She was called Eleanor, his former colleague from another time. Hours before the celebratory dinner, her husband rang and said, “We need to talk.”
Emily stood in the kitchen of her flat in Bristol, delicately smoothing napkins on the table dressed for a feast. Tonight marked ten years of marriage to Edward, and she wanted everything flawless—the candles, his favourite wine, the scent of roasted fish filling the air. But then her phone buzzed. His name flashed on the screen. “Em, we need to talk,” he said, his voice distant, like a stranger’s, and in that moment, her chest tightened with foreboding. She didn’t yet know this call would unravel her world, but already, she felt the years of effort crumbling beneath her.
Edward had been her anchor, her love, the man with whom she’d shared dreams and burdens. They’d met at university, married young, raised their daughter, Sophie, side by side. She trusted him completely, even when late nights at the office piled up, even when business trips took him away. She took pride in his success—Edward had risen to lead a department at a prestigious firm, his charm unlocking every door. But now, clutching the phone, she recalled the small things she’d brushed aside: the distracted glances, his clipped replies, the odd calls he’d dismiss. The name *Eleanor* surfaced like a stain she’d refused to acknowledge.
Eleanor had worked with him two years prior. Emily saw her once at a company party—tall, with a sharp smile and a gaze that lingered on Edward a second too long. She dismissed the pang of jealousy then. “Just a colleague,” she told herself. Edward even mentioned Eleanor had resigned and moved to another city. But now, listening to his heavy breathing through the receiver, Emily understood—Eleanor had never left. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Em,” he began, each word striking like a blow. He confessed: a year with Eleanor, her return to Bristol, his own confusion. Emily stood silent, the floor tilting beneath her.
She didn’t remember hanging up. Didn’t recall turning off the oven, clearing the candles she’d lit that morning with such hope. Her thoughts spiralled: *How could he? Ten years, Sophie, our home—all for her?* She sat on the sofa, gripping their wedding photo, trying to trace the moment her life became a lie. She remembered Edward embracing her just last week, promising Sophie a trip to the Lake District. All while he was with another. The betrayal burned, but worse was the thought—she’d missed it because she trusted him. Loved him so fiercely she’d gone blind.
When Edward returned, Emily met him in silence. The guests wouldn’t come—she’d cancelled, unable to pretend. He looked guilty, but unbroken. “I never meant to hurt you, Em. But with Eleanor… it’s different,” he said, and those words shattered her. She didn’t scream, didn’t weep—just stared at him like a ghost. “Go,” she finally breathed, her voice steadier than expected. He nodded, took his bag, and left her in an empty flat that still smelled of a celebration that never was.
A month passed. Emily carried on for Sophie, who still didn’t know the full truth. She smiled for her daughter, made her breakfasts, but wept at night, asking one question: *Why wasn’t I enough?* Friends offered comfort, but their words couldn’t mend the wound. She learned Edward and Eleanor were living together—another strike against her heart. Yet somewhere deep, a new thing stirred: strength. She hadn’t broken. She’d called off the dinner, but not her life.
Now Emily faces the future with cautious hope. She’s enrolled in a design course, a dream long deferred, spends more time with Sophie, learned to value herself. Edward calls, apologises, but she isn’t ready to listen. Eleanor—once just a shadow—holds no power over her now. Emily knows: her life isn’t him, isn’t their marriage. It’s *her*. And that anniversary, meant to be a celebration, became the start of something new. A story where she’ll no longer live for empty promises.
