It’s hard to make a clean break.
For the summer holidays, Emily and her husband, James, sent their children to a village just outside their town in Yorkshire. They visited every weekend, sometimes just Emily alone. The village was only a few miles away, so if James had to work on the weekend, she could take the bus straight after her Friday shift.
She might not have gone every weekend, but she missed the kids terribly, and her father had suffered a stroke—she wanted to help her mother with the garden. That Friday, she packed up right after work to head to the village.
“Jamie, I’m off to see the kids straight from work, so eat without me. There’s plenty in the fridge. And pick me up on Sunday, yeah? You’ve got the day off—still don’t get why you’re working Saturday…”
“It’s chaos at the office,” James muttered. “Boss said he’d pay overtime.”
Emily worked as the head accountant, and that Friday, she rushed to finish a report. In her hurry, she made mistakes—glaring ones—and sent it off to the regional manager without a second glance.
Saturday afternoon, her phone rang. It was her boss, Richard Thompson.
“Emily, what on earth have you done with this report? Head office is furious. Fix it now, or say goodbye to your bonus.”
“I’m in the village, Richard. Can’t it wait till tomorrow? What even—” He cut her off.
“I don’t care where you are. Fix it.” His voice was so loud her mother overheard from the next room.
“Alright, I’ll go now.”
“Love, who’s shouting like that?”
“My boss, Richard. Messed up the report yesterday, rushing to finish. Anyway, I’ve got to head back—urgent, apparently.”
She said goodbye to her thirteen-year-old son and ten-year-old daughter.
“Right, kids, see you next weekend.”
Back in town, she went straight to the office, called security to let her in, booted up her computer, and got to work. When she finally checked the report properly, the mistakes were obvious—how had she missed them?
“How could I be so careless? No wonder they’re furious. All because I was rushing for the bus.”
By evening, she resent the report, locked up, and handed the keys to security. On her way home, she walked slowly, thinking.
“Jamie should be back soon—he’ll be surprised to see me. Odd, he never used to work weekends. Lately, he’s been distracted, always on his phone, moody. We should talk—without the kids around.”
At the front door, she fished out her keys, then noticed the kitchen light on.
“So he’s home already.”
Climbing the stairs to the third floor, her heart pounded oddly. At their door, she heard music—soft, romantic, the kind James hated when she played it. Strange. Suspicious. She opened the door carefully, spotting unfamiliar sandals in the hallway. They looked familiar, but she couldn’t place them—no time to dwell.
Quietly, she set down her bag and keys, then glanced into the dimly lit living room. Only the wall lamp glowed, the music still playing. She checked the bedroom—empty. Then, through the sheer balcony curtains, she saw two figures smoking.
“Anna. It’s Anna.” The realization burned. Those sandals were hers—her best friend’s.
Her hands shook. Anna had been over often lately, joining them for tea, sometimes wine. Emily edged closer to the half-open balcony door.
“Jamie, when are you going to tell Emily about us?” Anna’s voice was sharp.
James sounded irritated. “Anna, not this again. We agreed you wouldn’t push me. I haven’t decided anything yet…”
Through the curtain, Emily saw James in his boxers, Anna in his shirt.
“And when *will* you decide?” Emily demanded, yanking the curtain aside.
James dropped his cigarette; Anna yelped as it hit her foot.
“What are you doing here?” Anna snarled. “You weren’t supposed to be back till tomorrow! Honestly, this is better—saves you finding out later.”
James stayed silent.
Emily, stunned by Anna’s audacity, kept her voice steady. “So now I need an invite to my own home?”
“Em, you could’ve called,” James muttered.
Anna glared, shameless. James finally spoke. “Get dressed and go.”
With a huff, Anna left, slamming the door behind her.
“Em, I’m sorry. Anna doesn’t mean anything—just a bit of fun. I’d never leave the family.”
“You think we still *have* a family?”
“Come on, it happens. Men need excitement. You’ve let yourself go—when was the last time you got your hair done? We used to go on holidays, but now…”
“Now we have *kids*. My dad had a stroke—I’m helping Mum. And your salary’s halved—now I know why.” She nodded at the door. “You’re supporting *her*. You disgust me.”
Her head spun. She wanted to vanish, forget this nightmare. Betrayed by both of them. But she grabbed her bag, ran downstairs, and burst into the rain, not even feeling it.
Somehow, she ended up at the office, soaked. Security let her in. She changed into the cleaner’s spare robe, hung her clothes to dry, and curled up on the lobby sofa.
She woke to Richard shaking her.
“Emily, what the hell? Why are you here? What’s going on?”
Still dazed, she burst into tears. He brought her water, listened as she explained.
“Get dressed. You’re coming to mine. My wife will sort you out.”
His wife, Claire, welcomed her warmly. She’d once forgiven Richard’s infidelity—he’d sworn it’d never happen again, and kept his word.
Over breakfast, Claire asked, “So, what now? Take him back or tell him to sod off?”
“I never want to see him again.”
Claire sighed. “You’ve got kids. I get it—I’ve been there. But time might change things.”
Emily said nothing.
At the village, her mother took one look at her and understood. Richard called later, giving her two weeks’ leave to sort herself out.
Emily confessed everything.
“Mum, I’m divorcing Jamie. I can’t forgive this.”
The kids overheard—they sided with her. James called daily, begging forgiveness, then visited, saying he missed the children. They were wary at first, but Emily told them, “He’s your dad. He loves you.”
He kept coming, helping her parents, apologizing. She’d gathered divorce papers but hadn’t filed them yet. Something held her back. Half her life was with him—and she still loved him. But could she forgive?
She’d decide when she returned to town. Some things can’t be fixed in one go.
