I didnt hang up my husbands call in timeand thats when I clearly heard a young womans voice on his end.
I was standing at our London flats window, watching the steady fall of snow, so out of place for mid-March. The call with Tom had been the usualroutine, almost rehearsed after fifteen years of marriage. He was in Manchester on business again; said the meetings were productive and hed be home in three days.
Alright, love, speak soon. I drew the phone away from my ear, thumb hovering over the red buttonwhen something made me pause.
There it was: a womans voice, young and melodic, unmistakable.
My hand froze. It felt as if my heart missed a beat, then began thumping wildly. I put the phone back to my ear but heard only the abrupt bleepTom got to the hang-up before I could.
My knees nearly gave out as I slumped into the armchair by the window, mind suddenly alive with a tangle of questions. Toma bath? Who takes a bath on a business trip? Fragments from recent months tumbled through my mindmore frequent trips away, late calls hed step out onto the balcony for, unfamiliar perfume in his car.
My hands shook as I opened my laptop. Logging into his email was almost automatic; Id known his password since trust was effortless, and secrets didnt seem possible. There they weretrain tickets, a five-star hotel booking. The Honeymoon Suite in a swanky Manchester hotel. For two.
Then, a string of emails. Her name: Emily. Twenty-six. Fitness instructor. Darling, I cant keep going like this. You promised to leave her three months ago. How long do I have to wait?
Nausea swept over me. I thought of our first dateTom, then an assistant manager, me, newly qualified for an accountancy role. Wed spent a year saving for our wedding, scraping by in a tiny shared flat. We cheered each others triumphs, nursed wounds in failure. Now he was Commercial Director, and I was Head Accountant at the same firm, but a chasm stood between us wider than all those fifteen years, bridged by a slip of a girl named Emily.
****
In the hotel, Tom was pacing restlessly.
Why would you do that? His voice trembled with anger.
Emily lounged across the bed in a silk robeher golden hair splayed on the white pillow.
Whats the big deal? she murmured, cat-like in her languor. You kept saying youd leave her soon enough.
Ill decide when and how to do it! Dont you see what youve done? Carolines not an idiotshes put the pieces together now!
Good! Emily sat upright, frustration flashing across her face. Im tired of being the secret, tucked away in hotels while you play happy families. I want proper dates, to meet your friends, to actually be your wife one day!
Youre being childish, Tom spat.
And youre a coward! she shouted, leaping to her feet. Look at me! Im young, Im beautiful, I could give you children. What exactly does she do for you now? Keep your accounts?
Toms hands tightened on her shoulders. Dont talk about Caroline like that. You know nothing about heror us.
I know youre unhappy, Emily snapped, yanking herself free. Shes buried in work and house chores. When did you last make love? Or actually go away together?
Tom turned away, staring out at the Manchester lights. Somewhere in snowy London, our quiet flat felt like it was crumblingfifteen years, collapsing from one reckless, careless phrase.
****
I sat in the dark kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug of cold tea. My mobile teemed with missed calls from TomI let them ring out in silence. What words were left? Darling, I heard your lover ask you to join her in the bath?
Memories flickered, unbidden. Tom offering me that silly ring in the middle of a crowded pub; us moving into our first real homea cramped two-bed flat in Hampstead. Him holding me through Mums funeral. That night we celebrated his first promotion.
Then came the endless late nights, loan applications, DIY gone wrong When had we last talked, really talked? Watched a favourite film curled up together? Dreamed about the future?
The phone buzzed againa new message, this time: Caroline, please, lets talk. Ill explain everything.
Explain what? That Im old? Too caught up in routine? That a young gym instructor is better for him in every way?
I went into the bathroom, flicked on the harsh light, and stared at my reflection. Forty-two. Crows feet at my eyes, grey roots peeking beneath my box-dye fringe. When did this exhaustion startwhen did I start living to tick off lists, chasing the next moment of stability?
****
Tom, where have you been? Emilys glare greeted him as he returned to the suite after another failed call home.
Not now, he said, collapsing heavily into the chair, tugging his tie loose.
No, now! I want to know what happens next. You know you cant keep dodging this.
He looked up at herbeautiful, driven, bursting with life. Just as I once was, a lifetime ago. Oh God, how did we end up here?
Emily, he sighed, covering his face with his hands, youre right. I cant avoid this.
A beam lit her face, and she leapt into his arms. I knew youd make the right choice!
Yes He extricated himself gently. We have to end it.
What?! she pulled back, stricken.
Thisall of thiswas a mistake. I love my wife. Yes, were distant, unhappy. But I cantdont wantto throw away what we built.
YouYoure just scared! She began to cry.
No, Emily. I was a coward the day I started this affair. Lying to the woman whos stood by me through every struggle and joy for fifteen years. Youre right, Im unhappy. But happiness, real happiness, is something you build, not chase from bed to bed.
****
There was a knock at our door just before midnight. I knew it was himhed flown back from Manchester the moment I stopped picking up.
Caroline, open up, please. His voice was hoarse through the wood.
I swung open the door. Tom stood thereunshaven, suit creased, eyes raw and bloodshot.
May I come in?
I stepped aside silently. We drifted to the kitchenthe very place where we once planned our future, tallied up hopes and bills, made solemn pledges.
Caroline
Dont, I said quietly, holding up a hand. I know everything. Emily, 26, fitness instructor. Ive read your emails.
He nodded, lost for words.
Why, Tom?
He was silent, staring out at the citys quiet stretch.
Because Im weak. Because I was afraid wed grown apart. Becausein her, I saw old echoes of youwhen you brimmed with energy and plans, before life wore us down.
And now?
He finally met my eyes. NowI want to fix things. If youll let me.
And her?
Its over. I realisedI cant lose you. I dont want to. Caroline, I know I dont deserve your forgiveness. But can we try again? See a therapist. Spend time together. Try to remember who we used to be
I studied the man before meolder, fragile, strangely familiar, as if grief had taken the shine off his smile. Fifteen years isnt just a number. Its everything wed woven together: our hobbies, jokes, the silence we could share without fear, the slow miracle of forgiveness.
I dont know, Tom. At last my voice failed, and I wept. I really dont know
He embraced me, cautious and uncertain, and I let him.
Outside, Londons snow kept falling, softening the city with its silence.
Somewhere in Manchester, a heartbroken young woman lay awake, meeting the sharp truth for the first time: real love isnt just romance and fire. Its the choice you make daily.
And there, in our tiny kitchen, two people tried to gather up the fragments of a shared life. Ahead was a long roadthrough pain and mistrust, through therapy, through awkward, cautious attempts to rediscover each other. But in the hush of that snowy night, we both understood: sometimes we must lose something precious just to understand how dear it truly is.
