**March 7th, 1985**
Still not home. Lately, hes been swamped with work, coming back later each night.
Emily put the children to bed and went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. James still wasnt back. These days, he was buried under endless tasks and exhaustion, always delayed. Emily pitied him, trying to spare him from household worries. After all, he was the sole breadwinner.
Right after their wedding, theyd agreedEmily would care for the home and future children while James provided for them. And so, the three little ones came into the world, one after another. James was overjoyed each time, insisting they werent done yet.
Emily, though, was worn out by nappies, formula, and sleepless nights. She decided to pause having more children.
James returned well past midnight, oddly cheerful. When she asked why he was late, he shrugged.
“Emily, we were drowning in paperwork, so the lads and I popped out for a drink to unwind.”
“My love!” She smiled. “Let me fix you something to eat.”
“Dont bother. Had some chicken wings. Lost my appetite. Best I just turn in.”
March 8th was approaching. Emily asked her mother to mind the children and headed to the shopping centre. She wanted to mark the day properlya romantic dinner, just the two of them. Her mother agreed without fuss.
Alongside groceries and gifts, Emily decided to treat herself. It had been ages since shed bought anythingtoo embarrassed to ask James for clothes money, nowhere to wear them anyway. The last thing shed bought was a housecoat, hardly fit for a planned evening out. So she stepped into a boutique, picked a few dresses, and slipped into the changing room.
She was trying on the second dress when she heard his voice from the next stall.
“Mmm, cant wait to get you out of this.”
Giggles followed, light and mocking.
“Patience, you devil! Go pick something for your wife instead!”
“Why bother? Shes knee-deep in nappies. As long as the kids are fed and the toys are put away, who cares what she wears? Ill get her a bread maker. Or a slow cookerlet her enjoy that!”
A cold shiver ran through her. She kept dressing mechanically, straining to listen.
“But what if she asks where the money went? Those things dont cost that much,” the girl teased.
“Why should I explain how I spend my money? I work; she stays home! I give her a set amount for the housemore than enough. She should be grateful.”
The voices faded as they left. Peeking out, Emily saw James at the till, paying alongside a blonde. He even kissed her, right there, bold as brass.
“Everything all right?” The shop assistant eyed her, still in the stall.
“Yes, fine!” Emily forced a smile, handing back the dresses.
At home, she sent her mother off and put the children down for their nap. Plans formed in her mind. Shed never expected such betrayalnot just the cheating, but the sheer contempt for what she did for their family. In an instant, everything shed built meant nothing. She wanted to bolt, demand a divorcebut stopped herself.
“If I leave, he runs off to his blonde, and Im left with the kids, no income. Child support? Pennies, likely. How do we live?”
By evening, shed decided.
James came home unusually early that night. “Probably saw her earlier,” Emily thought, indifferent. All feeling for him had drained away. He was a stranger now. The only concern was intimacyshe couldnt bear the thought.
But James, it seemed, had gotten what he wanted elsewhere. He didnt approach her.
The next day, Emily drafted her CV and sent it off. All she could do was wait. Days dragged. Each morning, she checked her emails. Finallya reply. An interview at a firm in town. The very one where James worked. She hesitated but went.
After two hours with management, they offered her a decent positionflexible hours. The pay wasnt grand, but enough to keep her and the children afloat.
She floated home, euphoric. Her mother, puzzled by her mood, pressed her.
“Mum, James is cheating!” Emily blurted, oddly cheerful. Her mother, thinking stress had unhinged her, guided her to the sofa.
“Emily, how can you say that? James works so hard!”
“Hes not workinghes with his mistress!” She spilled everythingthe changing room, the blonde, the bread maker.
“And what will you do?”
“Divorce him! And yes, Ive got a job. Once the kids are in nursery, Im working full-time!”
“Good! No forgiving betrayal. He doesnt see you as a person anymore. Ill help with the children.”
“Thank you, Mum.” Emily hugged her, tearful.
On the evening of March 7th, James slunk in late again. Emily didnt ask. Stunned by her indifference, he stammered excuses.
“Emily, the lads and I lost track of time”
“Just go to bed,” she cut in.
Next morning, as she fixed the children breakfast, James presented her with a triumphant grin and a bread maker.
“Darling, to make your life easier!” He leaned in for a kiss. She recoiled, not even glancing at the gift.
“Ive got a present for you too.”
Baffled, he followed her to the hall, where two large suitcases waited.
“Were divorcing. No more lies about where youve been.”
“How did you?”
“Heard everything in the changing room. Give the bread maker to your blonde. I dont need it.”
Caught, James snarled.
“Jealous, are you? Shes beautiful, passionateunlike you! Youve let yourself go, buried in this house, living off my money! Ill spend it how I like! Youre just a gold-digging wife!”
“I dont care,” Emily said calmly. “Leave.”
The next day, she filed for divorce and child support. A week later, his mother pounded on the door, shrieking before shed even stepped inside.
“Gold-digger! You drove him out and now youre taking his money? Drop the support! He owes you nothing!”
“He owes his children. If he cant afford his mistress anymore, thats his problem. Hes as much a parent as I am.”
“What will you do without his money? You had kids to live off him! It wont last! Hell get his salary cut, and youll beg!”
“Doubt it.” Emily pointed to the door. “Get out before I call the police.”
Cursing, the woman left. Months passed. Nursery spots opened one by one. Once the youngest started, Emily returned to full-time work.
“Hello.” His voice at her desk. “Can we talk?”
“Busy, James.” She didnt look up.
“Lunch, maybe?”
She met his eyestired, worn. She knew the blonde, learning half his wages went to child support, had dumped him. But it didnt matter anymore.
“No, James. We dont talk. We dont have lunch.”
**Lesson learned:** Betrayal cuts deepest when its not just the heart they discard, but your worth. And sometimes, the bravest thing isnt stayingits walking away, even when the path ahead is uncertain.
