
“She’s on her own. Neighbours help each other.”
Emily scowled but fell silent.
At the café where she and Evelyn had met, Margaret stared into her coffee. Seventeen years of marriage. A daughter. A home. Could it all unravel over an affair?
But it wasn’t just an affair. Thomas was truly in love—just not with her.
And Evelyn? Did she love him, or was he merely a lifeline—a divorced woman adrift?
Margaret sipped her coffee, watching couples outside. Young, holding hands. Once, she and Thomas had been like that.
Where had they gone wrong?
Perhaps it was her fault—losing herself in motherhood, forgetting to be a woman. Or perhaps it was simply time—people change, feelingsAnd as the seasons turned, Margaret found peace in the quiet rhythm of her own life, watching Emily grow and rediscovering the woman she’d once been, long before love had slipped quietly away.
