Dinner Ends in Divorce

Dinner Ended in Divorce
“You’ve lost your mind?” Eleanor flung her serviette onto the table, jolting a wine glass. “Inviting her here? To our home?”
“Nora, calm down,” Edward adjusted his tie nervously. “It was harmless. A routine work meeting.”
“Work meeting?” Eleanor’s voice went up an octave. “At ten o’clock? With champagne and candles?”
“We were discussing the new project…”
“What project, Ed? What project with this… this Olivia?”
Edward looked away. Plates from the meal still sat on the table – he’d taken such care making the shepherd’s, wanting to please his wife. Now it had all gone pear-shaped over one ill-advised phone call.
Eleanor stood and paced the kitchen. Forty-three but looking younger, slim and well-kept. Edward often told mates he’d lucked out with her.
“Listen carefully,” she stopped opposite him, hands on hips. “I’m not a fool, though you might think it. That girl rings you daily. You’re late from work, coming home reeking of her perfume.”
“Nora, you’re exaggerating…”
“Am I?” She pulled her mobile from her pocket. “And this? Fifteen missed calls from her just today!”
Edward paled. He’d forgotten Eleanor saw all his notifications through the shared family account.
“She rang about work…”
“Work!” Eleanor laughed bitterly. “On Saturday? Sunday? Midnight? What work is that urgent?”
Edward twisted his fork, silent. Twenty-two years of marriage, and he’d never seen her like this. Even during money troubles or her mother’s illness, she’d coped. Now she was near breaking point.
“Ed,” her voice was lower, laced with pain, “I see what’s happening. You’ve fallen for her.”
“No,” he shook his head, but it sounded unconvincing even to him.
“Don’t lie! To me or yourself! I’ve known you twenty-two years. You light up when she rings. Your eyes sparkle going to work. When you get home…”
She didn’t finish, but Edward understood. At home, he grew sullen and irritable. The house felt dull compared to the office where Olivia worked.
“Nora, let’s talk this through,” he pleaded.
“About what?” She sat opposite him. “How you’ve changed? How you don’t see me anymore? How we haven’t had a proper conversation in a month?”
Edward studied his wife closely. When *had* he last asked about her day? His thoughts were consumed by Olivia.
“Is she young?” Eleanor asked quietly.
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“How old is she, Ed?”
“Twenty-eighteen.”
Eleanor nodded, her worst fears confirmed.
“Right. Forty-three for me. I’ve gone old, haven’t I?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” She stood and walked to the hallway mirror. “Look at me, Ed. These lines by my eyes. This grey I colour every month. She’s young. Pretty. No kids. No baggage.”
“We weren’t blessed with children,” Edward reminded her.
“No,” Eleanor agreed. “And that’s my fault. I couldn’t give you them.”
“Nora, don’t…”
“I must! It must be said! I’ve carried that guilt fifteen years. Every time I see children, I think: does Ed blame me? Does he want to leave for a woman who *can* give him a baby?”
Edward rose to hug her, but she stepped back.
“Don’t. Answer honestly: do you love her?”
Silence hung. Edward stared at the floor tiles; Eleanor waited. The old wall clock they’d bought in year three of marriage ticked loudly in the kitchen.
“I don’t know,” he finally admitted.
“Don’t know? Or won’t admit it?”
“Nora, it’s complicated…”
“Not for me,” she sat back at the table, hands folded. “Either you love me, or her. There’s no middle ground.”
Edward slumped into a chair beside her. His thoughts were jumbled. On one side: his wife of his best years, who’d supported him through starting his firm. On the other: Olivia, who’d burst into his life six months ago and turned it upside down.
“How do you feel when she’s near?” Eleanor pressed on. “What happens to you?”
“I… I feel young,” he confessed. “Like I’m twenty-five again.”
“And with me?”
“Like a husband.”
“And that’s bad?”
“No. Just… boring.”
Eleanor nodded, as if confirming her deepest fear.
“So I’ve become a burden.”
“Not a burden. You’re a good wife, Nora. The best.”
“But not loved.”
Edward held his tongue. What could he say? That he loved his wife, differently? Respected and valued her, but his heart raced for Olivia’s calls?
“You know,” Eleanor stood and began clearing plates, “I do understand. Honestly. We’ve lived together years. Routine sets in. Romance fades. Then along comes a girl, young, pretty…”
“Nora, don’t talk like that about yourself.”
“How should I?” She turned. “I see it. You dress differently. Joined that gym. New haircut. All for her.”
It was true. Meeting Olivia had changed Edward. He bought new shirts, even changed his aftershave.
“Look… does she know you’re married?”
“Yes,” he nodded.
“And?”
“She says she doesn’t want to break up the family.”
“Oh sure,” Eleanor scoffed bitterly. “Doesn’t want to break us up, but rings daily and sets up meetings.”
“Ed, enough!” She slapped the table. “Stop treating me like an idiot! I saw how you lit up after your last trip! Saw you grinning at her texts!”
Edward dropped his gaze. Arguing was pointless. Eleanor was right – he’d fallen. For the first time in twenty-two years, he felt that dizzying rush, long forgotten.
“What now?” his wife asked, sitting opposite.
“Don’t know.”
“I do,” she met his eyes. “You have to choose.”
“Nora…”
“No. Hear me out. I won’t cling on. No scenes, snooping, checking your phone. But I won’t live in limbo either.”
Eleanor stood abruptly and started washing dishes, her movements sharp and tense.
“You have a week,” she said, back turned. “In one week, tell me who you choose.”
“And if I choose her?”
Eleanor froze, plate in hand.
“Then I’ll file for divorce.”
“Nora, maybe don’t rush? Maybe we can try again…”
“Try what?” She spun around “Pretend nothing’s happened? Act like you love me? Ed, I’m forty-three. I want the rest of my life with someone with wants me.”
“I do want you…”
“No. You pity me. That’s worse than indifference.”
Edward opened his mouth, then shut it. She was right. He pitied her. Pitied her and felt guilty for loving another.
“One week, Ed,” Eleanor repeated. “And no meetings with her during that time.”
“Alright.”
They agreed Edward would sleep in the lounge. Eleanor went to the bedroom; he stayed staring at his phone on the kitchen table.
A new text glowed: Olivia. “How are things? Miss you.”
He reached to reply, recalled his promise, and put the phone down.
Morning came. Eleanor left for work without breakfast, refusing coffee.
“Think carefully,” she said, pulling on her coat. “Twenty-two years is no joke.”
“I know.”
“Do you? I don’t understand how you could chuck it all away over an infatuation.”
“It’s not just that, Nora.”
“What then what? Love?” she gave a bitter laugh. “Ed, you’re forty-five. At your age, men often confuse love with wanting to feel young again.”
”
Colin drove straight to Christine’s flat in Bayswater, pounding on her door with a reckless hope that this shattered freedom might finally feel like home.