Thoughts swirled in her mind, jealousy and resentment boiling inside. Hadn’t she loved her husband? Hadn’t she been a good wife and mother to their son? Yet what happened next defied all reason.
Emma had always believed she and her husband, James, were destined for each other. Their ten happy years of marriage felt like fate, a life she cherished.
Today, she was returning early from a business trip—one she hadn’t planned for. Just days ago, her boss had called her in abruptly.
*”There’s an issue at one of our branches. No one else can handle it but you,”* he’d said firmly. *”It’ll take three days at most. Pack your things, Emma, and don’t even think of making excuses. You’re going tomorrow.”*
She’d had plans—none of which involved traveling to another city. But arguing with the boss was futile, even if she’d long outgrown the “younger employees get the trips” policy. At thirty-six, she’d expected a calmer routine.
*”James, I’m off for work. Three days, tops. Make sure Ben actually studies with his tutor—he’s been slacking lately. And don’t let him live off crisps. There’s soup and proper meals in the fridge.”*
“*Sure, I’ll handle it,”* he muttered, eyes glued to his phone.
*”That’s it? You’re not even bothered I’m leaving?”*
*”You’ll be back in three days. We’ll manage,”* he finally glanced up and smirked.
*”Why are they sending you, anyway? Thought you were done with trips?”*
*”They need someone experienced. The boss said so himself,”* Emma replied, pride flickering.
On her way home, she decided to push through early, eager for a quiet evening alone. James would be at work, Ben at school—she’d soak in the bath, pamper herself, maybe even nap. A luxury long overdue.
The train neared London. She imagined the empty flat, the rare freedom. She’d cook dinner, help Ben with homework—something she’d neglected lately, even skipping proper maternity leave years ago to return to work.
She stopped at a shop, buying a bottle of wine and James’s favourite cake. They’d drifted apart lately—her buried in work, him absorbed in his phone. Tonight, she’d fix that.
Stepping inside, she froze. Strange boots by the door. A lightweight coat in the wardrobe, reeking of cloying perfume. The scent turned her stomach—or maybe it was the realization of betrayal.
Gathering herself, she heard muffled laughter from the bedroom. Rage simmered. She grabbed the nearest object—a floor lamp—and yanked it, sending it crashing.
The door flung open.
*”Sophie?!”* Emma choked out, recognizing the woman instantly.
*”Emma! I thought you were away!”*
*”Clearly.”* She glared past her. *”James, get out here!”*
*”It’s not what you think—”* Sophie stammered.
*”Then who?!”*
A pause.
*”It’s Thomas,”* Sophie admitted.
Emma’s world tilted. Thomas—James’s brother—sat on the bed, guilt plastered across his face.
The kitchen confrontation was tense.
*”We met at James’s birthday last year,”* Thomas explained. *”Then bumped into each other after a row with my wife. Just… lost my head.”*
Emma scoffed. *”Sophie’s divorced, so no surprise there. But you—I thought your marriage was perfect!”*
Thomas shrugged. *”Turns out I’m not.”*
*”And our flat? There are hotels!”*
*”Small town, big reputation,”* he muttered.
Emma kicked them out, then scrubbed the flat raw, her mind racing. She and James needed to reconnect—more talks, less criticism. And no more lending keys, even to family.
She dialed James, voice sharp. *”I’m home early. Burglars broke in. I’ve locked them in and called the police.”*
*”Cancel it! I’m coming!”*
*”No, they *should* answer for trespassing.”*
James arrived panting, only to find her calm.
*”Lesson learned?”* she said softly. *”This is *our* home, James. Don’t ever do this again. Because I love my daft husband.”*
He exhaled. *”Got it.”*
*”Good. Tonight, we’re having a romantic dinner. And you’ll tell me your dreams—honestly.”*
*”Emma, you’re amazing. You won’t tell Thomas’s wife?”*
*”Why complicate things?”* She smiled as Ben’s laughter echoed from his room. *”Now kiss me before our son sees.”*
Sometimes, the strongest love isn’t in grand gestures, but in choosing the same person every day—flaws and all.
