Dinner Ended in Divorce
“Have you completely lost your senses?” Prudence flung her napkin onto the table, making her wine glass wobble precariously. “Inviting her here, to our home!”
“Prue, calm down,” Nicholas said nervously, adjusting his tie. “It was nothing serious. Just a standard business meeting.”
“Business?” Prudence’s voice climbed an octave higher. “At ten in the evening? With champagne and candles?”
“We were discussing the new project…”
“Which project, Nick? What project with this… this Chloe?”
Nicholas looked away. Plates from their dinner still sat on the table – he’d put such effort into the roast dinner, wanting to please his wife. Now it had all gone pear-shaped because of one ill-judged phone call.
Prudence stood and paced the kitchen restlessly. Forty-three, but she looked younger. Slim, well-kept, always took care of herself. Nicholas often told friends how lucky he was.
“Listen to me carefully,” she stopped opposite her husband, placing her hands on her hips. “I’m not a fool, though you clearly think I am. This girl calls you constantly. You stay late at work, come home smelling of her perfume.”
“Prue, you’re exaggerating…”
“Exaggerating?” She pulled her mobile from her pocket. “What’s this then? Fifteen missed calls from her just today alone!”
Nicholas paled. He’d forgotten Prudence saw all his phone notifications through the shared family account.
“It was work-related…”
“Work!” Prudence gave a bitter laugh. “On Saturdays! Sundays! Midnight! What work is that urgent?”
Nicholas was silent, fiddling with his fork. Twenty-two years married, and he’d never seen her like this. Even when money was tight, when her mother was ill, Prudence held it together. Now, she was near breaking point.
“Nick,” her voice dropped lower, thick with pain, “I can see what’s happening. You’ve fallen for her.”
“No,” he shook his head, his own voice unconvincing.
“Don’t lie to me! Don’t lie to yourself! I’ve known you twenty-two years. Think I don’t see? You light up when she rings. Your eyes shine when you head off to work. And when you come home…”
She didn’t finish, but Nicholas understood. When he came home, he was sullen, irritable. Home felt dull compared to the office where Chloe worked.
“Prue, let’s talk this through calmly,” he pleaded.
“Talk 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?”
Nicholas looked at his wife closely. When *had* he last asked about her day? All his thoughts were full of Chloe.
“Is she young?” Prudence asked quietly.
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“How old is she, Nick?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Prudence nodded, as if her worst fear was confirmed.
“Right. And I’m forty-three. Too old for you now.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Silly?” She stood and walked to the hall mirror. “Look at me, Nick. These lines near my eyes, this grey hair I dye every month. She’s young, beautiful, no children, no baggage.”
“We don’t have children,” Nicholas reminded her.
“No,” Prudence agreed. “And that’s my fault. I couldn’t give them to you.”
“Prue, please don’t…”
“I must! I must say it finally! I’ve felt guilty for fifteen years. Every time I see children, I think: Does Nick blame me? Is that why he wants a woman who can give him a family?”
Nicholas stood to embrace her, but she stepped back.
“Don’t touch me. Answer honestly: Do you love her?”
Silence hung heavy. Nicholas looked at the floor; Prudence waited. The old kitchen wall clock they’d bought in their third year together ticked loudly.
“I don’t know,” he finally said.
“Don’t know? Or afraid to admit it?”
“Prue, it’s complicated…”
“Not for me,” she sat at the table, folding her hands. “It’s simple. You love me, or you love her. There’s no middle ground.”
Nicholas sank onto the chair beside her. His thoughts were scrambled. On one side, his wife, the best years of his life. The woman who supported his every venture, believed in him when he started his business. On the other, Chloe, who’d blown into his life six months ago and turned everything upside down.
“What do you feel when she’s near?” Prudence pressed. “What happens to you?”
“I… I feel young again,” he admitted. “Like I’m twenty-five.”
“And with me?”
“With you, I feel like a husband.”
“Is that bad?”
“No, not bad. But… dull.”
Prudence nodded, as if getting the answer to the big question.
“So I’ve become a burden.”
“Not a burden. You’re a good wife, Prue. The best.”
“But not beloved.”
Nicholas stayed silent. What could he say? That he loved his wife, but differently? That he respected her, valued her, while his pulse raced at Chloe’s calls?
“You know,” Prudence stood and started clearing the table, “I do understand. Truly. We’ve had years together, the routine’s got stale, romance fizzled. Then along comes someone young, beautiful…”
“Prue, don’t talk like that about yourself.”
“How else?” She turned to him. “I see what’s happening. New clothes, joined the gym, got a haircut. All for her.”
It was true. Nicholas had changed since Chloe arrived. Took more care, bought new shirts, changed his cologne.
“Listen, does she know you’re married?”
“She knows,” he nodded.
“What does she say?”
“Says she doesn’t want to break up a family.”
“Right,” Prudence gave a bitter snort. “Doesn’t want to break it, but calls daily and arranges meetings.”
“We genuinely are working on a project…”
“Nick, enough!” She slammed her palm on the table. “Stop treating me like an idiot! I’m not blind! I saw how lit up you were after that last business trip. I saw you smiling at her texts.”
Nicholas hung his head. Arguing was useless. Prudence was right – he’d fallen. For the first time in twenty-two years of marriage, he felt that dizzy lightness he’d long forgotten.
“So what now?” his wife asked, sitting opposite.
“I don’t know.”
“I do,” she met his eyes. “You choose.”
“Prue…”
“No, hear me out. I won’t cling to you. I won’t make scenes, check your phone. But I won’t live in this limbo either.”
Prudence stood and began washing dishes, movements sharp and tense.
“You’ve got a week to decide,” she said without turning. “In a week, you tell me who you choose.”
“What if I choose her?”
Prudence froze, plate in hand.
“Then I’ll file for divorce.”
“Prue, maybe we shouldn’t rush? Maybe we can still try…”
“Try what?” she turned. “Pretend nothing’s wrong? Act like you love me? Nick, I’
Oliver drove through the twilit streets, the weight of his choices heavy upon him yet no clearer than the fading streetlights in the rain.
