Betrayal

**Betrayal**
Peter raised his hand in farewell:
“Right then, Rosemary, Im off! Ill transfer the money to Mum, dont worry.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and Rosemary slumped onto the kitchen stool, suddenly bursting into tears.
“Mum, whats wrong?” Her son appeared in the doorway, frowning. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Rosemary was embarrassed by her own weakness. “Just a bit low, thats all. And missing the boys.” (James and Charlotte were away at their grans.)
“No,” Dominic said firmly. “People dont cry like that over a bad mood. And you talk to the boys every day. Im not a kid anymore, Mum. I can tell when somethings up.”
Rosemary looked at her sixteen-year-oldalready taller than herand, before she could stop herself, blurted out what she hadnt even admitted to herself:
“I think your dads about to leave us.” At Dominics stunned silence, she added, “Hes been lying to me. For months now…”
Dominic didnt know how to react. Hed assumed she was upset about work, or a row with a friend. But this? His *dad*? How could that even happen? Anger surged in him, and his mum noticed.
“Dominic, dont. These things… they happen between adults. Youll understand one day. Your dads a good man, butwell, you cant help who you fall for.”
Even as she said it, Rosemary didnt believe her own words. She wanted to scream, throw things, but instead, she was telling her son to *forgive* him? Dominic clenched his fists.
“Let him go then! Well manage without him. Whys he even still here?”
“Love, you say youre grown up, but youre acting like a child. People make mistakes, dont they? Your dadll realise this is just a passing fancy. His familys what really matters”
“Mum,” Dominics voice cracked, suddenly young again, “how could he *do* this? Ill never respect him the same way!”
“Itll all work out,” Rosemary squeezed his hand. “Just dont tell your brothers, alright?”
“You either,” Dominic wiped his eyes. “We dont want them losing faith in their big brother, do we?”
Rosemary glanced at the clock.
“Shouldnt you be at practice?”
Dominic jumped up.
“Blimey, Im late!”
Alone, Rosemarys composure crumbled. Talking to Dominic had kept her numb, but now, the hurt hit fresh.
“How could he throw away everything we had?”
When shed first met Peter, hed been a carefree charmer, always surrounded by women he called “little birds.” When Rosemary told him she wouldnt be just another bird in his flock, hed grinned and said,
“Why another? Youd be the *only* one. For life.”
And shed believed him, the fool. Seventeen years, three kids, joys and hardshipsand still, hed betrayed her.
It had started six months ago. Or maybe earlier, and shed missed the signs. But no, it was definitely thenhis nephews wedding. Rosemary couldnt go, but shed insisted Peter attend. (“Familys family!”) Later, scrolling through wedding photos online, shed spotted some woman clinging to him. When shed mentioned it, Peter had laughed.
“Who? Oh, her! Probably the brides mate. No idea why she kept hoveringbloody awkward! Blimey, Rosie, are you *jealous*? Shes not even my type!”
And shed believed him, because the woman *wasnt* his type. She *knew* his type. But then came the odd callsheavy breathing, then silence. Rosemary joked,
“Honestly, its like Dominics teenage admirers have upgraded to prank calls!”
After that, the calls stopped. She didnt connect it to their chat. Not then.
The real clues came later. Peter, a jeans-and-jumper bloke, suddenly started wearing suits. Splashing out on posh cologne instead of his usual cheap aftershave. And the “late nights at work” piled up. When she asked, hed said breezily,
“Massive project, love! No idea when itll end, but after? Well be set. Holidays wherever you fancy, that fur coat you wanted, Dominics scootermaybe even a quad bike! Just hang in there, yeah?”
Then the “work” spilled into weekends. A planned family hike? Interrupted by a sheepish call:
“Rosie, they need me in. Deadlines brutal, you know how it is…”
Rosemary fantasised about tracking down the wedding-crasher, dragging her by the hair. But she resistedno stalking, no scenes.
Six months of this left her a wreck. Around others, she held it together. Alone, she crumbled. Tonight, after confiding in Dominic, she made a decision:
“We *have* to talk. Before Dominic starts hating him.”
But Peter beat her to it. He called, inviting her to dinner.
“Rosie, we need to chat. Somewhere… private.”
She smiled bitterly. Of courseno scene in public. Shed never give him that.
At first, she considered turning up in gardening clothes. Or not going at alllet *him* squirm! But last-minute, she changed her mind.
“Ill look my best. Let him see what hes losing.”
The cabbie eyed her in the mirror. As she paid, he said unexpectedly,
“Pretty thing like you, looking so glum? Chin upitll all work out.”
The small kindness lifted her spirits. She entered the restaurant smilingthen froze. Peter held a single rose. Why bring a flower if he was leaving? A funeral bouquet for their marriage? The thought was so unlike her, she almost laughed.
Dinner was all small talk. Inside, Rosemary braced for the blow. Finally, she snapped.
“Peter, you said we needed to talk.”
He nodded.
“Right. Well… how dyou feel about skipping holidays, the coat, the quad bike?”
Her grip tightened on the fork.
“Instead,” he continued, “Dominics nearly 17soon hell be independent. Thought we could put the money toward a flat for him? By 18, itd be sorted. What dyou reckon?”
Rosemary blinked.
“A *flat*? What flat?!”
“Christ, Rosie, have you heard *anything* Ive said lately? Youve been miles away! Whats going on?”
Later, Peter shouted (restraint vanished once they were outside):
“Have you lost the plot?! Some mistress? Some affair? I *told* youits a huge project! Not a peep of complaint, and Ive been bragging about my understanding wife! And *this* is how you repay me? Accusing me ofof *what*, exactly?!”
Walking home, Rosemary listened to his outrageand smiled. Every grumble was music. At their doorstep, Peter finally wound down.
“Didnt I say it once? That Id found *the one*? Have I *ever* lied to you?”
…Dominics day had been rotten. His mums confession threw him off completelylate to training, scolded by the coach, then a pointless row with a mate. Hed wandered the streets, itching for a fight (conscience preventing him from starting one). No luck. Returning home, he spotted his parents kissing on the doorstep. His mums coat was unmistakable. Rage boiled over. After all that talk of betrayal, and *she* was? Fists clenched, he stormed forward.
“Oi, son,” Peter said, slightly sheepish. “We were just”
…Well. Alls well that ends well, eh?

Rate article
Betrayal