The Other Man
“Emily, sorry, I’ve got to go.”
“Wife called? Fine, go ahead. I’m used to it.”
Emily hated letting Ben go back to his wife every time. How she wished he’d stay the night—grab a bite at the pub, snuggle under a cosy blanket with a film, sip the coffee she’d brew just right. But that was just a fantasy. Ben never hid the fact he was married, with a son. Claimed he didn’t love his wife, just stayed for the boy’s sake. Once he finished secondary school, *then* he’d leave for good.
Emily couldn’t care less about his wife. Why should she fret over some woman’s happiness? If the marriage was dead, the wife should’ve let him go—anyone could see *that*. But Ben was a decent dad, didn’t want to upset his son. Fine. Her turn would come. Two more years, the boy’d be off to uni, and then—blankets, films, the whole domestic dream. Emily even imagined a daughter, a mini-her.
Two years flew by. She waited, but excuses piled up.
“Look, Helen’s mum’s really ill—she’s moved in with us. I can’t leave now, you get it…”
Emily sighed and nodded. How much longer? Till she qualified for a pension?
A missed period. Weird. A test. Two lines. Maybe… *maybe* it was for the best. She booked a doctor’s visit.
Sitting at the clinic, Emily stared blankly at the corridor. A door opened. Out waddled a heavily pregnant woman, arm-in-arm with—*Ben*? What the—?
They left without spotting her. The doctor’s voice snapped her back.
“Miss, you alright? You’ve gone pale.”
“Yeah, just… checking something.”
The GP confirmed the pregnancy. “Bit late for a first baby at 35, but manageable. Had a patient earlier—40, her son’s off to uni, and now she and her husband are having a girl! Solid couple. Why not, eh?”
Emily forced a smile. Her mind spun. All his lies—*waiting to leave*, while knocking up his so-called *unloved* wife? How long had he planned this charade?
“Hey, Foxy, can’t make it tonight—”
“Fine. I’m busy too.”
“Doing what?”
“Clubbing with Sophie. Sick of waiting around.”
“You’re *how* old? That’s a rubbish idea—”
“Well, *I* don’t have a family. You’re someone *else’s* husband—no say in it.”
She hung up. Oh, *now* he cared? She wasn’t some loyal spaniel waiting for scraps. Meanwhile, he’d play happy families, then drop by for a bit of fun till *he* got bored.
It hit her then—the pathetic role she’d played for years. The best bits went to his *real* life; she was just a backup plan. And her clock was ticking. Well, tough. Now *she’d* have a child.
Ben showed up unannounced, drunk, weeping. Their baby girl had died during childbirth—perfectly healthy, just… gone. His wife’s grief had unhinged her. He didn’t know what to do.
“What do you mean? *Be there for her.* It’s *your* loss too. Why’d you even *come* here if things were so peachy? Why lie?”
“God’s punishing me—taking her because of you—”
“Don’t be daft. *You* did this. Lied to her, to me… *Man up* and go home.”
“I love you both—differently. I *can’t* choose—”
“Done. Never come back.”
She slammed the door, crying—for herself, for Ben’s wife, for that poor baby. Soon *she’d* be a mother. She understood that pain now.
Ben called, turned up pissed a few times. She sent him packing. He never knew she’d had a son—*his* son. Mark, with her surname, father’s name blank. A spitting image of Ben… the other man.
Stats say 10% of men leave wives for mistresses. Half slink back. And countless women wait forever for promises that were never worth the breath it took to make them.
